under another sun

Cabou in their pools After a nice breakfast in Les Douvres, simply packed and dragged our cases down to La Barbarie, where I normally stay (it had been booked for Friday night). Felt like coming home. Then ambled to Icârt Point. We sat down to take in the view for some time, and Lorraine cried she liked it so much. Having had the week from hell at work, this escape was exactly what was needed. Ambled slowly through the flowers of the cliffpath to Saints Bay, feeling happier by the second, and then stopped at the beach on which were perhaps four other people. I paddled for a bit, but the water seemed bone-numbingly cold. I have been spoilt by the Mediterranean. We had some tea at the tearooms, where we got chatting to the young guy who runs it, and older man from Guernsey and the lady visiting for the first time in 48 years. The Guernseyman had heard me on the radio. Fame at last! The sun came out and we sat about chatting for half an hour, before Lorraine and I walked back up the hill ...

Lorraine arrives A solitary kipper and Guardian breakfast. Raining off and on all day so I grabbed a bus and headed off to Candie Gardens to look at the Guernsey museum and art gallery. Surprised to learn that there was a currency here called Guernsey Doubles, which peristed into the 60s. I think I read there were eight doubles to the penny. In Candie Gardens itself, there is a fine statue of Victor Hugo, battling the wind as he faces Herm and, of course, France. Hugo was exiled on Guernsey and is the most famous writer ever to live here. Les Travailleurs de la mer , Toilers of the Sea, is the only book of his which is set on Guernsey though. A jolly fine read, especially the best battle with a giant octopus scene in world literature. Back to the Library for some more browsing on local writers. I found a limited edition book by Renée Monamy, called Guernsey, mon î le... which had some good poems, but as far as I could tell, with my atrocious French, was poorly served by her translator...

A long walk to Torteval Again in my happy routine of writing first thing, and then going for a long walk. Mum and I went to Icârt and then turned west, and walked for miles along the cliff path, guzzling blackberries as we went, knees groaning because of the dozens and dozens of stairs. We had lunch at the Hollows restaurant just up from a rocky peninsular called Le Gouffre. Here we had some Greek food with teeth-squeaking haloumi cheese and giant beans, and I also reacquainted myself with retsina. Then back on the cliff path towards Torteval through Le Bigard and La Corbière and up and down many more stairs. I had never been on this path before. At one point we passed a hidden house with a spiralling snail shell roof in slate. Eventually we decided to head onto the road, and climbed through a hedge past a Satanically enormous goat and Mum began scrambling over a large fence before she spotted a gap in the hedge instead. Eventually, after hours of walking, and I was feeling pretty tire...