under another sun

Two years ago today, Lorraine and I got married. Clearly the best life decision I've ever taken. I never thought that being married would be so fantastic. Nor did I expect that being married would improve our relationship still further. Up early and off for La Barbarie's breakfast. A full Guernsey Breakfast for me, despite confirmation in the news that red meat, and processed meat such as sausages and bacon are bad for you.  I almost never eat red meat, and very little processed meat, so I took my life in my own hands. Very tasty as usual. Another unexpectedly beautiful day. We took ourselves off to town on the bus. I went to the joke shop, stuffed full of witches costumes, rubber spiders and ghost masks and asked if they had a Frankenstein's head. 'No, we don't have anything like that here,' said the woman behind the counter unhelpfully, with no attempt to cross sell me on, say, a zombie head. A spot of shopping here and there, some wine for tonight and s...

Appalling nightmares. Rather pleased to be stirring myself to go into La Barbarie for one of the hotel breakfasts. In a The Shining moment I was alone for breakfast for some time till two couples turned up, whispering over their tables as if they were in a library. I went back to the self catering apartment, which was spacious and great for writing in. Worked on my poetry manuscript till approaching noon, making some big strides, before embarking on another walk. This time from Icart to Petit Bôt along the cliff path. Again found myself alarmingly unfit scrambling up and down steps. Am still on antibiotics for a persistent infection, so this may contribute. Despite this loving the autumnal colours, and to lose myself in horizons, and have the freedom to wander happily along the lanes from the cliff path back to St Martins, walking back along La Rue des Grons, where my Grandparents lived. Every turning full of associations. Did a spot more shopping, including taking a £1 bag of Gu...

Flying into beauty Off to Guernsey this morning. Lorraine had her hair done and then we got an early train off to Gatwick. These days I am fairly relaxed about the short flight to the Gem of the Sea. Today however, I kept remembering a scene from a recent dream where I was looking out of the window and the plane was heading vertically for the ground. Gin and tonic seemed to help, as did Lorraine who has a generally steadying influence. Arrived safely, although I did have my head slammed by a taxi hatchback, the driver being momentarily distracted as we were loading cases. Within minutes, however, I was feeling incredibly happy, sitting in the Barbarie sensibly supping a glass of Rocquette cider with a ham sandwich side dish a little after 1pm, and chatting to Jane by phone. Lorraine and I then sloped off to Icart as is traditional. The sun was emerging and the cliffs were devastatingly beautiful. Even from the plane you could see the yellow gorse, and once at Icart it zinged out again...

A perfect day for Vogon poetry Woke to a perfect day. This is my favourite time of year, and today, a sunny October day in Guernsey was a perfect temperature for walking for four hours. (My knee hurty and slightly swollen, but holding up). First I took myself to the graveyard to put some flowers on my Grandparent's grave. After buying some yellow carnations I discovered that the bowl in the gravestone, made out of some sort of metal, had rusted so that the bottom dropped of as I picked it up. Spent some time in the graveyard. I like graveyards, not in a ghoulish way, but they are so peaceful. I shared out some of the flowers to others I knew who are buried there. I walked down to Moulin Huet and took the cliff path. It is difficult to describe just how beautiful this was. The cliffs are reddish in patches where the bracken is turning, and the sea its usual turquoise and Prussian blue, with cloud shadows passing over, a warm sun and a cooling breeze. And as I walked my fingers becam...

A Guernsey Double launch day Up feeling wretched about the contents page, but there was little time for brooding. Before long Richard and I were climbing into his van and driving off to BBC Guernsey. Jenny Kendall-Tobias was standing in for Jim Cathcart the usual presenter (whose show R and I had been on a while before) and we had a great interview with her. Really liked her. To my surprise she read three poems out from the book herself, and was decidedly moved by them. Of mine she read Clameur , which is a simple exile's poem from the perspective of a Londoner about Guernsey which almost brought her to tears. She was also tearing up reading Richard's poem about Rufus, who is a poorly dog at the moment. Off for a rather-pleased-with-ourselves cup of coffee afterwards, especially as Jenny asked us back to the studio for Tuesday afternoon. Spoke to Mum who had been listening on live stream, who told us we did well. Mums are good things to have. Home, to rearrange my return flight...

The Vazon wind Cold and wintery today. After breakfast, five large people crammed into Kate's minute hire Ka and we set off to the Little Chapel. Everyone liked this and there was a blaze of competitive photography. It is a tiny building, decorated with broken china. I noticed this time that when you are inside its unlit interior down in the lower part, that the little shafts of light make the china begin to look like a dim stained glass window. From here we drove to the west coast, stopping for a cup of tea opposite the cup and saucer (Fort Grey) as Craig was on a mission to buy souvenier tea towels. Then driving along the coast until Vazon where we walked about in the wind and under dark skies, and it was fabulous. Few people around, and the flat sand dotted with torn away clumps of bladderwrack. Had a mental flashback to being a child running down to the sea with Toby (who always liked Vazon) holding a inflated lilo in the wind. From there into town for a slow meal in the harbou...

Feet in the sea Lorraine like a happy kid on the cliffs, photographing wild flowers and looking appreciatively at uncurling fern fronds and blackthorn flowers and such like. We walked down to Moulin Huet bay. Lorraine insisting on taking her boots off, so I followed suit and paddled in the sea. Quite astonishingly cold – a raw burning kind of freeze. But it was amazingly invigorating. Lorraine found herself a rock to sit on, surrounded by rock pools and zoned out listening to the sea. I found myself another stone and meditated for ten minutes or so, my bare feet on the sand, and the waves and gulls filling me, and the sun warming my face. We were the only people on the beach and it was good to be there. When I used to meditate regularly, I often envisaged myself sitting in Moulin Huet, so it was very good to actually sit there and do it in reality. Off and on in the last few days I have had a mental spring clean. I discover that lots of the decisions I've taken lately are coming fr...

The cliffs again Checking my emails this morning on my crotchtop computer, have received an invite from Richard Fleming for Saturday night of wine food and poetry. Also had a smidgen of work to do for my pharmaceutical client which I was able to polish off in a couple of minutes. After a gargantuan breakfast where mum was at the coffee like some crack fiend, we set off into Town, where I bought some local interest books, including Pixies and Faeries on Guernsey . A pamphlet I am sure Anton will be keen to borrow on my return. Apparently, long ago Guernsey was an invaded by an army of foreign fairies from across the water and a distant land we now call England. Mum and I then climbed up the steep flights of stairs that lead up to the top of St Peter Port. We passed my grandfather's little school, and I tried to picture him as a kid heading into the playground through the doorway marked Garcons . Also wandered into a catholic church, Notre Dame du Rosaire which was rather boatlike, h...