Day 38-46: The Isle of Wight: A Retreat for the Nearly Deceased

First of all: apologies, my beloved jabbers, for not posting every day.

I know, I know - the suspense must have been killing you.

But honestly? I was still sick, and writing a daily update would have looked something like:

“Day X: ill. Didn’t eat. Lay down. Moaned. Cats probably still plotting.”

So instead, I saved my strength (what little there was of it) for this grand catch-up of what was technically a “holiday” on the Isle of Wight, but in reality was more of a convalescence retreat with added nausea.

Day 1 – The Great Escape

Miraculously, no traffic to Portsmouth. The sun was shining, the Wightlink ferry glided across the Solent like some sort of floating miracle, and the sea air hit me like a tranquiliser dart.

Result: immediate nap mode.

Still ill, still barely eating, still draped dramatically over the side like a Victorian invalid hoping for “sea air recovery.”

Managed a short walk before collapsing and then our favourite pub, The Folly Inn. Vitamin D, a glass of G & T in hand (it only took me 2 hrs to finish it). Slept like a baby that night. Honestly, probably the best sleep I’d had in weeks.

Day 2 – Penguin Love Language

Still felt rubbish.

Still no energy.

But dragged myself to a lovely beach walk.

Found a heart-shaped pebble and, like the smooth romantic penguin that I am, gifted it to my favourite human.

He didn’t reject it, so I consider that a win.

Afternoon spent horizontal in the gorgeous family garden by the beach.

Evening: garden gathering, friends, laughter, food, bubbles.

I actually ate more than I had in DAYS (not a high bar, but still).

Paid the price with exhaustion - collapsed into bed and slept like a log.

Day 3 – BBQ Masterclass (Not Mine)

Started the day beautifully with a walk at Duver Beach.

Gorgeous views, boyfriend in tow.

Did a food shop, then headed to the family BBQ.

Everyone else: feasting.

Me: poking sadly at a butterfly chicken breast like it was a maths exam I hadn’t revised for.

My boyfriend, however, was living his best life as the BBQ master, flipping meat like Gordon Ramsay on Prozac.

Evening ended with me passing out on the sofa, completely owned by this never-ending virus and maybe some champagne...

Day 4 – Jewellery and Nettles

Felt marginally better but still rubbish.

Went to The Blacksmiths for lunch and ordered a fish finger sandwich the size of a canoe.

Ate half.

Didn’t taste of anything.

Waste not, want not.

Walked from Cowes to Gurnard, dodging rogue sea splashes. Then onto the Jewellery Cabin, where I made three stunning stacking rings.

Honestly, Michelangelo who? I am the new artisan queen of silver.

Meanwhile, my boyfriend decided to go running… and fell into nettles. Actual nettles. He moaned like he’d been attacked by a swarm of wasps.

Jewellery queen vs. nettle boy: you decide who had the better evening.

Day 5 – Nurse Jabatha

Morning spent tending to nettle-boy (he survived).

Packed protein bars for a walk from Ryde, along Appley beach, all the way to Seaview, ending at The Old Fort.

Gorgeous pub, gorgeous views, gorgeous boyfriend. Me? Half-dead.

By the time we got back, I was so exhausted I practically needed carrying. Still ill.

Still faintly nauseous.

Day 6 – Jab & Wine: The Terrible Combo

Woke up to torrential rain.

Stayed in.

Pottered.

Tried not to expire.

Eventually went for drinks at The Fishbourne. Got cocky, had wine.

Went home, jabbed myself with 5mg. Immediate regret. Nausea deluxe. Honestly, who combines injections with Pinot Blush? Idiots. And by “idiots” I mean me.

Day 7 – The Cheap Date Chronicles

Felt sick all day and even was sick.

Tragic.

My favourite human whisked me off to The Waterfront Bar & Restaurant. Ordered fish and chips because apparently I like to torture myself. Managed a third of it before tapping out. The rest went into a doggy bag (cheap date, party of one).

Planned a romantic pier walk in Totland… but rain said no.

Evening saved by meeting the boys at The Cedars. Belly laughed so hard I nearly snapped a rib.

I was on Diet Coke duty (responsible queen). He was on shots and pints. Guess who paid the price with the hangover? Not me.

Day 8 – Puppies & Glass Shopping

Rain again. Stocked up at Harvey Browns farm shop. I could have bought the whole place if I wasn’t still nauseous. Silver lining: saved money.

Then Sculptglass, my spiritual home. Bought a cat, a fish, and an Isle-of-Wight-shaped glass. Because why not?

Evening at friends’ house. Amazing veggie spread. I ate a little.

Boyfriend ate all the cheese and had insane cheese dreams (seriously, what is it with cheese and dreams?).

Highlight: their 30kg puppy launched himself at me, wine in hand. I ended up drenched.

Sofa too.

The puppy looked pleased with himself.

I looked like a Cabernet Sauvignon commercial.

Day 9 – Home, Sweet Sofa

Final day: rain, coffee in bed, goodbyes, ferry, two-hour drive.

Collapsed at home, reunited with my cats (my babies!!).

Cried a little inside with joy.

Finished The Fortune Hotel.

Slept like a baby.

Observations from the Nearly Deceased Holidaymaker:

Took all my fab ingredients for my famous protein bowl. Ate it once.

Survived mostly on Graze protein bars, Huel shakes, Lucozade, and Dioralyte. So chic.

Restaurants don’t let me order from the kids’ menu = pointless waste. Officially a cheap date.

“Say pineapple, hiccups stop.” Tried it. Works. Witchcraft.

Pretty much nauseous the entire week. If nausea was an Olympic sport, I’d be world champion.

Drank more wine than I should’ve (always the case). Must stop. Future me’s problem.

Still managed thousands of steps daily, paid dearly with exhaustion.

Boyfriend fell into nettles. Still funny.

Rain did its best to ruin things but failed. The Isle of Wight is stunning no matter what.

Holiday?

No.

Retreat for the half-dead?

Yes.

So there you have it. Days 38–46.

A “holiday” that was less sangria-and-sun and more Dioralyte-and-dramatics.

Still, I had my favourite human, my Isle of Wight, and enough ridiculous moments to last until the next instalment.

Night, fellow jabbers - and if anyone else falls into nettles, don’t worry. I’ve got aloe vera and sarcasm on standby.

With Love,

JABatha Christie