Lorraine and I up and rapidly packing. I thought I was for me fairly organised, although I discovered later that I had still managed to forget to pack comedy basics such as my toothbrush and shampoo.
Lorraine drove us to Gatwick. Thick ground fog on the other side of the downs, which was momentarily alarming, as there were blue skies in Brighton. But Gatwick was fine, and I'm sure modern tricknology wouldn't be phased by a bit of fog, surely.
The flight a bit delayed, but despite the odd moment of existential horror I managed to keep the aircraft in the air entirely unsupported by cocktail of alcohol and drugs. Flying through cloud castles.
Straight from the airport into a taxi and to the Barbarie in no time. A warm welcome from Evo, Ravis and Andy and the team. A lovely room. We’re always treated well there. A card from Maureen and Pat in our room, and a bag of delicious fudge. A quick unpack, and then back to the bar to eat sandwiches, and a lunchtime pint.
It is impossible to put into words the feelings I get walking to Icart and then round the cliffs for the first time. It’s almost as if I feel a weird energy coming up from the path into my feet, suddenly grounded and more Peter Kennyish. Even more interestingly, this seems to works equally well for Lorraine now too. I am so lucky that she loves it here too.
Beautiful light, and everything looking autumnal and lovely. I left Lorraine at La Barbarie, and scooted off to St Martin's village to buy some shampoo, and walk home in the evening light past greenhouses collapsing under the weight of neglect.
A little bit of a bit of a rest, followed by a few drinks and an evening meal. I had sea bass, which was particularly tasty. To bed, happy and cheerful at returning to what I always think of as home.
A Guernsey Lily caught in a beam of light in the bar. Some of the usual views from Icart and towards Moulin Huet. The Dog and Lion rocks and Moulin Huet bay. Lorraine on a cliff path, and collapsing glasshouses.