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Isle of Wight Trip

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A weekend of the Isle of Wight seemed a peaceful idea. As I look at my sand-filled trainers, my bruised and battered leg, and my dust-covered car, I can safely say that I’m utterly worn out. Michelle and I trundled off on Friday night, and after a 1/2 hour drive (I swear we were driving round in circles – the island isn’t THAT big, surely…) we arrived at the beginning of a small farm track. Another 20 minutes after that (yes, it was plainly the world’s longest farm track) we found the cottage, in the middle of nowhere…
A visit to an animal sanctuary (where Michelle’s mum cracked some frankly appalling Toucan jokes), a visit to the beach (where my grand masterpiece of a sand-sculpted World Trade Center was roundly poo-pooed) and a visit to the Isle of Wight’s brave attempt at Alton Towers all came thick and fast in the next 36 hours and finally, bruised and battered, Michelle and I spooned ourselves into the car for the long trip back home.