{"id":54692,"date":"2025-06-21T08:00:00","date_gmt":"2025-06-21T07:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/?p=54692"},"modified":"2025-07-10T15:25:43","modified_gmt":"2025-07-10T14:25:43","slug":"from-currywurst-to-sorry-sauce-by-way-of-normandy-part-5","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/?p=54692","title":{"rendered":"From Currywurst to Sorry Sauce by Way of Normandy (Part 5)"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
\"\"<\/a>
Just your typical, tiny road in Portsmouth.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

In the wet and wild places of the world, things tend to grow. Not in Portsmouth. As The Mathematician and I make our way at night down familiar but unvisited roads, we can’t get over how low the houses sit, how squashed they look.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Is it subsidence?” I say, astounded. “It used to be marshland here \u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“It was always like this,” says The Mathematician. \u201cI noticed when I first came over.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“But this small?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She nods.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“You’ve got used to German Mehrfamilienh\u00e4user. They\u2019re all just two floors here. With low ceilings.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The effect is mesmerising. The more streets we pass, the greater the feeling I\u2019m inside some giant Portsea Island model.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMaybe it\u2019s the streetlights.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s not.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We walk past front gardens a mere metre wide. Some walls are only as high as my knee.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s not going to keep anybody out,\u201d I mutter, but I\u2019m missing the point. As a kid, I remember walking past houses with front doors that opened directly onto the pavement and thinking they were somehow \u2026 wrong. A garden \u2014 back and front \u2014 belonged to a home . I also remember that many of them had great displays of flowers and shrubs for such a tiny space. Now, most seemed empty or used to store the bins.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We walk a little up London Road in North End, where all the local shops are. Yes, I\u2019ve taken us on the scenic route from the ferry port.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLidl, Aldi \u2026 it\u2019s like we never left. Hey, what\u2019s that?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019m looking at the white concrete monolith that used to have \u201cOdeon\u201d emblazoned across it in giant red letters. There\u2019s now a Polish grocery store in what used to be the foyer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThey closed it ages ago, didn\u2019t they?\u201d says The Mathematician.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She\u2019s not wrong, but I\u2019m looking at the place through Eyes of the Past\u2122 and seeing the queues for the box office. I even smell the popcorn and worn carpets.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBring back memories?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYeah, it kinda does. I had friends who worked there \u2014 free tickets. And, wow, I remember going there as a kid and in the intermission \u2014 or maybe just after the adverts? \u2014 some women would come out with trays strapped over their shoulders stacked with crisps, sweets, ice creams, and drinks. I think the trays had little lamps on them.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat makes you sound old.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI guess. Hey, look! The library\u2019s still there!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Now I do have a lot of memories of this place, perched at the end of Gladys Avenue by the roundabout. I\u2019m amazed they haven\u2019t knocked it down.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m amazed they haven\u2019t knocked it down!\u201d I say.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOne of the lucky ones.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYep. Let\u2019s go down this road. It\u2019s nicer.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIs it shorter?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s \u2026 about the same. It\u2019s more\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cScenic?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYeah.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Going up the stairs, I notice they\u2019re narrower than I remember. Either that, or my feet have grown.<\/p><\/blockquote><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

