Sunday started off feeling like that sort of day.
We were only taking a short trip down to Southsea. Or so we thought.
Jenny and I got in the trusty Corsa and set off. But there was a sound. Not a good sound.
I don't know if you've ever had a car like mine but this car, as much as I love it, has a tendency to make strange noises and flash up random lights whenever it feels. It's independent. Independently annoying at times. I usually try to drown out the peculiarities by turning up the music - assuming the stereo's working at that point. However, this sound could not be ignored.
We pulled over and discovered the culprit was a flat back tyre.
Not to worry, we thought. A quick tyre change and we'd be set.
Not that simple.
We changed the tyre (well, a secret spy / racing driver I happen to know changed it whilst Jen did the heavy lifting and I looked on earnestly: teamwork.) I've never seen a tyre change so swift and efficient outside a pit lane. But the spare tyre turned out to have a somewhat serious, although less catastrophic affliction. The bottom line was that we were unable to drive it on the motorway. Curses!
Not to worry, we thought. A quick car change and we'd be set.
And so we confused the dog by dragging her out of one car and into another before we'd travelled out of the postcode.
Jen drove her car to the end of our road and her engine advisory light came on.
Now, her car is prone to random lights as well. It happens quite a lot. It'll go off in a minute we thought. It's been checked out. It's not an issue. She can usually bypass the problem by the age-old 'turn it off and on again' solution.
Not to worry we thought. A quick stop and start and we'd be set.
Not that simple.
Jen killed the ignition and then rebooted it. The warning light was still on and this time it had been joined by its flashing friend the "stop the car immediately" light. Hmm. Things were not going well.
We assessed the situation and bearing in mind the whole morning was starting to take on a Final Destination type sense of foreboding, we probably should have called off the whole excursion and gone back home to loaf on the sofa.
But we weren't to be outdone. The world had us on the ropes but we still had fight left. When we left the house that morning, we were moderately keen to go to the festivities in Southsea. However, once the obstacles had been put in our way, we were now hell-bent on getting to that pebbled paradise.
So we headed to the train station.
Who doesn't love a train journey anyway? As time had ticked by, at least this way we wouldn't have to contend with parking pressures.
Not to worry, we thought. A quick train journey and we'd be set.
Jen and I ventured aboard the train, leading Deefer the dog onto yet another vehicle. I would have liked to have asked for her opinion at this point. I like to think she enjoyed the journey as much as we did, looking out the window, gazing wistfully at the backs of palatial mansions (us) and looking longingly at endless fields of grass (her).
It was all going swimmingly until Cosham. There we were joined by a line of police officers who dashed along the platform to join the train, not because they were late. They were looking for someone. I tried to mind my own business, honestly I did, but they were right there looking for a woman.
Not to worry, we thought. A quick police chase and we'd be set.
Yet in truth, Jen and I both had the same thought that our journey had reached another pivotal moment. I had a vision of being asked to leave the train and being stuck in Cosham for the day. Oh the joy. Or at least until another train trundled by.
My pessimism was unfounded. After a short delay, we were off again. And no, I have no idea if the police got their woman.
Eventually we made it to Southsea!
That part of the day went relatively to plan. We mooched along Castle Road, ate lunch and wandered amongst a VW sponsored car-boot sale. Good times.
Our party had been expanded by this point by our friend Lou who is local to Southsea and couldn't see the reason for such extreme efforts on our part to get there. It was a matter of principle. I think.
The sun was out and it seemed apt to have an ice cream at the seaside. A quick look at the vans and kiosks nearby showed snaking queues in all directions. I don't queue well. The ice cream idea seemed like it had come and gone.
Then Lou came up with an ingenious solution. We could go to the Isle of Wight for one.
Not to worry, we thought. A quick jaunt across the Solent and we'd be set.
Lou works on the Isle of Wight so she has a season pass for Hovertravel and complimentary tickets for friends and family: we were friends! Yes!
We'd put the effort in to get down to Southsea, by eight feet, two cars and a train. We might as well continue our travels on the water. And so we got a hovercraft ride over to Ryde just to get an ice cream. Just because we could. That's how we roll.
The journey was worth it alone to see Jenny's excitable face as the hovercraft swung round off its landing patch. Her pure, child-like joy was infectious. But we used our time on the Island wisely: we walked along the prom; I paddled my toes; we watched some men and women dressed as a bee-like 50s era Cher sing into hairbrushes (I kid you not); we saw some donkeys and we had the obligatory ice cream. Which tasted amazing.
The journey that I had thought would never start at several points in the morning, was in fact a wonderful, unexpected success. It may seem like a long way to go for an ice cream, but when you've had all those obstacles in the way, it's only a small skip across the water.
On the way back over the waves to Southsea, we saw an advert for a special offer from Hovertravel to take you to Cherbourg for only £21.
Riding the travel wave as we were, as soon as we set foot back on land, we bought tickets and headed off to France.
Not to worry, we thought. A quick boat across the English Channel and we'd be set.
Nahhh! Only kidding. That would be a step too far for one day: I'm not an idiot.
I've filed that idea in the must-do new adventure pile for future me to take on.
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