Isle of Wight – meeting Lord Miller (part 1)

It was raining. Cloudy. But there was a glimmer – we were off to collect Jolyon and Cath from Yarmouth, a mere 25 minute journey, and bring them back to Seaview for a fish lunch and plenty of chat and wine. Carolyn had many uses, her most used being the fact she is tee total and when I am a little giddy with alcohol consumption, she can drive.  Today she would drive Jolyon and Cath back to Yarmouth after our fish lunch.  A flutter of giddiness took me over.

I set the post code into my phone and grabbed a bottle of water.  The girls were excited. I was not. Carolyn’s driving was not to my liking. It was vomit inducing.  But I should not complain.  She tapped the post code into her phone and stuck it on the windscreen. I also tapped in the code to my own phone to ensure we were going in the right direction. And off we went.

10 minutes into the journey I was alarmed. My sat nav said we should turn left. Carolyn’s said straight on. What is this fuckery I hissed. Carolyn applied the brakes and with a look that could kill pulled into a side road. We agreed to follow her directions. I sat in silence. I had run out of mints and was sucking on a Halls Extra Strong Mentho-Lyptus sweet. My tongue was tingling. I liked it. For a brief moment I was back in Germany with a butch lezza called Helga.  And then I was back.

Rather than the sea route to Yarmouth, the road swung away from the coast and took us right into the armpit of the IOW. The roads became thinner, the bushes high, the people odd and the level of car sickness rose. After 15 minutes we were still nowhere near Yarmouth. Vivien and Ruby were now whimpering. I needed a snifter.  I turned up My Jamaican Guy and listened to Grace Jones until the girls announced they hated her.

40 minutes and there was a glimmer of hope on the horizon. Yes it was cloudy, it was raining, it was windy, I wanted to vomit, the girls were crying, and Carolyn was not talking to me.  But we were 6 miles from Yarmouth.  I sent a text to Jolyon and Cath announcing our arrival imminent.

Jolyon, my eccentric younger brother. Jolyon who has a title of Lord Miller. Jolyon who once shared a house in Spain with 25 feral cats. Jolyon who jested loudly on my arrival to our Spanish villa with new boyfriend that he had warts on his knob and could I go and purchase some Wart cream.  Jolyon who assumes the posture of a sergeant major, marches like Captain Mannering, drinks like Oliver Reed, cooks like Keith Floyd, smokes like a ruddy chimney and only dresses in Royal Blue.

We drove into Yarmouth and headed to the George Hotel. Jolyon likes the simple things in life, ie, not having to travel far. The Ferry terminal was literally attached to the George hotel, offering a mere 25ft walk from terminal to hotel bar.

I saw the smoke before I saw Jolyon. He marched in a semi-circle, looking a little flustered, and a tad hungover.

I needed to vacate the car before I vommed. I told Carolyn to pull over. I told her again. And then I shouted. I jumped out of the car and walked towards Jolyon and Cath greedily gulping  water and breathing deeply.  As the car sickness began to wear off  I went to kiss Jolyon  – he marched past me, blowing clouds of smoke in the air, to the boot of the car and announced we were to take his antiques back to Henley as they were too heavy for him to carry.  He handed the large plastic bags to me and sniggered as the weight dragged my arms down.  He sucked hard at his cigarette – his wheeze was crackly and loud.   I noticed he was attired from head to toe in royal blue Lazy Jacks sailing clothes, even down to a rather splendid pair of deck shoes. My snigger caused a bogey to drop.  I quickly wiped in the hope nobody saw. He marched over to the girls and bent down to kiss them. The subtle waft of stale cigarette and fresh wine hit my nostrils. The girls pulled away, Uncle Jolyon was smelly and his whiskers scratched their skin.

We all piled into the car to head back to Seaview, a journey I was not looking forward to.  We drove around Yarmouth for 10 minutes, and then parked. We had decided not to drive back to Seaview but instead to dine at Jolyon’s favourite establishment. A reservation was made and we made our merry way to Salty’s.

Jolyon marched ahead, fag in hand, telling us how he had spent most of yesterday ‘ferry spotting’ from the bar in the garden of his hotel.  And that we will also partake in ferry spotting this afternoon. What ruddy joy I hissed.  The girls were still wiping away the smell of wine and fags from their faces as we strolled into the rustic restaurant.

