So this is sunny Sicily ...

No it isn't, it's sunny Douglas. When the flights were cancelled, brisk Barbara said we shouldn't stay home and sulk but head the other way and do something we'd long talked about; catch the Heysham ferry - possibly the only ferry without long queues this week - to the Isle of Man.

But, you say, there are no vineyards on the Isle of Man. So why am I writing?

I write because I just must extol the virtue of always, if you can, packing a couple of half bottles of Champagne. It was Hugh Johnson himself who taught me this habit. I saw him unpacking them from his suitcase in a hotel room somewhere, long ago. "Lad"... (And to this day, he still calls me 'Lad'... I'm a Northerner you see. By Gum!).. "Lad, there are few situations that cannot be greatly improved by a little Champagne".

After Peel Castle, the Monument and cliff walk, I felt I'd earned that half of Laithwaite bubbly with my very fresh crab bap from the lady by the vast sunny beach occupied solely by us and the herring-gull family.

And after the 'high' of the steam train trip to Port St Mary..., the 'low' of walking, hungry, into that silent village, then the joy of finding the lads in Paddy's fish market and factory who'd not only sell us huge helpings of the Queenies they were shelling, but pan fry them - with a salad - for £4! And lend us champagne flutes! Well, the herring gulls lost out again as, alone, by the harbour... we got sunburnt. But what a memorable fizz-enhanced moment!

Thanks H.J.

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