Sark in the wild rain
Raining steadily in Guernsey this morning. No matter however, we were off to Sark to meet Anna and Anton and the bairns, who have unaccountably been staying in Jersey.
The Bon Marin de Serk left early. We found ourselves in the company of people going to a funeral, and others to a Pirate-themed party. The sky was slate grey, and the sea greenish grey, and despite the calm sea, the boat gave slovenly lurches over the little waves, which had Lorraine grateful she'd taken her travel sick pills. It also forced her to look up from The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo she is avidly reading. After half an hour we'd reached Maseline harbour, where it was pouring with rain, and climbed aboard the tractor-drawn carts up the hill to the village.
Lorraine and I scrambled into a cafe for a hobbits second breakfast where the choice was a full English breakfast or an egg and sausage sandwich. The staff moaning about how busy it was. Outside the rain alternated between heavy and torrential, and you half expected to see a wild eyed man leading pairs of beasts down the Avenue (Sark's main road) off to some hastily-constructed boat. Vile weather. After going into a few of the shops along the avenue, including one where I fell into conversation with the owner about books, skillfully mentioning my own. She was a lady of firm but wrongheaded opinions.
From here on the unmetalled roads, through the teeming rain to another cafe to drink coffee. I have seen Lorraine looking more cheerful as she sat dripping in the cafe, talking to the two girls from Manchester who seemed to be running it. Sark is a beautiful place, but not so good when there is a flood in progress, and of course with no cars on the island, only bicycles, tractors and horse drawn jobs you are fairly trapped.
Eventually Anna and Anton arrived among the stair rods of the rain, and after some faffing about we settled in the breakfast cafe and had a drink and some food. They and the children were looking brown, relaxed and healthy, and nonchalant about the weather. The children full of beans and seeming to have grown a couple of inches each in the last couple of weeks. Anna saying how nice Jersey was, and Anton persisting with this idea that it was full of Chelsea supporters to unsettle me. Klaudia going around listening to people's stomachs to see if they were hungry, and Oksar going outside to shout happily in the rain.
Eventually the rain subsided into heavy drizzle and we went out among it. I enjoyed monstering the children by holding them upside down over vast puddles, which had them screeching happily. We all walked about in the rain, and found more places to shelter. One place we popped into, where people post funeral were gathered, had a room with paintings by Toplis, the artist of Sark, which were rather good. Klaudia walking around with Lorraine's movie camera looking entirely the part.
Eventually we parted company, as they had an earlier boat to catch. Lorraine and I then sped down to La Coupée, the narrow cut with sheer drops either side which joins Sark to Little Sark. As Lorraine had never been to Sark before and it was good for her to at least see this.
Lorraine and I home on the boat and it was no longer raining. I stood on deck full of a strange cheerfulness that comes on me when I am on small boats, and I have moments of feeling entirely born to being on them, and part of me wanted the short journey to carry on for longer.
Below a wet day in Sark, Oskar, me monstering Oskar and Klaudia, a horse and cart, view from La Coupée, and homeward bound.
Raining steadily in Guernsey this morning. No matter however, we were off to Sark to meet Anna and Anton and the bairns, who have unaccountably been staying in Jersey.
The Bon Marin de Serk left early. We found ourselves in the company of people going to a funeral, and others to a Pirate-themed party. The sky was slate grey, and the sea greenish grey, and despite the calm sea, the boat gave slovenly lurches over the little waves, which had Lorraine grateful she'd taken her travel sick pills. It also forced her to look up from The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo she is avidly reading. After half an hour we'd reached Maseline harbour, where it was pouring with rain, and climbed aboard the tractor-drawn carts up the hill to the village.
Lorraine and I scrambled into a cafe for a hobbits second breakfast where the choice was a full English breakfast or an egg and sausage sandwich. The staff moaning about how busy it was. Outside the rain alternated between heavy and torrential, and you half expected to see a wild eyed man leading pairs of beasts down the Avenue (Sark's main road) off to some hastily-constructed boat. Vile weather. After going into a few of the shops along the avenue, including one where I fell into conversation with the owner about books, skillfully mentioning my own. She was a lady of firm but wrongheaded opinions.
From here on the unmetalled roads, through the teeming rain to another cafe to drink coffee. I have seen Lorraine looking more cheerful as she sat dripping in the cafe, talking to the two girls from Manchester who seemed to be running it. Sark is a beautiful place, but not so good when there is a flood in progress, and of course with no cars on the island, only bicycles, tractors and horse drawn jobs you are fairly trapped.
Eventually Anna and Anton arrived among the stair rods of the rain, and after some faffing about we settled in the breakfast cafe and had a drink and some food. They and the children were looking brown, relaxed and healthy, and nonchalant about the weather. The children full of beans and seeming to have grown a couple of inches each in the last couple of weeks. Anna saying how nice Jersey was, and Anton persisting with this idea that it was full of Chelsea supporters to unsettle me. Klaudia going around listening to people's stomachs to see if they were hungry, and Oksar going outside to shout happily in the rain.
Eventually the rain subsided into heavy drizzle and we went out among it. I enjoyed monstering the children by holding them upside down over vast puddles, which had them screeching happily. We all walked about in the rain, and found more places to shelter. One place we popped into, where people post funeral were gathered, had a room with paintings by Toplis, the artist of Sark, which were rather good. Klaudia walking around with Lorraine's movie camera looking entirely the part.
Eventually we parted company, as they had an earlier boat to catch. Lorraine and I then sped down to La Coupée, the narrow cut with sheer drops either side which joins Sark to Little Sark. As Lorraine had never been to Sark before and it was good for her to at least see this.
Lorraine and I home on the boat and it was no longer raining. I stood on deck full of a strange cheerfulness that comes on me when I am on small boats, and I have moments of feeling entirely born to being on them, and part of me wanted the short journey to carry on for longer.
Below a wet day in Sark, Oskar, me monstering Oskar and Klaudia, a horse and cart, view from La Coupée, and homeward bound.
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