There was a strong fish stench as we walked in. I started to tell my lesbian brothel joke but Carolyn told me no. Our table was ready. Jolyon ordered the wine. I ordered the girls drinks. Cath went to the balcony for a fag. Jolyon went out for a fag. And then we began.

 

 

 

Isle of Wight – day 3

Wednesday 26^th July – am

I was awoken by Vivien at 6am. I felt hot; my skin was red, and my forehead on fire. My left eye stuck shut, so I dipped my fingers in to my water and flicked the cool liquid onto my eyelid. I lay for a second wondering why we age. Why do we have this menopause? Why does my eye never open, what is the meaning of life and why the ruddy fuck is Vivien on a skateboard at 6am.

She whizzed into the bedroom and quickly scuttled out as I sat up and belted out a deep Noooooo from the depth of my stomach.  Carolyn shot up from her doze and looked left and right in a speedy movement I had not seen since Pans People danced on TOTP. Alas there was no sexy look upon her face – she was angry.  I pretended I was dozy and slowly lay my head upon the pillow and closed my eyes.  I heard her swear a little as she headed to the kitchen.  I coughed and asked in my ever so nice voice if she would make me a cup of hot water and lemon. She told me to bugger off.

I could hear the rustling of things in the kitchen and the faint noise coming from the sitting room TV.  I lay back and slipped into my mindfulness state.  Breathing deeply through my nose and out through my mouth. I tried to mentally ignore the noises from the kitchen, and instead focussed on my breathing. Boredom overtook me, I felt a bit light headed, giddy and panicky. I tried to control my breathing, visualising how our day would be today, sun, sea, snifter with Jolyon + Cath, I grinned a little until Vivien came whizzing up the corridor and into the bedroom  again crashing into the bedside table and spilling my water.  My one good eye opened wide as the left eye stung like fuck.  It was time to get up.

The girls were eating breakfast; their shoulders and faces were bright red after a day in the sun. We had not expected it to be so hot. Carolyn’s face was shiny red with little white circles where her glasses had sat. I ran into the bathroom and stared at my own face.  It was florid and patchy. My face resembled a baboon’s ass.

We decided to spend the day chillaxing. A word I hate but I thought I would throw it in.  The sky was grey. It was raining. The forecast for the week was no different.  To make matters worse I had only packed summer stuff.

I smothered the girls with more Hemp body cream as they watched some animated rubbish and thought about lunch today.  My eccentric brother Jolyon (Lord Miller to his family) and his g/f Cath were in Yarmouth for a few days.  The plan was to go collect them and bring them back to Seaview as we had booked a table at a rather nice restaurant.

We were all excited to go and see them.  The journey was no more than 25 minutes.

What could possibly go wrong?

 

Isle of Wight – Day 2

Tuesday 25^th July.

I awoke with a start, I had no idea where I was. My sticky left eye hurt as I tried to peel it open. Another menopausal delight I have had to suffer with. Fuck, I had left my very expensive sticky eye mist at home. I grabbed my glass of water and gently tipped it onto my eyelid. As the cool liquid flowed down my cheek I noticed Ruby at the end of the bed staring at me. Don’t ask I screeched as she ran out crying.  The water engulfed my ruddy face and I coughed and spluttered and swore to the almighty above.

The noise from the kitchen was causing me concern. Carolyn was explaining to the girls why we could not take scooters, dollies, a skateboard and a ruddy Buzz Lightyear toy to the beach.  I screamed from the bedroom, NO NO NO! And coughed a little.

I dragged my aching bones into the kitchen regretting guzzling the cheap bottle of bubbles to myself last night.  Since Carolyn had stopped drinking I feel as though I have lost a limb. My lip quivered for a nano second, a sadness engulfed me, and then went away.  I walked into the kitchen, my skeletal toes crackled with each slow step. I swallowed my calcium tabs, my vitamin tabs, my thyroid tabs, a couple of nurofen and drank my daily pint of hot water and lemon. Today we were off to the beach and I felt like shit!

We left the house like a family of gypsies. Bags of towels, bags of buckets of spades, bags of food and bags of ruddy bags. FFS I thought, I used to laugh out loud at families like us – now I’m one of them. I decided not to bring my bathing suit, I had slipped it on in Henley before we left and was quite shocked to see how much weight I had put on. I had fatty testicles hanging from under each armpit, fat wings on my back and what I can only describe as a front bottom asshole.  As I stood in front of the mirror with my tight shiny suit on, arms up, legs apart, there was no way I could be seen in any ruddy country in any ruddy sea.  I walked across my room, feeling a slight pinch around my nether regions.  I was too old for this – give me an old pair of black knickers and a beach in St Tropez where my titties can spread their wings and fall like udders covered in Ambre Solaire oil anyday.  I’m no swimming costume kinda gal.  With that I ripped it off and binned it.

