“What have I got?” asked Mike in an excited weariness.
“A sausage roll,” replied Claire. “You can have one out of the pack of two. Dylan can have the other.”
“Brilliant, so I eat the same as a four year old.”
“Well, you can get something else in the shop if you want. I can’t remember everything.”
“We’re trying to save money. I’m not paying these service station prices for a Ginsters slice that costs twice as much as normal.”
“Well, there’s a bag of crisps in the car. Why don’t you have that as well.”
“No, it’s alright,” he said in a resigned sort of way. “I’ll have them when we get back on the road. Let’s just get the kids fed and we’ll get back on it, as soon as we can.”
“That’s what I was thinking as well. After all you can eat something more when you get to my mum and dad’s house if you want.”
“Yeah, alright.”
After another half an hour of feeding, weeing and changing, the family returned to their car to continue with the rest of their journey to Southampton. The traffic had been okay considering it was a Friday evening, but it always feels like a longer journey than it actually is. Over the last fifteen years, Mike had made this journey so many times that it really was beginning to feel monotonous now. The route had stayed the same throughout this time. M60, M56, M6, M42, M40, A34, M3, M27 and rest. It always surprised him why people would go any other way. He was an expert at this one route, and in his younger days he had set his record of three hours, but even now in his more responsible situation he could make the journey in three and a half hours. But now they had a new strategy of having dinner half way, at Warwick, this added another hour to the time, and so relatively it now felt a lot longer.
It’s interesting how, on a long journey of any sort, the time goes much slower at the beginning and then you adjust to the nothingness between A and B and, almost as in meditation, your mind opens up and great ideas can drop in, and the time can race on as you are completely absorbed in your own reverie.
It was an episode like this a couple of years ago when Mike first had the idea of how he could make this move really happen. He had been travelling back from Cambridge in the middle of the night, and he started to run through the sums on how much it would cost to live somewhere else, and more importantly do something different to his current day job as an accountant. The idea of moving to the Isle of Wight came later, during a family holiday there, but the initial idea of doing something different and breaking away from the norm had been planted in a similar driving trance. This time, however, the only thoughts running through his mind were the specifics of the itinerary that they would follow when they arrived in Cowes the following morning.
“Ok, so what time are we getting there?” he asked Claire, even though he knew already.
“I think it’s 10.30 in the morning, but you booked it,” replied Claire impatiently, as she had just begun to close her eyes.
“Yeah, yeah, that’s right. 10.30. And what’s first on the list of things to do?”
“We’ve got our first viewing at 1 o’clock, and we’ve then got to see another two with the same people.”
“So, shall we have an early lunch, say 11.30ish?” Mike was obsessed with meal times since they had the kids, and Sophie was so difficult to feed. “We could go to the Yellow Submarine. You know the one in Cowes?”
“Yeah, that sounds ok, and then we can go the house which is in Cowes anyway. So, perfect.”
“Cool. Where are the other houses?”
“I’ve told you all of this stuff already,” and she sighs, but then as Mike knew she would, she began to go through it all again. “All of these houses are in Cowes on the first day, and then we’re seeing some in Gurnard on Tuesday, and then we’re seeing the one on Rolls Hill on Wednesday.”
“Blimey,” said Mike as he puffed his cheeks out. “We’ve also got to fit the schools in as well. When are they?”
Claire gives him one of those looks, “There’s no point me telling these things to you,” and she pauses and takes a deep breath. “We’re going to see Gurnard Primary on Tuesday morning, we’re then going to see Hunny Hill on Wednesday, and Medina House for Sophie on Thursday. I don’t know why I bother.”
Mike remained silent after this and his attention was briefly brought back to the road in front of him and more specifically an Electrical van moving across three lanes to come off at a junction.
“I can’t wait for us to have sorted all of this stuff out,” said Mike as his mind came back to the conversation.
“I just hope we do get it sorted this week,” said Claire doubtfully. “Because if we don’t get anything this week, then I don’t want to have to rely on Rightmove to choose a house. That would be rubbish. But we have to get it soon because we then need to tell the schools our address. If we can’t find a house when we’re there then it’s going to be a nightmare.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll find something,” assured Mike. “The island’s full of houses and we just need one for six months. It’s a piece of cake. If it’s not ideal then so what. As long as it’s there, then everything else can begin to happen. It’ll be good, trust me.”
Claire looked out of the window watching the cars moving in front of her, with an unconvinced look etched on her face, and then closed her eyes for a second attempt at a quick snooze.
It had been a long morning already when the ferry finally arrived at the dock in East Cowes at ten thirty the next day. Mike and Claire had left the New Forest suburbs of Marchwood at 8:30am expecting there to be a lot of traffic on the roads, given that it was rush hour and that there were some road works near the ferry terminal. Instead it was a completely clear run and they had been waiting for 45 minutes before being waved in to the car hold in the bowels of Red Osprey.
The sun was enjoying a rare outing that summer, so the family had sat outside on the deck for the one hour crossing, and although a bit of a wind, they had found it very pleasant. This had led to them being in a holiday mood as the car bounced off the ramp of the ferry, and instead of crossing into West Cowes via the small chain bridge, they decided to drive the long way.
They then spent another hour in the car driving first to Newport and then the long way back round to Cowes, taking in Porchfield and Gurnard, scouting for houses as they went. Dylan was beginning to get tired of sitting in the car and had started getting irritated, which then manifest itself in irritating Mike and Claire.
The Co-Op car park in Cowes could not come soon enough, as they all clambered out of the car and walked through West Cowes to the cafe. It was called Octopus’ Garden, which felt strange to Mike given that it was painted yellow and had the cartoon characters of the Yellow Submarine on the outside.