We arrive at my parents\u2019 place around half ten at night and walk right past it. They\u2019ve new (to us) patio doors and a glass plaque with the house number which is invisible in the dark.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We find the new doorbell. It doesn\u2019t work. I press it several times, reasoning some kind of CPR might bring it back to life. Eventually, it rings. A joyous reunion, delayed only slightly by us having to squeeze through the single open side of the PVC double doors, which we can\u2019t do with rucksacks on.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDo you want me to open the other side?\u201d says Mum.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo, no, it\u2019s fine. They have to come off anyway \u2014 might as well be now.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Even sack-shorn I have to turn sideways. The Mathematician and I give each other knowing looks. Small<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There\u2019s no such thing as a quick hello with people you\u2019ve not visited in years, which is nice, but it means we don\u2019t get to bed till after midnight (which our heads, still on CEST, tell us is after one). Going up the stairs, I notice they\u2019re narrower than I remember. Either that, or my feet have grown. The floorboards creek and groan beneath us.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s hard to move around quietly,\u201d says The Mathematician as we lie in bed, staring up at what used to be my old bedroom ceiling.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDon\u2019t worry, it\u2019s the same noisy boards as when I was younger. I have a map\u201d \u2014 I tap my head \u2014 \u201cright here. Just step where I step.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOr I could just walk like a normal person.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, yes, but\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m tired,\u201d she says. \u201cNight.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I turn off the light and plan my manoeuvres in darkness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Two men sporting A&E barnets cross from Clarence Esplanade and spook a few elderly strollers.<\/p><\/blockquote><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

We do a caf\u00e9-and-coast tour the next day, the parents flashing their pensioner passes on the bus and treating us to all-day travel cards, drinks, and meals. It\u2019s good to be back on the gulled and stone-girded coast, the pleasant patter of English in my ears. That, and a stiff breeze.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I enjoy the sound the pebbles make underfoot, that stone-and-shingle croak as you walk to the waves to stare at shells and seaweed. (Other things also occasionally wash ashore here. Be sure to wash your hands.)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On the promenade to the Pyramids we hear a vigorous PumpPumpPump<\/em><\/strong>: two men sporting A&E barnets cross from Clarence Esplanade and spook a few elderly strollers. As a cluster of tuts spreads over the seafront, I can\u2019t help but grin.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThey\u2019re so Leipzig,\u201d I say to The Mathematician.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She laughs. \u201cConnewitz for sure.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They strut a good ten metres before turning off into the rock gardens to tussle with topiary. I remember the 80s when the seafront was full of skinheads in denim and Union Jack vests. I guess this is better: same \u2018tude but less shiny up top.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat do you think of the sea wall then?\u201d says Dad, pointing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I look about for a bit until I find it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cUm \u2026 low?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, they\u2019re still building it, I think. They\u2019ve only just started here. Isn\u2019t that right, Love?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She thinks that it is. I shrug.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s not like there\u2019s any rush,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cExactly.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWorst case, every house gets a sea view. Very egalitarian.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I feel like I\u2019m bobbing on the current. I quite like it.<\/p><\/blockquote><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

We spend the evening with Ocean, Owl, and Ember, friends who\u2019ve arranged to meet us twice over the five days we\u2019re here, to our delight. It\u2019s Italian food and tales, and more than a little you\u2019re really here<\/em>. (Just me?) We\u2019ve only seen Ember online (and in the womb), so it\u2019s delightful to see her IRL, which we later discover means In Relentless Legato. (She has hay fever\/not-a-cold and streams more than a melting glacier.) The hours whizz past and, as it\u2019s a school night, we reluctantly call time at nine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At home, we chat with the olds again (also nice) and retire to bed, quite full. It\u2019s been somewhat non-stop since leaving Leipzig at 5 a.m. two days ago (only?!) and won\u2019t let up till we leave. I feel like I\u2019m bobbing on the current. I quite like it. I ask The Mathematician how she feels. She snores. I switch off the light and pretend to sleep until I finally believe myself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Breakfast is coffee on the patio wall. As a golden wedding gift to my parents, we\u2019ve brought seven days of astonishingly good weather to the UK, which we set about enjoying. We\u2019ve knocked the rust off the French press, exorcised some old grinds (ten years old, it turns out), and breathed hot, delicious life into it in the form of ground beans from Arbuste(*).<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAh, Caen,\u201d I say as I sit and sip. Since descaling the kettle (fistfuls), it tastes almost like it should. We listen to the gulls. We listen to the dog two doors down that won\u2019t stop barking (sometimes starting at 6 a.m.). We watch the high clouds over the low roofs. I reminisce.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Today\u2019s plan is a walk around the Hilsea Lines \u2014 an old stomping ground \u2014 to see the sea and weigh the workmanship of an already complete stretch of sea defence. (Some locals are given to say things like: \u201cAt least we\u2019ll be fine if the sea level rises\u201d, their stretch of coast being protected an\u2019 all. I remind them they live on an island that\u2019s barely above sea level: the other bits matter too.)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It\u2019s pretty good. I thought they were just going to plonk a bit on concrete onto the edge of Stanshaw Esplanade (\u201cThe Foreshore\u201d \u2014 the raised path built in the 1930s that runs around the north-west of Portsea Island). But no, it\u2019s much more than adult Duplo. It has wildflower beds, lookout platforms, info boards on the local wildlife. There are even wooden reclining chairs and picnic benches. I\u2019m actually impressed. (Though The Mathematician does point out that when you look through the Frame onto Nature, out onto Tipner Lake, it\u2019s mostly filled with the M275 flyover. Can\u2019t please everyone.)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It has a marina, fancy shops, a cinema complex, and a stack of eye-wateringly expensive apartments. It also has a Weatherspoons.<\/p><\/blockquote><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

