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Sadly this time, the TV on the ferry over to the Isle of Wight had no cock-headed man of Brading Roman Villa for us to snigger at. You can’t have everything, and as it’s a sunny day on everybody’s favourite retro-racist holiday utopia, we won’t be too disheartened. Off the boat and out of the station, along a long, bleak pier; green with age and almost empty, and at the end of it? Ryde; the town on the other side of the Solent from Portsmouth.

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Like the other bits of the Island we’ve been to, Ryde retains an old-fashioned, slightly musty and moth-eaten air, like velvet curtains in a long-abandoned dancehall, heavy and hushed. There are some lovely old Victorian buildings and plenty of twirly wrought-iron colonnades. A few chotzke shops are creeping in, but they haven’t reached the biddy heights of Cath Kidston yet, just some generic tealights and vague white, driftwoody items. There are also a large number of bad boutiques.

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Victoria Arcade is a fascinating building with a beautiful domed ceiling at its top and a museum of Ryde heritage at its bottom. There are also various independent shops, including one specialising in breweriana and crammed with long-forgotten logos and other interesting ephemera. Sadly, the other shop selling vintage collectibles in the arcade lets itself down by not only selling the IOW’s most popular keepsake, the golliwog, not only selling WWII Nazi memorabilia but also selling contemporary items with Nazi insignia. Won’t bother buying anything from them then.

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From there we move onto the Donald McGill postcard museum. Donald McGill produced some of the best known saucy seaside postcards and is associated with Ryde due to a spate of police raids and seizures of McGill cards in 1953 in the town under the Obscene Publications Act. The museum is tiny and eccentric; at the back of a cafe called The Orrery and through a vintage turnstile. Most of the jokes on the cards are incomprehensible and often revolve around the hilarity of women being overweight. There are odd almost-double entrendres a-plenty (not rude words, but words that just sound as if they should be rude). A fat woman whose child is hidden by her size, says “I can”t see my little Charlie” – since when is a Charlie a vagina? Another buxom lady says,“I’m making curtains for my back sitting room” (She’s talking about her bloomers! ROFL!). Nhung asks “So is her Charlie also her front room?” It’s all very confusing.

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We stop to try and make sense of it all at Le Croute cafe and meet our old Lost Prom friends and Isle of Wight correspondents Ian and Tina, who then accompany us through town for a foray into the charity shops. There’s nothing mega-interesting, in fact Nhung – in a first for the Lost Prom, buys nothing at all. We do spot a funny little Dr Who theme shop and a couple of stores catering for the mod attendees of the town’s regular scooter rallies, including one called Boots and Camo, which mainly sells just that. As we get further into town, the prosperous outer layers seems to flake and scab and we start to see more boarded-up buildings. The town still retains an untroubled-by-modern-concerns air though. A full-scale race riot could occur on the roundabout and the locals would probably still respond with a quiet “tsk tsk” as the petrol bombs whizzed by, pausing only to make commemorative golliwogs to mark the occasion.

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We cut through a residential area back to the seafront, which is fairly featureless, just an unattractive ice rink and bowling alley. There is however an odd little shop on the front, long-closed and abandoned apart from its window display, which seems to have been left in-situ since the 1960s. Plastic novelties almost obscured by thick, grey dust, like a seaside tat shop version of Pompeii, knicker elastic and headless dolls. In some ways it’s an encapsulation of the Isle of Wight . Except it’s probably the only shop on the island not to sell golliwogs.

pier head

Lost

Evacuee paper doll set and Agatha Christie bookmark (would have bought them, but the shop sold Nazi memorabilia so left in disgust)

Nhung’s hat – nearly

Anything for Nhung to buy in a charity shop

Almost the ferry home again (once more we had to leg it down the pier)

Found

Girl comic playing cards

4 vintage postcards

Watneys Red Barrel glass and coaster

Janet Jackson single

Old friends

Lots of shops selling racist knick-knacks

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beach huts

beach huts

Bournemouth is not renowned for an exotic, exciting reputation, but God knows it’s got more going for it than its satellite neighbourhoods. So quite why the Lost Prom decided to head in the wrong direction out of the train station for a long and boring walk into the suburb of Boscombe, rather than for the perhaps more varied pleasures of Bournemouth, is unknown, or at least, lost in memory. Boscombe is also known as Bosghanistan or the Costa Del Dole. It has a small pier, a café called Hamburgerology and a reptilarium. And that’s about it apart from some of the most tooth-grindingly ugly, Play Doh-faced human cold showers the Lost Prom has ever seen. In the ugly townsfolk Top 10, Boscombe scores even higher than Margate and Portslade.

