Moulin Huet

Mum's last day in Guernsey, so in the morning we went down to Moulin Huet. Popped into the pottery place there, and had a chat with the potter and told him I'd found one of his pieces in a charity shop in Brighton. I bought a Klee-like square piece of pottery, with no observable function, to take home with me.

Then down to the incomparably beautiful Moulin Huet bay. The tide was low and it was nice to get my hands on limpets, and pop bladderwrack and peer into rockpools in search of gobies, which the locals call cabou. The first fish I ever caught was a cabou on a groundline from the white rock.

Betty had told me that my poem was on a Guernsey bus whose registration number ends with 40. Happening to be in town this afternoon, I sighted it at the terminal bursting onto the full bus with a flourish, bellowing my poem! But it wasn't, and instead was one of Richard's. Mum had similarly burst on behind me also brandishing a camera. Slunk off feeling silly.

This evening Betty came for a final drink with my Mum, said to me that it could have been the bus that ended in 14.

Below looking towards Jerbourg in Moulin Huet bay, the lighthouse at St Peter Port, and the bottom of the cliff in Moulin Huet.



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