where art collides

The classic British summer holiday starts to gain momentum as the weather improves, albeit probably temporarily. A good night’s sleep after yesterday’s coastal path walk, followed by a hearty bacon and egg for breakfast set us up for the day.

The weather was perfect for flying our new kite. It failed to get airborne. We need some professional advice on this subject and there is none to hand. Hmm.

The weather was also perfect for fishing of the end of the quay. We caught no fish, although we were not alone in this predicament. For some of us this is not as disappointing as it may sound. Catching a fish means getting hands cove red in fish bits. For me the pleasure is in standing in a pleasant place in the sunshine periodically casting the lure and reeling it in.

The rest of the family eventually joined us and Tom and John eventually set off to the other end of the prom to play tennis. In the meantime the bridge opened and we saw a steady stream of yachts sailing in and out of the harbour. This is such a relaxing sight. We waved, or at least I did, and had a reasonable response rate. As they got beyond the quay the boats raised their sails and started tacking into the South Westerly, whither bound I know not. Ireland or Wales.

Next we took the fishing net to the rock pools by the castle. There were tiddlers on show but we didn’t catch one. The point of the activity is to stand there looking into the pools to see what we could see. To say we had been “rock pooling”.

Round at the beach we got out the picnic and tucked in to our sandwiches. Paddling was obligatory though the weather was not quite right for lying on the beach all day with the occasional cooling swim. Actually the water is cold.

Setting off for part two we went to Onchan Park where the usual go-karting, motorboating, remote controlled boats, crazy golf, play park and ice creams filled the afternoon and gave us a healthy tan.

As we finished the boat set out from Douglas harbour bound for Heysham by all appearances.

Intrepid, adventurous, brave. All words used to describe the Davies gang on holiday. Today we walked up Peel Hill and carried on along the coastal path to Glen Maye.

An element of subterfuge was involved here. We stopped frequently on the way to the top of the hill. Mainly for me to catch my breath but also ostensibly for the kids. Stops involved the frequent distribution of energy giving sugary sweets, a flashback to my own childhood where my father would find packets of fruit pastilles left by the fairies behind rocks to keep me going on my way up Cader Idris, the mountain that towered over our home in Dolgellau.

The weather deteriorated on the way up Peel Hill,  having lulled us into a false sense of security at lunchtime. We all had decent waterproofs so the rain, only persistent and not lashing, did not really trouble us and having reached the initial objective of Corrin’s folly,  we stopped to assess the situation.

There was an moment where the defeatist faction, naming no names, wanted to return to Peel but the rest galvanized Hannah who led the “let’s keep going” movement and we continued south, assisted by the fact that it was all downhill.

The walk was a lot longer than anyone had bargained for.  We traversed treacherous cliff-tops which, had the wind been stronger, would not have made sense, skirted a field with a bull in it, had our bare legs attacked by nettles, gorse and brambles, climbed stiles and were constantly on the lookout for basking sharks in the sea  below.

In the wilderness beyond Peel we met nobody.  The coastal path itself seemed hardly a regular route. Not a beaten path. On one occasion I heard a cacophony of seagulls. Looking up I saw a flock trying to scare off a kestrel which ignored them and dropped in on an unseen prey.

 The weather turned out to be near perfect. Typically, I had forgotten the map so our destination, Glen Maye, was always around the next bend. Finally we arrived at Glen Maye beach.  Luxuriously empty.

We skimmed flat stones across the waves, leapt from slippery stepping stone to slippery stepping stone and spread ourselves out to dry in the sun.  After an appropriate pause we set off for the pub at the top of the glen where we met Tadcu who had come to take our weary limbs home.

It was a beautiful afternoon when we arrived at the Isle of Man.  Ice cream on the promenade weather. The following morning was a different story entirely.

Joe and I went to the quay immediately after breakfast to try our hand at fishing. The wind was far too strong and the couple of lads already there braving the elements did not stay long.  In fact our own expedition was a non starter because whilst I had packed the rods and the fishing box I had completely forgotten about the reels!

We retreated into Michael Street and found an all purpose outdoor activities shop that sold us a couple of cheap reels at £11.98 the pair. Just down the street a baker sold us a couple of sausage rolls that we had to protect from the rain as we ate them walking back to the car.

As the wet weather persisted the only recourse appeared to be a shopping trip into Douglas. This is somewhat of a recurring theme of our holidays in the Isle of Man. The sea on the front in Douglas was very violent and kept us entertained for five minutes or so, crashing onto the prom.  Good job we had arrived yesterday.

I survived the shopping trip and we retreated to Peel for the usual splendid lunch. The afternoon was a completely  different kettle of fish. We journeyed to Port Erin, ostensibly to find some amusements. In practice there were no amusements. As a breed of entertainment they are completely extinct in the Isle of Man which is a real shame because us kids used to love betting (5p) on the mechanical racehorses and dropping two pences into the “penny” falls. It’s no wonder really that they have all closed.

The afternoon weather in Port Erin was a complete contrast to the morning.  We had tea in our favourite end of the beach “Nook Café” and then player cricket on the sand. returning to Peel, Joe and Tadcu accompanied me for a bit of late afternoon fishing followed by a pint at “The Creek Inn”. Sitting outside the pub the sun was warming though the breeze was challenging. After dinner Anne and I enjoyed a walk down to the prom, over to Fenella Beach and back.  It is the same routine year after year – a winning recipe.

We arrived at Pier Head at almost exactly 10.30, the appointed hour for check in. Whilst not last to arrive we were near the back of the queue and seeing our trailer the attendant waved us into the “white van lane”. We weren’t sure if this was a good thing because being stuck behind a high sided white van we couldn’t see the queue ahead and in consequence had no idea whether the line ahead was moving.

Of course the line wasn’t moving and we stayed there for the usual interminable length of time, waiting. The waiting is a traditional part of getting on a ferry. It’s a bit of a lottery really. When you get into that queue there doesn’t seem to be any logic as to which lane moves first and therefore who gets on first.

Even if you do get on first that often means that you are parked in a dead end on the car deck that pretty much guarantees you are the last off. And nobody wants to get into that position. When the boat hits the jetty in the Isle of Man everyone is chomping at the bit to hit the road.

So this time we were in the white van queue and waiting…

When in the queue the dynamics in the car change. Suddenly everyone gets bored. The box of sandwiches, made by Anne at the crack of dawn for consumption on the boat, is breached and handed round. Anne wants to get out of the car. There is an interesting new building a hundred metres or so away. No no I say. They will all want to follow and what then happens when the lane starts moving?

Anne and Hannah settle for standing next to the car, stretching their legs after the 20 minute journey. Starlings break the boredom by looking for food on the wall next to the car. There is no food. Why don’t they go somewhere there is a bit of grass where there at least might be worms.

The man in the van behind us gets out and sits on the wall.  The cricket has not yet started on the radio. The kids start arguing.

At last we start moving, slowly, although when we get to the front we are waved through without the security checks that apply to white vans and we drive onboard.

The journey is smooth though not entirely uneventful because whilst we are at sea England beat the Aussies in the second test at Lords. The Niarbyl lounge is comfortable and almost empty. When we arrive in Douglas we are indeed one of the first off. Result!