We meet the parents at their new favourite local by the Lido for flapjacks, coffee, and chit-chat. I\u2019m still current-bobbing: the motorway \u2014 loud and lairy \u2014 doesn\u2019t bother me. My zen\u2019s later jiggled by talk of the evening\u2019s plans: a clan moot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Here\u2019s what\u2019s decided. Team Leipzig and Team Parents will meet The Sister and Her Brood at a place most convenient to half of us: Port Solent. For those not in the know, the Port\u2019s a place of great swank for the area\u2019s well-to-dos(**). It has a marina, fancy shops, a cinema complex, and a stack of eye-wateringly expensive apartments. It also has a Weatherspoons. (\u201cIf the beer were any cheaper, we\u2019d call it water.\u201d) What it doesn\u2019t have is a bus stop. So, so, so, in shifts we go, ferried by the only two people with cars.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Remember how I started this piece? Well, nieces and nephews do grow. And hunger. It seems (incredibly) that everything we order from the menu is unavailable. After attempt number four, one of the staff apologetically says: \u201cOh, the menu\u2019s new, so, that\u2019s why we\u2019re having a few problems, I think.\u201d Perhaps we could have the menu the chef is using then?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The evening goes like this: The ten of us sit and talk in the gaps between songs. The teens go out. The teens come back when the food arrives. The ten of us sit and shout past the gaps between songs. We all go out. We walk to the western edge of the port and watch the sun set over Fareham Lake. We behold the ancient splendour of Portchester Castle. We chill. Those of a certain age chill more and head back to one of the cars to get warm. The rest stay and chew the fat, goof around and gossip. Good times that go too fast.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When we get back to my parents\u2019, we all head to bed early. Tomorrow\u2019s the big day, the golden wedding anniversary party. The whole clan\u2019s coming for this one: fifty family and friends from all over the Isles. A lot of faces I\u2019ve not seen in a long time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019m rather looking forward to it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014
(*) For more on Arbuste, read Part 3 here<\/a>. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

(**) The less-well-to-dos happily remind them that before it was a swanky port, it was a massive landfill site.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n\n\n\n

Next week: The clash of clans, the calm of the Downs, and the Gentle Giant.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

We arrive in Portsmouth, England’s moist and miniature city. The sky is big, the houses small, and all the pebbles, shiny.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":54691,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[213],"tags":[237,246,236,233,227,235],"class_list":{"0":"post-54692","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","5":"has-post-thumbnail","7":"category-cf","8":"tag-family","9":"tag-gwasaga","10":"tag-port-solent","11":"tag-portsmouth","12":"tag-travel","13":"tag-uk"},"aioseo_notices":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/54692","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=54692"}],"version-history":[{"count":9,"href":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/54692\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":54713,"href":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/54692\/revisions\/54713"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/54691"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=54692"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=54692"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=54692"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}