![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
The Ferry To The Isle Of Wight
Over to the Isle of Wight today. The Hawk Ladies were playing a friendly against the Island's representative side this afternoon, and I wanted to drop my latest poem into the Binstead poetry box, so I took the catamaran over in the morning and took a bus from Ryde to Binstead. After depositing my poem in the box - no new poems appeared to have been put up since February, so I hope the keyholder comes and checks the box soon - I went for a leisurely walk over to Fishbourne, where the girls would be arriving on the car ferry.
It's good to get a decent walk in in lovely surroundings like the Isle of Wight, especially when the Fishbourne Inn is waiting for you at the end with Stowford Press on tap. I had two hours to wait before the girls' arrival, so passed the time very pleasantly in the pub thanks to Stowford, the Non-League Paper and my iPod - all the sweeter for the rain bucketing down outside.
The rain had thankfully reduced to spits by the time I had to venture out to meet the ladies. The girls had come over as foot passengers; we were to be given lifts to the ground by our hosts. One of the Island players took me, Sheriden and Frank; she was impressed when I said I'd been there to cheer the Island ladies on at the Island Games this summer.
Several of the Island people remembered me from the Games, ensuring that, in a marked contrast to last week, I got a warm welcome. The serving hatch in the clubhouse served excellent burgers and the bar had a friendly barmaid and, joy, Stowford Press.
The Hawk girls dominated the game and won 4-0. Yzzy wasn't smiling once we got in the clubhouse, though; her beloved Gunners had been trounced 8-2 at Old Trafford. "Wenger's got to go," she said. As the afternoon's results cycled on Ceefax on the bar's telly - Trev had already given up trying to avoid the day's scores after Sheriden and Sally blurted them out while sitting on the bench late in the second half - one of the Isle of Wight coaches and I got talking about footie; he was a Liverpool fan.
The lady who'd given me a lift beatled off early before we were all ready to go. Sheriden squeezed in with another carload, but Frank and I were left stranded until the Liverpool-supporting coach, though he hadn't been planning on going to Fishbourne, kindly offered to run us over there. As we pulled out of the car park, Frank phoned Sheriden and gave her a telling-off for disappearing and leaving him behind.
On the boat back, Laura O thanked me for emailing her my match reports. I said I'd send her last week's tonight, and apologised in advance for the row of question marks in the place of the opposing goalscorer's name - "they were unfriendly arseholes who wouldn't give me all their names." Laura said she'd heard about them from Kim, and added with spirit "Ignore knobheads like that, we want you here." Sabrina and Jenna asked if I'd be joining all the girls at Route 66 for their birthday drinks when we docked at Portsmouth; I regretfully declined with thanks, explaining that I had to compose my report and fire it off to Trev tonight then had an early start for my trip to Kent tomorrow. Tuts and 'aww's all round.
It's good to get a decent walk in in lovely surroundings like the Isle of Wight, especially when the Fishbourne Inn is waiting for you at the end with Stowford Press on tap. I had two hours to wait before the girls' arrival, so passed the time very pleasantly in the pub thanks to Stowford, the Non-League Paper and my iPod - all the sweeter for the rain bucketing down outside.
The rain had thankfully reduced to spits by the time I had to venture out to meet the ladies. The girls had come over as foot passengers; we were to be given lifts to the ground by our hosts. One of the Island players took me, Sheriden and Frank; she was impressed when I said I'd been there to cheer the Island ladies on at the Island Games this summer.
Several of the Island people remembered me from the Games, ensuring that, in a marked contrast to last week, I got a warm welcome. The serving hatch in the clubhouse served excellent burgers and the bar had a friendly barmaid and, joy, Stowford Press.
The Hawk girls dominated the game and won 4-0. Yzzy wasn't smiling once we got in the clubhouse, though; her beloved Gunners had been trounced 8-2 at Old Trafford. "Wenger's got to go," she said. As the afternoon's results cycled on Ceefax on the bar's telly - Trev had already given up trying to avoid the day's scores after Sheriden and Sally blurted them out while sitting on the bench late in the second half - one of the Isle of Wight coaches and I got talking about footie; he was a Liverpool fan.
The lady who'd given me a lift beatled off early before we were all ready to go. Sheriden squeezed in with another carload, but Frank and I were left stranded until the Liverpool-supporting coach, though he hadn't been planning on going to Fishbourne, kindly offered to run us over there. As we pulled out of the car park, Frank phoned Sheriden and gave her a telling-off for disappearing and leaving him behind.
On the boat back, Laura O thanked me for emailing her my match reports. I said I'd send her last week's tonight, and apologised in advance for the row of question marks in the place of the opposing goalscorer's name - "they were unfriendly arseholes who wouldn't give me all their names." Laura said she'd heard about them from Kim, and added with spirit "Ignore knobheads like that, we want you here." Sabrina and Jenna asked if I'd be joining all the girls at Route 66 for their birthday drinks when we docked at Portsmouth; I regretfully declined with thanks, explaining that I had to compose my report and fire it off to Trev tonight then had an early start for my trip to Kent tomorrow. Tuts and 'aww's all round.