BBC Sounds, Music, Radio, podcasts.

The Beatles song, Ticket to Ride, which I know you know, has nothing to do with Ride,

R-Y-D-E, despite what many people assumed.

John wrote it and the words were a psychedelic fantasy, but Paul did write a song, which clearly

has a reference to the Isle of Wight.

It's in When I'm 64 and he refers to renting a cottage on the Isle of White if it's not too dear.

Riders got five miles at least of flas, sandy, safe beaches and bays and pubs,

which make a wonderful walk, especially in wintertime,

when the trippers have tripped away and the fun fair has gone to sleep.

There are people who prefer looking at a blank sea, seeing nothing, water, water everywhere, feeling alone with nature.

I like to see things, to spot things, imagine things, to see painted ships upon a painted ocean.

That's how it looks if you stare at the picture out across the Solon from the Isle of Wight.

So many ships of all shapes and sizes, poises and purposes, gleaming cruise liners, loads of yachts, of course, gliding from cows,

but also stately tankers and smokestack coasters, chugging up the solace on the wild winter days.

It doesn't get all that wild. I have yet to see high seas, not on right anyway, but then I've only

bought a house here two years ago, so what do I know?

Some of the tankers are monsters. The first time I spotted a really big tanker, I was convinced

that a row of terrace houses across the water, five miles away in Portsmouth, was moving towards me.

The tide goes out for almost a mile each day, and the sand formation and the pools are always

different.

Just as old fingerprints are different, I always smile when I spot one of the Parmesan follies.

These are artificial fortified little islands out in the middle of the Solent.

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