The beach was sandy and pebbly. The tide was out. The coffee/bar was open and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. The girls skipped and danced with excitement. It was quite a long way to the sea as the tide was so far out, but I managed to find a good spot on the pebbles. And so we started to unpack, and unpack, and lay down the rugs, the towels, and get out the plastic crap. I managed to bundle all the towels under my head so I was not uncomfortable as I continued to read my Mindfulness book. I turned on my kindle and started to breathe in slowly through my nose and out my mouth. I was in the moment. It was at that point I heard the buzzing of an insect, an insect I knew only too well.  The wasp had found the food and was circling it like Indians round a wagon trail. I dread to think what the holidaymakers thought as they sat drinking their tea from the cafe above the beach as I simulated a woman fitting below, wailing and thrusting my arms around like Kate Bush on acid. The wasp was teasing me, flying into my face and then off into the air as I yelled obscenities and tried hard to hit it with anything close by.  I threw the bucket of shells into the air and each shell came crashing down upon us like a ruddy hail shower

I wiped the tears away from the girls and told Carolyn we were moving. I suggested we pack the food, the plastic buckets, the towels, and anything else we could find and move further away from the sea,  as the tide was coming in.  As I sat at the cafe looking down at Carolyn carrying the heavy bags to our new location, I went back to my mindfulness; I closed my eyes, took in a deep breath, ejected that deep breath, sipped my chilled wine and squashed the wasp that landed on the table.  Fuck you Mr Wasp.  Fuck You.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Isle of Wight – shopping

 

Monday 24^th July

Is it still only Monday I thought as we headed straight to the supermarket. The trip arduous. The roads thin, bendy, and vomit enducing. I should have driven myself as Carolyn took a corner like a blind man racing. I hung onto the rail above my head, silently spitting venom. The girls swayed from left to right, Ruby felt sick. Vivien just squeaked. We were all hungry and tired. The girls were demanding music, so I put on an old Bob Dylan number and got lost in Maggie’s Farm until Carolyn rudely swapped Bob for Bruno Mars. I was outruddynumbered. I sat back, closed my eyes, and reminisced the good old days when I had no responsibilities. The emergency stop shook me to the core, my body lurched forward and the water I was sipping travelled up my nose as I snorted in anger, and into my eyes. Carolyn was swearing at the woman in front and I was swearing just because I could.  We had arrived at the supermarket.

My gusset was damp. The girls were red faced and crying with hunger and tiredness. Carolyn just hungry.  I walked in, ordered Carolyn to take the trolley and I would grab the food. The girls shivered and turned blue down the refridgated isle. People stared. I stared back. The whole ruddy experience was a nightmare. I broke away and found myself in the wine isle where I caressed a bottle of Margaux and dribbled at the Bollinger.  Alas we had a budget, so I came away with poor man’s champagne and a bottle of Rose.  Oh how the good old days have gone.

The house was fabulous, as always. Plenty of space, and spitting distance to the beach. The sun was out and the sky blue. Let’s hit it I said and off we went.  Surely it must be time for a snifter?

Isle of Wight – the crossing

July 24th 2017

My knuckles were white as I grasped the hand rail above my head; Carolyn’s navigations skills were not great. I feared for my life and sucked hard on my mint. In my Mumma role of DJ today we were listening to Katy Perry singing ROAR, we were waved onto the boat by a balding, overweight man in a hi viz vest and a walkie talkie. The girls were singing loudly in the back, I gave Carolyn instructions from the front, “FFS move over to the left” “We are all going to die”. A man banged on the side of the window and asked us to stop. Carolyn doesn’t do subtle stopping, we all lurched forward as she braked. My mint hit my tonsils, the girls sobbed and I coughed so loudly I lady dribbled just a bit. Silence again as we stared at the man in the vest until he waved us up onto the ramp.
Slowly we crawled up and then up again until we were snuggly parked behind a Skoda carrying two touring bikes on the back.  I immediately recognised the florid faced lady with the tight grey perm and her partner – she still had cheese on her lips.  I smirked and announced to the family we are free to leave the car.  And we did just that.

