Cowes: a winter evening. Commuters scurry home through the drizzle. An impossibly well-dressed young man with a suitcase stands on a street-corner, bleating into his phone.

Matt and Cat are accosted by this youth, who is gibbering pitifully. "Are you from Isle of Wight?" he beseeches. On confirmation, he eagerly explains his plight. Pater has come to meet him at the ferry. In the car. But Pater has gone to East Cowes of all places. Junior thus finds himself on the wrong side of the river and is at a loss. Neither he nor Pater has ever had to deal with such a crisis. They are mortified. The phone squawks in impatience as he discourses. He breaks off regularly to mollify it: Pater is not accustomed to being kept waiting. With a great deal of careful explanation, the filial rendezvous is arranged via the chain ferry and eventually a grateful Junior strides off hopefully, his woollen scarf flapping in the wind. M & C, entertained by this distraction, find themselves standing outside Mojac's Restaurant on Shooter's Hill. So, in they go.

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Visit the website: http://www.mojacs.co.uk

Some considerable time ago, Cat was a regular patron of Pavarotti's Restaurant in Shanklin. Its Italian staff were very welcoming, the authentic Mediterranean food was excellent and flavoursome and the venue was in the style of La Scala - raffia-wrapped wine bottles and piped opera.

The proprietor of Pavarotti's opened a second eatery in Shanklin, the disappointingly short-lived Carrera's (now Chubby's Chunky Chip Shop) on Regent Street; a good spot for a lunchtime gossip over a thin pizza.

Ever-watchful of the goings-on in the Isle of Wight's restaurant world, Matt and Cat noticed the arrival of a new Italian restaurant in Shanklin and, as they had cause to be in that seaside town one night, decided to pay it a visit.

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Rustic burger and chips

Ahh, the Isle of Wight, what a bucolic place, with its rolling downland and pleasant broadleaf woodland interspersed with farms and grazing animals. Even just the sounds of the countryside can elicit images of gambolling lambs, bleating with all their spring newness.

Unfortunately for Matt and Cat, their visit to Ryde Castle coincided with a one-man farmyard impressionist - the sounds of the pigpen brought nauseatingly to life as one particular customer snuffled, belched and coughed up copious 'throat oysters' in the lounge bar. For a brief moment Cat considered using the podcaster to record his mucous-clagged passageways being cleared but, after one positively Vesuvian belch, your reviewers just moved seats. The man gave everyone a brief respite from his eruptions; wobbling outside for a fag, presumably to replenish his airways with carcinogenic matter in order to manufacture more lung butter. Well, you've got to have a hobby.

Did this very public display of post-food percolation mean that Mr Pigpen had eaten a hearty and satisfying meal, or had it given him heartburn? Matt and Cat intended to find out...

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Pretty much a year to the day that Ray Har-Har suggested that Matt and Cat visit Morrison's cafe, Newport they finally did. Having a rare day off in the week, M and C decided to play at being retired and booked themselves tickets at the afternoon showing of Billy Liar at Cineworld.

Big breakfast

With only half an hour to go before lights down, Matt and Cat trotted off to the centre of Newport with the intention of eating something, quickish. On approaching Morrison's, Ray's words rang in their ears (as did Morrison's PA system - more of that later) and they entered the supermarket. Their expectations were not high, as their past experiences of supermarket cafes were Not Good.

Morrison's cafe is a cavernous place with some windows overlooking the road and one, at the back, with a primo vista of the loading bay. However, the choice of seating for Matt and Cat was quite limited as the place was pretty packed. Pensioners and young mothers filled the seats and, at the prices Morrison's charge, it is certainly a venue which may attract the financially careful.

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The population of Bembridge may double during the summer months as second-home-owners descend on the village to go sailing, catch up with their metropolitan friends who are DFL (Down From London) and eat out in the local bars and restaurants.

One of these eateries, Fulton's Chop House, seemed to have closed down before Matt and Cat got the chance to eat there - despite several attempts. They've been more successful elsewhere in Bembridge: the Pilot Boat has some excellent food and the Crab and Lobster is in a fantastic spot.

So far, so seaside. But what about the permanent residents? Does the village roll up its pavements once the summer season is at an end? Fortunately, Bembridge has an indigenous, albeit elderly, population all year round and one autumn evening Matt and Cat were able to immerse themselves in its culture at the Windmill Inn.

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Visit the website: http://www.windmill-inn.com/