Life in a tax haven

Playing Carcassone - I believe I won three games, Lucy one
and Sam none (not that I'm keeping score)

I've been in Jersey this past few days, taking over some clothes and belongings for Sam and Lucy, who have decided to move to this small island - the most southerly part of the British Isles, grower of potatoes, home to the famous Jersey cow and massive financial centre/tax haven.

We'd expected Sam to live in Thorney for a while after coming back from France and to find locum work while Lucy looked for a job and they found somewhere to live. As it happened, he moved to Jersey after a couple of weeks to take up a short-term locum job for a group of doctors in St Helier (the main town). That was extended and now he's been offered the chance to buy into the practice in February. Lucy has been over for about eight weeks and now has a job with an investment company.

They have been living with the parents of one of Sam's university friends, Rob Berks, and they've been hugely welcoming. So much so, that while they were on holiday this week, they suggested we came across to stay so we could see Sam and Lucy and bring their belongings over. They're moving into a new place next week, so will need some of their stuff.

There are lots of flights to Jersey, but we needed the car to carry their gear, so it was the ferry for us. The best option is the fast ferry from Weymouth, so we were up early on Saturday, around the M25 before it locked solid and then down the M3 to Southamption, Bournemouth, Dorchester and Weymouth. There was still a bit of late holiday traffic on the roads and Weymouth was quite busy, but we were there in good time.

The boat is operated by Condor Ferries and it was a slower loading process than Dover Calais. Cars and vans were separated, and traffic for Guernsey (the first stop) and Jersey were separated so the Guernsey lot could get off first. The ferry is a sort of twin-hulled catamaran and once it's in the open sea, it really cracks on. The journey takes about four-and-a-half hours, but it passed fairly quickly.

We didn't like the look of the food, so we just had a sandwich and a glass of wine. Later, we had a Costa coffee and cookie. You had a seat allocated, but ours were in the middle of a bank of four (aircraft style) so we wandered around and found some more to our liking. The ferry was quite busy, but far from full. There were lots of old people, who were on coach trips and travelling as foot passengers.

Crossing was very smooth but a light fog prevented you seeing very far. The Channel Islands are right down past the Cherbourg peninsula, maybe 20 miles from the French coast. It's amazing they're not part of France. The crossing is quite long and it's a surprise, after so much sea, when Guernsey appears and you find yourself in St Peter Port. The ferry doesn't pick up the same speed for the final leg to Jersey, but you're in St Helier an hour later.

Jersey cows - from our bedroom window

We'd agreed that we'd keep a seat down at the back and Sam would meet us off the ferry to guide us to the house, but they had so much stuff that the car was jam packed and I'd had to tell Sam there was no room. The plan was for Sam and Lucy to meet us, Margaret and Lucy to go for a drink, while we went to the house, unloaded and then went back to collect them. The Berks live in part of a massive granite barn, converted into four houses. It's about three miles outside St Helier, but the roads are all very narrow. Much of the island has a 20 or 30mph speed limit and the maximum speed limit is 40mph, so I'd never get my car out of third gear. It is a place for small cars, but most people seem to have three or four cars; Range Rovers are popular, as are large Mercs and you see far more Porches than you do anywhere in the UK (outside London).

Everyone has been so welcoming and hospitable to Sam and Lucy, that it's hard not to feel good about Jersey. First impressions are that it's quite similar in feel to the Isle of Man, although the roads are much narrower (like Cornish lanes) and the speed limit is lower. The island is granite, which I wasn't expecting, and almost every building is made from granite, apart from the modern ones in St Helier. As well as being narrow , hilly and twisty, most roads are also sunk down, with the verges being solid granite. It makes driving quite exciting, especially when you meet a bus coming the opposite way.

On Sunday, we had a day exploring the island by car. It doesn't take long. I think Jersey is five miles wide and nine miles long, so a few minutes after leaving the Berks' house, we were looking out from the north coast, where you can see Alderney, Guernsey and a bit of the French coast.

Jersey is divided into parishes, Sam lives in St John, but will be moving to Trinity next week.

We drove round the north side of the island, which is quite rocky with the exception of a nice beach at Plemont Bay. The west of the island is pretty much one long, sandy beach with Corbiere Lighthouse at the southern tip. There are sandy beaches and swankier houses on the south coast, but the prettiest part if probably the east coast - Grouville Bay and St Catherine's Bay, the harbours of Grouville, St Catherine's and Mont Orgueil Castle. They grow the very early Jersey potatoes on south facing slopes and some of them are so steep that machinery is hauled up and down on ropes.

