Even before we came to live on the Island, I knew there were three classes of citizenship here, “Caulkheads”, “Overners” and “Grockles”.

We now fit into the Overners category, drawn to the Island by sailing at weekends, and then confined here during Covid, and latterly discovering that most things we could do in London can now be done through the magic of Wightfibre.

Travelling down for weekends, one always had the sensation of going on holiday, as soon as you got on the Redjet, which was often augmented on a Friday evening by the phrase “any drinks?” being repeated throughout the cabin.

The pandemic accelerated many changes, nearly all to the benefit of the Island.

Remote working has become widespread and become available in many areas that previously resisted new technology.

In my own field of criminal law, we had always to travel for hours to appear for minutes in far away courts.

That no longer applies, as necessity being the mother of invention, shorter court hearings are now routinely conducted by video link.

Similarly, our GPs and medical specialists do not need to be physically present to see and diagnose a variety of conditions. Telephone and video consultations have become available. For some needing a routine check, the appointment can be held without having to cross the Solent.

How you describe the journey across that little stretch of water reveals very quickly whether the speaker is an Islander or not, and if so whether an Overner or a Caulkhead.

If someone says they are going over to England, they are usually a Caulkhead, as no Overner would ever say that.

If they say “we are going back home” or “back home to England” that reveals a Grockle or tourist.

Incidentally the term Caulkhead is not a term of abuse (commonly mistaken as “corkhead”) but derives from the practice of caulking the gap between wooden planks in ship and boat building, which for many centuries was a main employment on the Island.

I recall one visit to our local Post Office where I was wrapping up a parcel to send someone before Christmas.

An older lady came in. In view of her age, I asked if she had lived locally for a long time.

She told me she had been here all her life. I asked if she could remember the war. She told me that one day her father had told her and her mother they all had to go to the shelter, and when she came back they weren’t allowed back in the house, because a bomb had been dropped in it which had not exploded.

“It landed in my bed” she told me.

She then watched as the wardens carried the bed out the front door with the unexploded bomb on it.

When I asked if she had ever lived on the mainland she replied: “I went there once, but I didn’t like it."

We like living here, it’s a different world.