Hayling Island week: A question of questionable logic

Last week, Julie and me decided to get in the car and just head west. Having looked at the map, Julie asked if it would be OK if we went to a place called Hayling Island, near Portsmouth. I had been thinking of possibly going to Portsmouth itself, but as I'm all for exploring the lesser known places, I readily agreed.

As you can tell, Hayling Island isn't a large place, being just over three miles wide at its widest point. Nor, as shown by the lack of main roads, is it a busy one. Sitting on Britain's south coast, slap bang next to the major port of, well, Portsmouth, it is largely left to its own devices. As a result, the relative lack of tourists makes it a more pleasant place to be.

There is a funfair right in the middle of the lengthy sea front, but off to the sides, you have quieter places to enjoy yourself.
When we got there, the fair was closed and staff were carrying out routine maintenance chores to the various rides, and the car park was near as damn empty. It was free, too, which is always nice. We drove straight in and up to the wall, which gave us a cracking view of the sea and the Isle of Wight to the south-west.

On the journey, we had been enjoying listening to the radio (Ken Bruce on BBC Radio 2, since you ask. Such a nice chap), and doing our usual banter/singing/arguing with the programme. Among other things, this does tend to prime julie for a day full of Gems, so I made absolutely sure I had my notepad and a pen with me.

I wasn't disappointed.

In short order, as we ambled through the fairground, Julie was baffling me with a lengthy ramble, twisting sentence structure and logic to such a degree there was no way I could keep up. Julie finally noticed my brains were about to dribble out of my ears and stopped chattering, laughing.
All I could say was, "...what was...?"

Oops.

Ouch... my I think I sprained my brain...