THIS ISLAND LIFE
WHEN you work among mainlanders for long enough, you realise just how quirky some of them believe the Island to be.
Go to YouTube and search for 'IOW parody of Lily Allen song’ if it’s proof you’re after. It’s hilarious.
There’s a temptation for Islanders to play up to the image — something I did shamelessly for a number of years.
As a result, I had some gullible folk half believing we enjoyed a sub-tropical climate and our winter temperatures were way higher than the rest of the United Kingdom.
When they responded with a dubious pout, I would tell them all about our micro-climate and the success of Ventnor Botanic Garden. "They wouldn’t invest all that money in the place if all the rare plants were going to die off in the winter, would they? It stands to reason the Island must be warmer than the rest of Britain."
My grasp of matters floricultural usually seemed to do the trick but, this year, I became a tad over-confident and told one friend about the family swimming sessions Islanders often took part in on Christmas Day.
"Oh yes, there’s nothing more enjoyable than a quick dip before your Christmas dinner. It’s common practice in many Island families — including ours," I chirruped.
"I’ll put good money on the fact it isn’t," came the reply and a bet was struck.
I had to provide photographic evidence to win the £50 — which is why I enlisted the help of my son-in-law, John Barry, his brother, James, and their mate, Chris Westbrook.
They are pictured here joyfully frolicking in the surf on Shanklin beach on Christmas morning.
The pleasure can be seen glowing from their faces immediately after they had submerged beneath the warm and welcoming waves for the first time.
The wager stipulated only one member of the family had to be seen taking part, otherwise I’d have been only too happy to join them.
But someone had to hold the towels and take the photographs, didn’t they?
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| Godfrey 'Knocker’ White, left, and Mick Sivell. |
A brush with a distant style
Those who thought luxuriant quiffs started in the Eighties with the likes of Tears for Fears and Spandau Ballet should take a look at this picture of two of the Island’s finest exponents.
These two cool dudes (circa 1960) were attending a function at the Oddfellows Hall in Ryde and I suspect both were drinking 'boilers’ (pints of brown ale and mild for the uninitiated).
The picture was supplied by Godfrey 'Knocker’ White and also features the unmistakable Mr Michael Sivell.
Mick seems to have gone for the uncomplicated quiff (a la Bobby Vee) while Knocker’s was a far more exotic and ambitious creation.
Note how it curled inwards and upwards from each side before meeting in Brylcreemed disarray at the front.
I shall be attending Mr Sivell’s 70th birthday celebrations at Salvatore’s restaurant tomorrow evening and it’s bound to be teeming with some of Ryde’s most amusing and entertaining characters.
I suspect I may well have a yarn or two to tell next week — if I can remember any of them …
A Christmas card with the stamp of shame about it
There’s nothing I enjoy more than spending a few hours in a friend’s home, being plied with food and drink.
It is a pastime to which I’ve become gratefully accustomed and we have several pals who are stunningly talented when it comes to looking after the inner man.
The extra calories this festive season came courtesy of Shanklin gastronomes Mick and Tracy Bull and their cousins, Liz and Brab Bull, and it was at the latter’s home the curse of the Christmas card struck.
I had just settled into my chair, when the man of the house approached carrying an envelope which looked vaguely familiar.
"Have a nice Christmas did you?" asked Brab, the essence of affability as always.
"Lovely thanks. And you?"
The smile clouded over a little. "Well, it was going all right until we had a little unexpected expenditure."
It was then he flourished the envelope at all the other guests. "He only sent us a Christmas card with no stamp on didn’t he?
"It cost us £1.30 to find out we shouldn’t have bothered to go and get it. I bet you won’t be reading about that in his bloody column next week!"
The shame was great. Fortunately, the food was even greater.