Richard Hearn takes the family to the Isle Of Wight

We are 24 hours into our mini break, and have just reached our accommodation. You’re imagining we’re on the other side of the world, aren’t you? We’re actually on the Isle of Wight having spent last night in Southampton.

The Boy likes a random hotel stay, wherever it is. At the Premier Inn, there is one bed in the room which is – let’s face it – a mattress squeezed onto the floor space. This is a delight to The Boy however, who judges a place a success if the height of his bed is unexpectedly different. (He’s a fan of bunk beds too.)

I’ve just remembered he previously was delighted at the depressing services on the M3. “Can we come back here again? This is great!” he exclaimed, mainly on account that there was a carpeted area that he and Youngest™ could circle around on like wildcats, and the fact that he got to have a slice of his Mum’s unwanted ham as a ‘pudding’ to his own meal.
We needn’t have brought toys. The Boy and Youngest™ are thankfully finding pleasure in what would be bland pragmatic features on an architect’s plan. After finding joy in a soulless long corridor in the hotel, next up is the car park, where much fun is to be had on a green concrete wheelchair ramp, and a low wall, painted yellow. It means they’re in a good mood as we head for the ferry.

The ferry is admittedly more exotic. The time is divided between watching passing yachts and Youngest™ wanting me to carry him around following a man inside a monkey costume. (I’ve just re-read that sentence, so let me stress: it’s the other man who’s inside the monkey costume; I’m not wearing the monkey costume following the man.)

On the Isle of Wight, we stop at a village for lunch and there is a clay shop. Outside a sign invites passersby to help themselves to tiny spare bricks. Youngest™ and The Boy take two each, which they use to amuse themselves for half an hour on a nearby piece of grass.

I had been worrying our villa would be cramped, but space-wise it’s fine. I wouldn’t exactly recommend it in other senses. Soon after, I realise I haven’t seen The Boy for a while. Youngest™ shows me by running into one of the bedrooms, getting in the wardrobe and closing the door behind him. When I open it, there they both are, cross-legged and happy, The Boy with his DS and Youngest with Noddy in an aeroplane. I needn’t have worried about space, after all. They seem to only need the base of a wardrobe which I’m estimating at 50cm by 80cm.
Now that’s entertainment.