Uncle Victor vs. the Isle of Wight

Sometime during the late eighties, my Uncle developed a grudge against the Isle of Wight. He believed it was getting closer.

Obviously, he reasoned, it was readying for attack and it was simply a matter of time before the south of England was overrun by Wightian forces. He decided it fell to him to do something about it. Naming it ‘Operation Atlantis’, his plan was to take the ferry (he doesn’t believe in hovercrafts) over one afternoon and sink the island.

Having decided upon a plan, he’d come to the conclusion that once the island had sunk, his biggest obstacle would be the journey back to England as he’d never learnt how to swim. Not wanting to tip-off the enemy by paying for visits to the local pool, he began training in earnest in the back garden. Under the cover of darkness, he would pace from one end of the garden to the other, performing the breast-stroke. The actual trip would be much the same, he reasoned, except wetter and without the need to turn around once you reached the neighbour’s privet.

In June of 1987, Victor began ‘Operation Atlantis’. After reaching the island, he purchased a spade “on site”, made his way to one of the many small beaches that speckle the coastline and proceeded to dig a series of extremely large holes. These holes, he’d explained, would then fill with water once the tide came in and cause the island to submerge.

Unfortunately, the entire plan came to an abrupt end when Victor was arrested after a disagreement with a holidaying couple and their child about their placement of a sandcastle and its relation to the salvation of England. Although deported back to the mainline before completing his task, he still insists that his efforts with a spade on that sandy shore lowered the island by at least a centimetre and a half. He will proudly assert that the only thing holding back the Wightian invasion is the knowledge that every Englishman in the country holds the key to the nefarious island’s demise within his tool shed.