A Brief Collapse Over Chips

We were on holiday on the Isle of Wight. A place I’ve loved since I was a child.

Mary and I are walkers. We cover miles and miles around the Island like a pair of caffeinated satnavs.

Now, I’m on the wrong side of sixty, and health-wise, let’s just say I’ve had a few… plot twists. Me and physical fitness are like sparring partners — except I keep getting punched.

This particular day started with a 10k jog. Not a big deal for some, but for me? Monumental. I hadn’t run that far in over a year.

After a heroic Isle of Wight breakfast (mostly fried things and courage), we set off on a hike.

We walked 12.5 miles. In sun. And wind.

Not a gentle breeze. The sort of wind that interrupts your thoughts and tries to fold your map into a pigeon.

We trekked from Yarmouth to Alum Bay — which sounds like a folk song but is actually a very long slog with not enough cafés.

By the time we got back to Ryde, we were ready to eat our own feet. We headed straight to The Alamo on the esplanade — a fine burger joint with no idea what was about to happen.

We ordered. And soon, a small mountain of meat, bun and chips landed in front of us.

It was glorious. I think.

Because halfway through, I started feeling… odd.

The world was still there, but I was slightly sideways to it.

“I feel funny,” I muttered.

Mary, ever calm, grabbed me and lowered me into a cushioned seat like a malfunctioning lamp.

And then?
Off I went.

It wasn’t a nap. It was a proper full-body reboot.
Five minutes of lights out, head down, and zero context.

Another one.
A classic syncope special: instant shutdown, mild restart, bonus confusion.

When I came round, I had no idea where I was. Just a vague memory of chips and a weird taste in my mouth.

Syncope, in case you’re curious, is the medical term for people who randomly pass out like Windows 98. I’ve had episodes before. It’s never fun. You feel like a half-dead penguin for the rest of the day.

We got back to our digs, where our lovely landlady welcomed us with the usual cheer.

“How was your day?” she asked.

We told her about Alum Bay, the wind, the long walk. I added:

“We came back to Ryde for a bite to eat and a lie-down.”

Mary gave me a sideways look that could melt steel.
And probably the chair I collapsed in.