It hadn’t started well; when we meet at the station, Nhung is ill, and this time it’s not due to overindulgence the night before. She has no feeling in her fingers and is almost weeping with exhaustion. It’s looking doubtful we’ll do the trip, but despite losing one of her gloves before we even set off, Nhung bravely rallies and we embark. Once on the train and warmer, she perks up and we amuse ourselves on the journey by doing personality quizzes in the paper, finishing – helped by new Lost Promenade friend, Melita – with a record result in the Guardian Weekend quiz. We are stared at intently and intensely by a woman as we change trains in Havant, but this is what happens in Havant.

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So back to Boscombe and the first thing we witness is a child with the most hacking cough we’ve ever heard. Galloping consumption in Peacocks jeggings and jelly sandals and from there on, an unendingly clompy parade of obesity and glumness. However, there are some nice art deco buildings, a second hand book shop and a record store so it’s not a total dead end. The charity shops aren’t very impressive, although there is a moment of drama in one, (run by a gentleman resembling The Old Man of the Mountain), when Tamsin manages to knock over a huge shelf of videos. Just like the clichés say, the shelf collapses magnificently backwards, in extreme slow motion. We spend the next 15 minutes, crimson-faced, picking up copies of King Ralph and Heartbeat Series 1-29 and after that, we don’t dare go into a tiny store stuffed with china in the shopping arcade, or even a shop that sells giant Y-fronts for Yetis.

meat auction

meat auction

Despite the unpromising surroundings, Tamsin and Melita are giggly and excitable, just enjoying the whole surreal school trip feeling that a Lost Prom trip always has. And Nhung finds a new pair of gloves so she’s more cheery too. On all our trips so far, there’s always been something to delight and this time is no exception, because we suddenly come upon Boscombe’s cultural highlight – its meat auction! This is what passes for street entertainment here. You can buy 150 chicken nuggets for £10 and the auctioneer performs to the enraptured crowd like he’s sunk his life savings into an Edinburgh Festival show. At one point he loudly suspects the notebook and camera-armed Lost Prom of working for the Child Support Agency. We decide to leave without any processed flesh, although the market does have some very keenly-priced avocados.

Boscombe Pier

Boscombe Pier

We head to the seafront, and we immediately know we’re in a more gentrified area when we overhear a little girl say in ringing, plummy tones, ‘I think it’s perfectly hot Daddy’. Unfortunately, although less grimy than the town, the seafront is pretty dull. The pier, with its 1950s aircraft wing style design at the front isn’t very spectacular. And although the beach is nice, it’s given an apocalyptic tone by a ton of construction work that’s going on. However, we do pass some lovely buildings on the other side, including the beautiful Deco Cumberland Hotel.

under construction

under construction

Finally we end up in Bournemouth proper and it’s not really worth the wait. Its pier has been ruined by modern ‘improvements’,-glassed in and unromantic, and the seafront is awash with a mish mash of modern architecture, all sterile, all horrid. Instead of seedy little seaside cafés, there is only a Harry Ramsdens. By this time the Lost Prom are ravenous, but we can’t for the life of us find a decent caff. We pass up through the well-kept pleasure gardens and into the high street, but not a sniff. Even the Obscura Cafe, which once housed a camera obscura looks shit, fronted by a couple of tacky statuettes. In the end we settle on a pub, the Goat and Tricycle, which is marred by big-screen sport everywhere and unremarkable food.

Bournemouth pier

Bournemouth pier

Another one of Bournemouth’s satellites, Sandbanks, in contrast to Boscombe, is the 4th most expensive place in the world to buy property, and in a survey in 2007, Bournemouth residents came out as the happiest in the UK. However, to the Lost Prom, despite the meat auction, it just didn’t feel, well seasidey enough. Bournemouth town centre felt characterless and lacking in blood, and Boscombe was probably a bit too bloody. This is of course, deeply unfair. But hey, so is life sometimes. Especially if you’re a chicken.

beach huts?

beach huts?

Lost

Glove

Guardian Guide

Any decent cafés

Lou Diamond Phillips (allegedly in Bournemouth that weekend for a sci-fi convention, but we never spied him)

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Found

China poodle shoebrush

4 children’s’ books

‘In Search of England’ by H. V. Morton

Set of 2 botany books (‘Wayside and Woodland Blossoms’ ) with beautiful illustrations

3 avocados

Black dinner jacket with interesting buttons

Lady man-hand gloves

Barbara Cartland Guide to Etiquette book

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