The ferry was full. Summer holidays had kicked in. This was very different to our usual crossings to the IOW. It felt strange. I felt like a stranger in my own ferry. I felt most queer.  We grabbed a child each and made our way through lorries and cars and then up the 2 flights of stairs.  We needed caffeine.

The stairs were oozing with children whose mission it was to leg it it to the best seat with a sea window. I was in no mood to race, instead I walked very slowly and carefully much to the annoyance of the feral family behind me. They overtook us on level 3 and sprinted to the lounge.  I turned to eyeball their mother; she was covered in tattoos, with a rather large premier drum set on her right arm. Under neath the name of a man, Reg, followed by what I assume where the children’s names. She was clearly the Mia Farrow of Mothers, I counted two black, one white and one undecided. Little Beyoncé must have been 11, she was chubby, with long hair, a very tight track suit, and a pair of florescent trainers, she was holding the hand of Nate who was (I assume) her brother. She was dragging him along the carpet. Her Mother was holding a baby in her arms and holding the hand of Jezzer.  He must have been 4. As they sped past us towards their table she screamed, Beeeyooooooonceeeeee grab that table, thas a good girl. I could smell the chewing gum and see her fillings as her mouth spat out instructions to her children.  I felt a little queasy for a second.

The ferry started to move as we found our table.  Thank Fuck I whispered as I sat down. I pulled out another mint and sucked aggressively.  Carolyn was talking to the girls as I switched on my kindle. Relax time I thought. I thought ruddy wrong!

I was asked to purchase hot chocolate for the girls and coffees for us. I hissed, sucked and sulked as I headed to the long Costa queue ahead.

The queue was long, there was only two people serving, they were both in a coma and the man in front of me had terrible BO. I turned quickly to face the croissants and breathed in the bready aroma. Eventually it was my turn, I ordered my drinks, waited patiently while they were made. And hurried back to my seat.

Like gannets the girls grabbed their drinks before I had sat down. I imagined a different life, just for a moment, where I would most probably be enjoying an early café cognac, reading my book and looking forward to a week of fine dining. And then I was back, Vivien needed a crap, so off I went to find a toilet.

I took a well-earned slurp of my black Americano, the first in many months since my detox, and then the man on the tannoy announced would all car owners make their way to their cars immediately, this is the last call. 

I crunched my mint, grabbed my stuff, swore at everybody, binned my coffee and headed down to the car.

We’d ruddy arrived!

Isle of Wight 2017 – a short break

Monday 24th July

Our lovely friends had offered us their holiday home for a week in the IOW.  We love Seaview and took up their kind offer without hesitation.  After what seems a long term for the kids a whole week with no work, no school drop off and pick up, no council meetings was just what we needed. The kids were beside themselves  – their excitement was becoming too much for me, I had to sit down and stroke Misty my faithful yet crusty cat. Her purr was deep and then it stopped. She looked at me in a way that sent shivers down my spine. I fear she knew we were going away, and she was fucked about it. I continued stroking, sucking at my extra strong mint and fingering her crustations that had gathered around her ear.

The hallway was packed. 2 suitcases, bags of food, bags of crap that the kids wanted to take. How the fuck is it possible that we will need all this ‘stuff’ for one week in England. I had nevertheless packed very conservatively. I had it on good authority the weather was to be good for the entire week; I had therefore packed my summer garments, and a cardi just in case.

Misty stared at me from the bedroom window as we packed the Landy. I felt a little sad for a second and then pulled myself together.  The furry fucker would be fine, my old mate Lou Lou was in charge of my pussy whilst I was away.

As Carolyn sat in the car, I could see her anger building as I was doing the last minute check of the house, my OCD kicking in once again. I grabbed my extra strong mints, my phone and bag and jumped into the car.  At last we were off.

The journey was horrid. Carolyn’s stop start driving made me feel quite sick. I sat in silence humming Jerusalem and praying our arrival imminent. Hurrah! We’ve arrived.

I watched the family in the car next door stuffing their florid faces with cheese sarnies and crisps as a slither of dribble took a journey down my newly hairy chin. Clearly a menopausal development. I wipe quickly, aware they have noticed me staring. I suck hard on my extra strong mint and hope to myself that the family to my left, right and in front are not staying anywhere near us. They are not my sort.

A sudden jolt and we’re boarding the ferry. Goodbye. For now.