length of an island on fumes

The Isle of Wight isn't that big. About 27 miles along the long side. We'd been visiting friends at the far eastern end and needed to get back to the ferry, which was close to the far western end.

"Almost Empty" chimed a little display in the car as it made three ding sounds.

"It'll be fine", responded the driver. We were on our way to our friends' place at this point.

Several hours later, we left and the car did it's little bing again. Still no urgency, but a special route back across the island. I was intrigued that we drove for what seemed like an hour but didn't go past any petrol stations.

I would try not to say anything or panic.

"That's unusual", came the response. "Most of the petrol stations have either closed and gone, or are closed for the evening."

We reached the ferry. No petrol stations. We drove past the ferry to the next town. No petrol stations. I could lean across and see the little dial on empty. Next to the yellow warning light and the Special Warning Message. Past the first empty line marking and hovering on the second empty line marking.

I tried to admire the sunset. To imagine not having to walk along a deserted road trying to find a place to get a "gallon" of fuel in a metal container.

We headed back to the ferry, silently noting the extra 14 mile round trip we'd just done to two extra petrol free towns. We parked in the lane for the ferry.

Would it start again to get us onto the ferry? Would the remaining fumes be enough to get us off the ferry when we returned to the mainland?

During the crossing we asked someone how far it was to the nearest petrol station on the mainland. He gave us comprehensive instructions which included a couple of phrases like "then go along the really long stretch to the nearest roundabout."

We drank coffee and waited for the ferry to reach the terminal. Then back to the car. Would it start again?

all about the bike

Back to the seaside today, across to the Island ahead of tomorrow's appointment at Queen Victoria's old house. Yesterday saw a late finish in order to get everything done and despite the holiday season there seems to be plenty happening at work, which is keeping me busy.

On the ferry I started reading the bicycle book by Rob Penn, about his construction of a purpose built machine woven with the history of the bicycle. It's way more fanciful than any of my construction projects, but I can identify with the ingenuity.

Coincidentally, and to the amusement of others, a few weeks ago I ordered some 'bike parts' which arrived in an oversized un-smuggle-able box and have since been quietly assembling another machine in the garage. By comparison with the book's £3,500 budget, my paltry expenditure pales into insignificance, but I have a sneaking suspicion its almost as much fun (alright, without the travel to exotic locations to acquire headsets and sprockets).

But my cycle construction project must wait as I am away again for the next couple of weekends, although I have already finished reading the book, which I think only re-inforces the need to ride around on two wheels.

wired for pedals

The new little key thingy for the London Cycle Hire scheme arrived today. Its another radio frequency device that needs to be touched to the new bike stands to release the bikes.

We've all seen the stands being added around London, but its a few days before the bikes turn up. It should be an interesting experience to see how well this works and whether it adds to the bike-friendliness of London.

I've already checked the map for the nearest stands, but the map adds mysteriously that they may not all be shown. I've added the dongle to my keyring, and worked out that including car keys, I have six microprocessor based systems on my key ring now, plus an oyster card and my separate office access card.

Well wired or well weird?

quite a normal day really

...not quite sure where some of it went, though.

steaming

We headed back to the Smoke on Sunday afternoon.

I was still in the borrowed silver car but had acquired two extra passengers.

We'd left the sporty convertible at the farm and it was to be picked up again on Tuesday and driven to Cornwall. I needed to be back at work on Monday and then on to a rendezvous in an Italian restaurant for Monday evening.

So from a chilled out weekend, we were all soon back on our individual mini-agendas for the rest of the week.

But only after I'd taken my hostages to look at a steam railway on the way back.

Joey the Lips

We'd rocked the evening away yesterday, to a mix of jazz and funk as well as some improbable "anarchy in the UK" style folk-punk on a combination of electric mandolins and double bass.

I'd been sipping rather than guzzling which meant I could survive with little more than aching feet. Others were less fortunate and needed to lie down on the nearest grass.

By the time we'd all cleared our heads on Sunday, it was nearly time for lunch, so we ambled to the shoreline, which I described as a perfect landing spot for space cruisers. Others were bemused by this, but I'd just seen an old steam locomotive running along the opposite side of the river estuary and remarked that the landscape changes with different features of modernity. No-one thinks a row of moored pleasure cruisers and yachts is unusual nowadays, so why not have a few space craft parked there in a hundred years time?

The lunch was delicious.

ness

"Cock a doodle doo" started the day.

