Elegance in Ventnor

We crossed the Solent at midnight, across a sheet of clear water-glass, where the only sounds were the hooting of owls in Hampshire and the constant whirr of the drinks vending machine.

We awoke in Freshwater bay, Isle of Wight, and after a late breakfast with our hosts B and M, set off for the Victorian seaside resort of Ventnor, on the South coast. The weather was sizzling, and the charity shops yielded some fabulous booty, as we made our way down to the esplanade. Once there, I was forced to sample not one, but two, different flavours of Minghella's ice cream. I chose maple walnut and cappuccino, while CleanSteve had honey and ginger. I gave mine 5*, and CleanSteve rated his 3.5.

The town beach was full of British holidaymakers with buckets, spades, rugs, mugs, wriggly babies, fat ladies, parasols and other paraphernalia, and the mood was friendly and relaxed. I was not, however, tempted to paddle, after reading the warning notices about weever fish. Once bitten...and I have been, in Wales!

At a seafront cafe, we glimpsed this elegantly-dressed lady, complete with 21 st century phone and early 20th century costume. Is she an actress? a re-enactress? a lace-and-poodle follower of fashion from another, more distant era?

So far, I have steered clear of people-shots. Shoes, porridge bowls, and tombstones are all fair game, as is wildlife, but people...however, neither the rooftops and lighthouse of St Catherine's, nor the crumbling cliffs of Blackgang chine, could compete with the studied elegance of Ventnor's most unusual visitor.