Today my walking companion and I revisited the abbey where a fascinating exhibition of artworks, some of which were created from little things found on the seashore, collections of old keys, bottles of mermaids’ purses bobbing in water, repurposed teabags, engraved stones, shells, seaglass, pottery and many more were on display. Having filled our imaginations with these ordinary treasures, we walked on down to the ferry port where Victoria of Wight was hungrily swallowing cars into her rumbling belly before she set off back to the mainland. We sat on a wall and drew the scene and my friend went off foraging the tideline, filling her pockets with bits of plastic as she went, some she picked up simply to prevent them being washed back in the sea and poisoning or trapping some poor creature, others, excited by what we had just seen, she pounced on with glee to weave into some clever artwork of her own. I was entranced by a crane barge anchored a little way off, bright orange crane soaring into the sky, brilliant against the sea, jade green at that moment, and balanced atop a red cabin with a jaunty deckchair-striped pattern at the back, all set against a slate-grey sky. One final clunk and rumble came from the innards of the ferry, and the portly Victoria waddled off sedately across the water on her short crossing, her wash gurgling at our feet as she went. We watched and listened to her leaving, the sights and sounds an inexplicable promise of adventure to two artists sitting on a wall, not planning much but to wend their way happily home.