“Well, it should be called Yellow Submarine, shouldn’t it?” questioned Mike to himself, knowing that Claire couldn’t care less if it was called Octopus’ Garden, Yellow Submarine or Back in the USSR.
After lunch, in which most of Dylan’s meal was put in a box for later that day, they all walked back down West Cowes high street and drove up to where they were meeting the Estate Agent, outside a house at the top of Mill Hill Rd.
“Oh, it’s a bit like our house at home,” mentioned Claire kindly, although in their minds they were thinking there’s no way that we’re going to stay here. It was very small and they were asking a lot for it, and the fittings were old and there was no real garden to speak of. The Estate Agent could tell that there was no match here, and after a few kind reasons, “we really need a downstairs toilet”, and “we’re looking for more garden”, and “we won’t get all of our furniture in here,” they drew a line under it and moved on.
The next place was just down the road so they agreed to meet the agent outside it.
“There’s no way we’re living there,” Claire began, when they returned to the car. “It was horrible.”
“I know,” agreed Mike. “I hope the next one’s better than that. Did you see the kitchen?”
“Hmmm. The next one looks quite good in the photos, fingers crossed it’s alright.”
“It just doesn’t fit the image I’ve got in my head of living on the island,” said Mike. “I don’t know, it’s just that it looks pretty normal, really. Do you know what I mean?”
“Yeah, but remember it’s only for six months.”
“True, but we’ve got to be able to get better than that. Where did he say this place was?”
“Turn left here, there he is.”
This time the car pulled up around the back of a house where there was room for off-road parking. They then walked around the front to meet up with the Agent. It looked nice from the outside, a Victorian Semi, the type that, ironically, fills the Manchester streets. The first thing that Mike noticed was the great view of the sea as the road rolled down the hill and ended in the water. This was more like the vision in his head.
As they walked first around the ground floor, then the middle floor, it became clear that this house was very similar to the one that they had been used to living in, with its high ceilings, good dimensions and character features. The two loft rooms held a nice surprise, due to their elevated position they both had fantastic views, and the one to the rear looked over the sea.
“What’s that muck hanging from the curtain rail?” Mike turned and asked Claire smiling to himself. Claire noticed a Portsmouth scarf hanging on the curtains and so did the Estate Agent.
“What’s wrong with that?” asked the Estate Agent.
“Oh, know, you’re not a Portsmouth fan, are you?”
“Yeah, why, I take it you’re a ...”
“Yeah, a Saints fan...”
“You’ll find that the island’s pretty much half and half. The east side’s Portsmouth and the West side’s Southampton, Cowes is pretty much split down the middle.”
“Yeah, I suppose it is. I’ll have to remember to be careful with these comments. I’m used to people not even knowing where the two clubs are, let alone bothered by what you say about them.” Mike made a mental note to himself for when he moves there for good and then moved on.
They then took in the garden, which had a large concrete seating area and then vegetable patch and turf beyond. Not the largest of gardens but enough outdoor space to enjoy.
“This place rules out the first one, for definite,” said Mike as they sat back in the car.
“Yeah, I really liked it too,” said Claire. “What did you like about it, Dylan?”
“I liked the swing. Does a little boy live there?” asked Dylan.
“I think there probably is,” answered Mike.
“Can I have the swing?”
“We’ll definitely get you a swing wherever we go, but we need to go round a few more houses before we can decide on which one we’ll live in. Is that ok?”
“Yeah, I’m OK Daddy.”
“Good boy.”
It was then a short drive to the next house which was very similar but a bit smaller than the last one. It had recently been renovated though and the finish really was first class. It also had the additional benefit of a toilet downstairs, which the last one didn’t have. But the one factor that ruled this house off their list was the lack of parking outside the house. Like many Victorian terrace houses, the front door was directly on the pavement, and because of their need to have the car close to access with Sophie, the house was scratched from the list.
Sophie fell asleep whilst being carried by Mike in this house, and by the time they had arrived back at the car, the weather had become really hot and muggy, Mike’s back was killing him from carrying Sophie for twenty minutes, and to top it off, they had received a parking ticket from parking in a Disabled bay but not paying for a ticket as well. It was their fault for not looking at the sign, and this made it feel even worse.
A mystery house was offered up by the Estate Agent as a potential that he was just on his way round to take photos of, it was a converted church in St Marks Corner, which is a bit off the beaten track. So they decided to drive the three miles to try and find it.
It certainly provided a large amount to think about. It had half an acre of garden and there was a balcony overlooking a great Solent view, with uninterrupted fields between. But in the end they decided that it just wouldn’t work for them, and although it was a difficult decision to make because there were some real wow factors about it, in the end they had to be practical.
By the time they checked in to their holiday accommodation it was 3:30pm and they had been on the go since 7:30 in the morning. The children had spent most of this in the back seat of their MPV, and everyone was hot, tired and bored, and to make it worse they then had to unpack the carload of bags that they had brought with them.
Mike could be found wandering away from the car with another collection of boxes and bags in his hands muttering something under his breath. Claire was in the kitchen unloading the food in between shouting at Dylan for jumping all over the new exciting furniture, and whinging about the absence of any towels provided. All in all it was not a scene of family bliss.
They then had to go shopping to get the bulk of the food and finally the errands were over. They cooked dinner, and tried to make it up to the kids with a journey to the park but by then the time was past seven o’clock in the evening, and the kids were beyond tired. So, they came home and eventually Mike and Claire were able to talk through their thoughts on the day at 9 o’clock in the evening.
As they sat outside in the dusky dark they decided that house number two, the Victorian Semi, was number one on their list and without the energy to sort out the next day’s plan, they drew a close to an incredibly hectic day.
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