National poet of Guernsey isn't me, shocker
Mum back to England today. We'd had a really good time together, and some sensational weather too, which she seems to have taken with her. After waving mum off at the hotel, I zoomed off into town, to spend time lurking in the library's local books section.
Got down some books in French and Guernésiais by George Métivier (1790–1881). I will go back tomorrow to learn more, but he is described in the introduction of the ancient volume I was reading as "le pöete national de Guernsey", obviously a sweeping statement made well before I was born.
Fresh from enjoying a poem that started "Salut, nos cher cousins, honorables crapauds!" about Jerseymen. I went off to meet Catriona Stares, for an excellent meal at Hojos in St Peter Port, and an even better chat. We pooled lots of ideas, and Catriona seems really switched on and generally encouraging of arts in the island. I really liked her.
She also told me that Richard seriously cracked his ribs after our lively night, which I felt rather bad about.
Full of risotto and coffee I walked back from town, along the cliffpath to Fermain and then on the roads to nip back to the hotel. Apart from a quick walk a little later I enjoyed a quiet night in working on an exciting proposal, and watching some TV about Brian Clough. What an entertaining man he was, and how dull he makes football pundits seem now.
Mum back to England today. We'd had a really good time together, and some sensational weather too, which she seems to have taken with her. After waving mum off at the hotel, I zoomed off into town, to spend time lurking in the library's local books section.
Got down some books in French and Guernésiais by George Métivier (1790–1881). I will go back tomorrow to learn more, but he is described in the introduction of the ancient volume I was reading as "le pöete national de Guernsey", obviously a sweeping statement made well before I was born.
Fresh from enjoying a poem that started "Salut, nos cher cousins, honorables crapauds!" about Jerseymen. I went off to meet Catriona Stares, for an excellent meal at Hojos in St Peter Port, and an even better chat. We pooled lots of ideas, and Catriona seems really switched on and generally encouraging of arts in the island. I really liked her.
She also told me that Richard seriously cracked his ribs after our lively night, which I felt rather bad about.
Full of risotto and coffee I walked back from town, along the cliffpath to Fermain and then on the roads to nip back to the hotel. Apart from a quick walk a little later I enjoyed a quiet night in working on an exciting proposal, and watching some TV about Brian Clough. What an entertaining man he was, and how dull he makes football pundits seem now.
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