Jul 4, 2014

Solent Blue

So another day, another destination on the funny funny fun fun merry-go-round of holiday funny fun, and this time we were off to the Isle of Wight.

The original plan had been to spend a night or two on a campsite, in a tent, having some sort of familial barbecue thingy, but given Lyra's continued descent into sleep hell, we decided that perhaps this wasn't such a great idea and decided to ask Matthew and Sam if we could presume upon their hospitality for a little extra time, a request to which they readily agreed. Thank Flip!

So the Slimms de-camped en masse. Eloise travelled with the Buckden Slimms, staying over there after Isla's party and we stayed at Gamilngay, trying to keep the Senior Slimms on track. Trying and failing. Tempers were tested. Let's leave it at that.

We agreed to rendez-vous with the Buckden Slimms at Fleet Services, the English Meeting Place of Choice, and set off from Gamlingay at a crawl as the Slimm Land Cruiser pulled the Goliath Caravan Of Amazing Comfort down the road. We followed and followed and followed and then something just sort of flipped inside my head and suddenly we weren't following anymore we were free to go as fast as we wanted and we exulted as we sped off down the motorway at exactly seventy miles per hour leaving the Goliath Caravan Of Amazing Comfort But Limited Speed behind us, an ever-decreasing shape on the horizon a little like Ely Cathedral.

In a salutory lesson in the limited effects of driving much faster then everybody else, the Senior Slimms arrived about five minutes after we did at Fleet, where we had located the Buckden Slimms and Eloise and almost managed to attract her attention away from the effing Eye Pad, but not quite.

Refreshment then to Southampton to get on the Ferry where we waited for hours or an hour or maybe less before getting onto the ferry and wandering around with the Buckden Slimms camped out downstairs in the cabin, the Senior Slimms on deck with the Dog, and the Gavins wandering around between them, just sort of chillin', know what I mean?

In the Absinthe of GPS and/or meaningful maps of the Isle of Wight or The Island as it is affectionately if efficiently (and unimaginatively if we're honest) termed by the Locals (they probably call themselves The Islanders or maybe even the The Islanders) we decided, us and the Buckdens to rendezvous at a supermarket car park. Unfortunately there was a little confusion over the exact supermarket the car park we should meet at belonged to, leading to some messing up about, but eventually we hooked up and travelled in cut-down convoy-style to the Freshly Built House of Slimm.

As Chris was in the lead, of course we got there absolutely flawlessly, and parked up in the building site outside the Edifice of Ultimate Luxury and unloaded ourselves.

Later we went to the beach and ate masses of fish and chips next to the Trattles Beach Hut, with which the Ryde Slimms are affiliated by Common Law Marriage (if that law even applies on "The Island"). The fish and chips were very nice.

Lyra's sleep performance was better then ever. She didn't scream much, but only owing to the fact that as soon as she was was left in the cot and the door closed she climbed straight out again, opened the door and was downstairs again within two minutes, heralding the final phase of sleep management for Lyra, where she was lulled asleep every single night by an Adult.

Good grief.

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