The trials of Island living

Yesterday we reluctantly watched the Red Funnel ferry depart without us, and with it, our plans to see James Yorkston & The Athletes’ 10th Anniversary performance of Moving Up Country. A midday mechanical failure on one of the ships was still causing chaos in East Cowes by late afternoon and our ferry was so delayed we couldn’t make it to the gig that I was so excited about.

The ferry’s aren’t having a good time of it, what with this plus last week’s festival traffic chaos. And so ensues the usual rants about what a ‘nightmare’ it is being ‘trapped’ on an island, beholden to unpredictable and expensive boat travel, and in need of a fixed link. The woman behind me in the queue yesterday was keen to tell everyone that she’d lived on the Isle of Wight for “five impossible years” and now she was moving away and couldn’t wait to leave. I’m sure she’ll be far happier Up Mainland.

But, for me these few ferry fiascos don’t come near to the more common travel trials of motorway traffic, noisy aeroplane flight paths, and trains stuffed full of commuters. I’d rather miss the odd gig, and console myself with a walk along the beach, or a beer on the seafront. Half the charm of this place is its slow pace, haphazard muddles and ‘behind the times’ inefficiencies. Maddening and comforting in equal measure.

A little piece of June

reading Amitav Ghosh’s River of Smoke. Lost in a world of ships, opium and rare plants in nineteenth century China.

listening to James Yorkston (and excited to see him again at tomorrow’s gig)

buying too many books. Must stop book browsing and start reading. New Oxfam bookstore opening in town does not help!

loving holiday planning! Off to the Lake District for the first time. Guide book gives the Eskdale Valley full marks for hiking, scenery and beer. Count me in, whatever the weather..

Monday morning

After the traffic chaos from this weekend’s festival, today seemed a good day to commute by bicycle. My route takes me across a chain ferry, up an estuary, down a steep wooded valley, across a creek, through a copse, and up a down.

I’d love to share more photos of it with you, but I have a pathological inability to apply the brakes on a descent. So, here are some of the flatter parts my journey..

Many of the roads were closed in anticipation of the festival traffic, so it was just me and some other pedalling commuters, in a utopian post-petrol dream.

In the winter the early morning start feels crisp and new, but at this time of year 7am feels late to the party. Despite this, there was still a red squirrel, several buzzards and a general cacophony of birdsong, accompanied by the scent of honeysuckle, wet grass and pine needles.

Not a bad way to start the day.

Grey to green

We had heavy rain overnight and woke to grey foreboding skies. I was envisaging a day spent with tea and a book and quickly got to some baking. But no sooner had the caramel set than the sun came out. Just in time for a mini adventure to a favourite spot before tea.

West along the coast from where we live is Newtown, a little one road hamlet with a history of far greater things. In the fourteenth century it was a thriving community, and there remain reminders of its ancient past, in the old salt pans, the ‘Francheville’ town sign, and the beautifully restored old town hall. But now it feels like a perfect backwater, with the harbour walk being the main event, and lending itself to nothing more than a quiet meander.

In this summer wind the meadows were alive with butterflies and blossoms and the quiet rushing of leaves. A perfect quiet Sunday wander, and home in time to add the chocolate layer to these homemade twix bars. Yum.

Before the rain

I have finally planted some flowers, before the rains descend this evening. After my first attempts were completely devoured by slugs and snails, I’ve been a little slow to try again. What with the pests and the intimidating blank canvas of bare earth maybe it’s just too difficult!

I used to think there must be some secret formula to gardening, that unless you had a full set of instructions it was a botanical impossibility. But I’m starting to realise that the soil is pretty good at nurturing life. And as I’m rarely a fan of straight rows and orderly boxes, I see no reason why I should try to achieve that in my garden. So I’ve stuck some things in the soil, haphazard and hasty, and I’ll wait to see what grows. This time I might put up a few slug defences too.