I was in time to see the amusing antics of the chickens leaving their hen-houses in the morning. It's like they all queue up behind the door to run out in a chaotic scramble of sizes and shapes. Then, after they shake themselves off, they start their earnest pecking around the yard.

Some of us were down by the sea, though, chicken-less, but with ships to spy and three cornered hats to wear. We'd be moving soon enough to a field for the day, but right now it was working out whether we'd need waterproofs or sunscreen.

in which we flee to the country

We were down on the farm for Friday night.

I held one of the well-behaved chickens to see whether we saw eye-to-eye. It was fine until they sighted some wet bread and broke into a frenzy of crust grabbing.

Later our increasing gang took ourselves off to an adjacent open air table to sip some local ale and chatter. It was still early evening and hectic London a few hours behind us took a moments to flee as we became adjusted to our rural surroundings.

loaner car heralds large bill

My car was whisked away for its "D +" Service a couple of days ago.

I could tell it would be expensive because the normal service is a very reasonably priced "A". I also had a couple of little extra things to get fixed, like the driver mirror motor which had stopped working (not that I use it much) and another warning message which had popped up.

"Ring Ring," went the phone later in the day as the friendly main dealer called me. "The other warning is because the complicated high tech computerised braking system control unit needs to be replaced and they cost £900".

Gulp.

"...But the good news is the car manufacturer will pay for it; no charge to you."

Good news.

"So I'm arranging for you to have a loan car because yours will be with us longer whilst we get the part/fit it etc".

Two hours later the delivery driver arrived with the loan car with its "new car" smell and six wiggly manual gears. End of day I drove it home, marvelling at the Thunderbirds style pop-up Sat-Nav and the way it pestered me to get my phone number for its bluetooth.

I'll admit to a few kangaroo moments with the gearbox. I'm used to manual shifts, but my normal car is an automatic, and the extra gear seemed somehow one shift too many, along with a little graphic on the speedo which kept suggesting to me when I should change up to a higher gear.

I realised again that I'm really one of the people that likes a car to 'drive me' rather than having to drive the car.

Its probably not very "Top Gear" but I'll be looking forward to getting my car back...Once fixed, I'm pretty sure it will again drive better than the loaner. Not bad for 120,000 miles on the clock.

trading statues

Trading statues today as I headed back to London in time for some meetings this afternoon. After the return landmark strewn ride to Leonardo da Vinci airport, I found myself as the solitary business person in the midst of holiday makers and large parties of school children.

I'm usually good at zoning out at airports, but as I queued for the flight, I could't help notice the sheer decibels of mayhem around me.

Then a sequence from one of those Guy Ritchie films. Flight. iPhone movies. Iris eye scan. Meeting. Car. Traffic Jams. Meeting. Car. Home.

more of the sweet life

An eight o' clock start, but my first meeting was by phone, so I managed to grab a small room service breakfast whilst I was on the call.

Then to the main lobby, to meet others before the main session started. The main meeting was scheduled to run through to 7pm before we were to adjourn to a nearby restaurant at around 8pm.

We did pause for lunch and emerged blinking into the heat and sunlight of Roma, where we sat at a street-side cafe before restarting the session. To others we may have looked relaxed, but it was all still part of our shop-talk.

Suffice to say we finished the main session late, with enough time to return to the room, drop off miscellaneous papers and then head directly to a special rooftop restaurant in the nearby Via Vittorio Veneto. Elegantly prepared Sicilian specialities in the Roman street that featured the paparazzi of the Fellini film.

And the start of a night in Rome.

la dolce vita

"Would you like the air-conditioning switched on?" asked the taxi driver in Italian.

I thought I'd heard a 'whoosh' sound as the car door had opened and the pent up heat hit me like a stun grenade. It was 33C outside but I think the driver was storing heat for the winter.

"Prego!" I uttered, realising I wouldn't have enough Italian to last me into the centre of Roma.

The driver floored it and entered the traffic system at Formula 1 speeds. I think he was trying for a personal best as he swept me along the Autostrada, then joggling through roundabouts, skittering across cobblestones and eventually past famous landmarks. The Coliseum, The Roman Forum, The Trevi Fountain, Piazza Repubblica and eventually to a posh hotel.

Probably a world record for sight-seeing during a taxi ride, and I've little idea how everything I glimpsed linked together. I realise that although I've been to Rome several times, I only have an episodic knowledge of it rather than any real sense of the geography.

Then to a florid room with its own rather excessive chandelier but I was more preoccupied to fire up the wifi and deal with the charts and diagrams I needed for tomorrow's meeting.