Saturday, 1 April 2006

A Saturday Stumbling on Mountbatten

There’s an exciting appeal to islands, however lowly in size or distant from the mainland they may be. The journey involves being waterborne, an unusual means of travel, we being terrestrial and generally land-loving creatures. Sitting in a refreshment hole on one such small island, Mountbatten, an annexe of the Plymouth Peninsula, I contemplate the importance or unimportance of this small landmass jutting out of the waters called Plymouth Sound. Looking across the water, the scenery is one of a seemingly bustling city, a deep-water harbour, of old and new establishments, broken by patches of green grass, a lighthouse and a fort, amongst other things. Breaking this view is a more scenic one, of sail-boats dotting the water. The water itself is a big distraction, its rippled blue surface exuding a magnetic charm. An inviting medium, putting everything else in the backdrop. The narrowness of the strait and its proximity to the city is even more inviting than the open blue sea stretching out of the Sound. The strait of possibilities. Where everything is an idea worthy of being explored, and fulfilled. I wonder if the famed buccaneer of the past, Francis Drake felt similarly..