Messing About on a Boat

This is the tale of a journey of love.

It was not a particularly long journey, nor was it particularly far. But it was full of love.

Life is better by the sea: that's my mantra. Sometimes though, life can also be just as good ON the sea. Under a ridiculously blue sky a few weeks ago, I spent the day aboard a steam ship pottering about the Solent. It was delightful. I loved it.

Everything about the day was delightful. Not exciting, not awesome, but a day full of pure, heart-warming, sunshine-glowing, smile-inducing, wave-making delight.

We made waves before we even set sail. Part of the joy of being on a boat is waving at people, right? So I started many a wave. Waving at dinghies, waving at ferries, waving at yachts (FYI yachts are the least likely to respond, yet I continued waving regardless) all to spread a little joy as we began our adventure.

Well, maybe 'adventure' is a bit strong. We were going on a steady journey aboard a ship to the dark side of the Isle of Wight and back with a picnic. Hardly searingly adventurous. The ship in question was a steam ship called the SS Shieldhall. It's a retired and restored vessel that now goes on jollies around the Solent. You can find out more about it here: https://www.ss-shieldhall.co.uk/

She may not be particularly fast but she is ever so slightly magic. Even the man with the stripes on his shoulders on the bridge told me so. And that's part of the beauty of Shieldhall. You can go almost anywhere on board. You can hang out with the captain and the pilot on the bridge. You can keep lookout with the crew on the fo'c'sle deck. Or you can enter an ice cream eating race with the guys in the heaving heart of the blisteringly hot boiler room. Swelteringly hot down in the depths and they were still up for the challenge of eating their ice cream before it ran away. Of course they were. They are there for the simple joys.

Every single person on board that ship was there for the joy. Yet the crew were there for the joy and the love. Each person who works for or on the SS Shieldhall is a volunteer. No one gets paid. They do it for the love of the ship. That is abundantly clear to see everywhere. No one is looking at their watch to check when they get to clock off. Every volunteer gives their time willingly and wholeheartedly to paint the ship during the off-season, oil its bits, make tea to sell, walk around the deck selling ice creams from a tray (I kid you not), sweat their lives away in the engine room and most of all, talk the sea legs off any passenger on board about the ship and why they love it so.

I loved their love.

It was also clear that they loved each other. The camaraderie between the crew members was sincere and so important to them. When not on duty, the crew seemed to hang out at the lookout point on the front deck. They traded stories and jibes between talking about the ship and teaching us eager onlookers about their work on that day and throughout the many days they'd spent preparing her for voyages.

On a wander up to the bridge, the captain had told me a story about his chance meeting with a professor from Southampton General Hospital. He recounted how a lot of the professor's patients who suffered with various mental health issues, often after retiring or leaving careers in the navy or suchlike, had found solace and, more importantly, purpose in starting to volunteer for Shieldhall. Over the years, the ship has brought people together and has continued to build a family of volunteers. It is truly magic.

I might have set foot aboard Shieldhall with the intention of just messing about on a boat, yet the leisurely journey past the corner of Bembridge and back allowed me a glimpse into a very special community.

Sometimes messing about, eating ice cream before it drips down your chin, waving like a loon to anyone who you might make smile, whooping along with the ship's whistle and all the while basking in the company of some of the most dedicated, knowledgeable and time-generous seafarers can bring you joy that you never imagined.

Steam is what makes the Shieldhall go, but love is what makes it live.

The Sweet Side of Cheddar

Cheddar. Like the cheese? 

Exactly like the cheese. The place where the cheese was first brought into existence and continues to be lovingly cultured in order to make our lives all the more enjoyable, and cheesy. 

Cheddar is a village in Somerset that you have to reach by driving through a gorge (Cheddar Gorge by coincidence) that is basically a magic portal. As you wind you way down the hill, flanked by giant, foreboding  walls of rock either side, it does actually feel like you're leaving Earth as you know it. A feeling that's further compounded once you get into the village. It's like you've shifted back through time. There are small shops that wouldn't look out of place in a photo of 1950s England. Each of the shops are small outlets selling only food, drink, souvenirs or Christmas crap (honestly). 

Let me give you a little context. A few weeks ago, I managed to persuade two of my friends to join me in a cheese based pilgrimage - the best kind of pilgrimage surely? We were on an adventure to go see the caves and cheese.

So on arrival, our first port of call was the cheese shop. Well, it was supposed to be, but our long drive and the impending onset of hanger dictated that we had to fuel up with lunch and so had to visit a quaint cafe. What else is there to eat in Cheddar? We devoured cheese toasties, with molten gold oozing down the pitifully effective napkins. It was glorious. And then we hit the cheese shop. 

I consider myself a bit of a cheese connoisseur and I don't say this lightly, but I think the best Cheddar in the world is the Cheddar Gorge Cheese Company cave-matured cheddar. It really is the good shit. I have managed to eke out my wedge until now. The last slither of it disappeared into my mouth this very day. I have only eaten it solo. It is too good to be grated nonchalantly on undeserving pasta or lost in a sandwich with common pickle. It has to be savoured. 

Anyway, cheese covered, we continued our mooch around Cheddar to see what goodies it had to offer. As it turned out, all the goodies were sweetie goodies. And they were EVERYWHERE. 

Walking down the main drag of Cheddar village is like running the gauntlet of a diabetic coma. There are fudge shops, sweet shops, ice cream shops, cider shops, a marshmallow shop (yep, my first as well), nougat shops and of course, a whole plethora of various afternoon tea / cream tea / cake outlets. 

It was AMAZING! 

I was in heaven. Sickly, sugary, gooey heaven. 

The realisation soon came upon me that this would be the perfect place for a cream tea crawl. I am 100% committed to this idea of spending a (calorific) day stumbling in and out of the establishments in the shadow of Cheddar Gorge and sampling a variety of the goods on offer. A different cake or treat at every stop. This is a thing right?  

Time constraints being what they were, the day we visited, I had to make so with only dipping my toe into the sea of sugar. After spending time underground in the caves, I staggered to the nearest ice cream outlet ready for a cone of salted caramel. Then we ventured into another cave which was again followed by a stop at an ice cream counter. Yes, it was a two ice cream kind of day. But you weren't there man: you don't know! The second ice cream place had more flavours than I'd ever seen or could dare imagine. Added to this was the fact that there was free toppings. FREE TOPPINGS. It was a no brainer. 

Here's our selection from the ice cream kiosk. Yes, that's hundreds and thousands AND marshmallows. I was all in on the sugar count. 

On the way back to the car, we called into one of the fudge shops but I resisted the urge to indulge further. For a village so steeped in savoury fame, Cheddar is impressive in its selection of sweet treats. I certainly need to return sometime for that cream tea crawl. I reckon I have the form and the experience for such a mammoth task. Especially when there's the best Cheddar cheese in the world to take home as a prize at the end. 

Who's with me? 

The journey that wouldn't start but then wouldn't end

Sometimes you start off on a journey and you don't get very far.

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.