On Monday, we carried the gear across to their new home. One of the practice partners has offered an annexe where Sam and Lucy can stay while they sort out something more permanent. It's a long room over their garage with a bedroom at one end and a bathroom at the other. It's in a pleasant location and should suit them very well. We'd planned a meal out that night, but Margaret was not feeling very well, so we had to bail out.

On Tuesday, Sam, Lucy and I went for brunch at a cafe on the beach at St Ouen's Bay. I had a full breakfast and it was jolly nice. St Ouen's is a massive beach, with the Corbiere lighthouse at its southern tip. It's west facing and you must get some magnificent sunsets. Margaret wasn't feeling up to it, so she stayed back at the Berks. The weather was glorious and Sam was quite keen to have a swim. I'd brought my trunks, but at the last minute Lucy warned me that the swim would be from a stony beach and Sam had swimming shoes. I didn't fancy walking across shingle.

iPhone panorama or St Ouen's Bay. It's a great beach and west-facing so the sunsets will be amazing.

Instead,we went to a vineyard and cider mill for a look around. It's a major tourist attraction and I rather got the impression they make more money from tourists than they do from cider. It was OK, but they were a bit mean with the quantity for tasting and a couple of the wines were quite ropey. I did buy some cider, some apple brandy, some Jersey cream brandy, some gin and some vodka. I thought vodka made from Jersey potatoes might amuse Michael and Marina (Inna's parents).

The devil at Devil's Hole - a statue in the woods
on the walk down to the cliffs.

Afterwards, we drove to a place called the Devil's Hole. It's a blowhole in the cliffs on the north coast, a geological feature caused by a collapsed cave. I've seen better blowholes (the Devil's Frying Pan in Cornwall for example), but it was a nice walk and good to stretch my legs. There were great views of the granite cliffs and it's really good to be by the sea.

Wednesday was our last day. I ran Sam into work early, then we had a leisurely morning before going into town for a look around. There are some nice shops and lots of cafes. We popped in to see Sam during his lunch break and also to see the practice and say hello to some of his colleagues. People are really nice and friendly and I think they were quite interested to see Sam's mum and dad.

After lunch, we ran Lucy to the airport (she was flying back to London to pick up some clothes from Ramsgate), had a nosy around a garden centre and then it was ferry check-in time. Condor Ferries are pretty efficient and we left on time (6pm) and got to Weymouth at 10.15pm. We'd been parked right at the top, so were almost last out, but we were soon on the road.

I was part of the sub-committee of school governors interviewing for a new head teacher on Thursday and Friday, so I was keen to get a little sleep. Despite a couple of diversions caused by road closures for overnight works, we were home at just after 2am. I guess Jersey will be a regular trip - I never expected to have a son live there.

Hello, my name is Ryanair

I had my first U3A (University of the Third Age) Spanish class on Tuesday.

It's a big class with around 22 students, some of whom are spending their third year in basic Spanish! Either they are very slow learners or we have a very bad teacher. Judging from my impressions of the first class, it is the former that applies, but having said that I am struggling to remember one Duolingo lesson for more than an hour!

I sat next to a couple who are learning Spanish because their son is marrying a Catalan woman; we had something slightly in common, although Ecuador is more exotic, so I felt I had the upper hand.

The chap on the other side was a committed South American traveller. He's done Chile, Peru, Bolivia, Cape Horn and Easter Island - the only Spanish he knows is: "can you speak English?" Next year, he is off to Argentina, the Falklands, Drake's Passage and Chile. He plans to drive all the way up Chile. I couldn't get away from him at the end, he was very keen to tell me about his adventures. I think if I'd asked him if he had any pictures, I'd still be looking at his smartphone. I'll ask him next week.

The "dunces" in the class included one woman, who claimed she couldn't remember anything she learned last year and couldn't introduce herself in Spanish; also a chap who can't roll his rrrs. They both seemed very happy to still be in basic Spanish and not in any great hurry to leave. There was also an odd chap called Pinder, who won't tell anyone his first name and who got very grumpy when it was suggested we buy textbooks on Amazon. "What was wrong with bookshops?" he wanted to know. Also, Pinder couldn't work out what he was called when it was his turn to introduce himself, which is a bit poor considering he's already ditched 50 per cent of his name. You'd have thought three words: "me llamo Pinder" would have been easy enough.

Our tutor, John, was very good; he explained things clearly, he's laid back and has a sense of humour. He knows Spanish through working as an engineer in northern Spain during the 1990s.

We started by going through the alphabet, which has good, clear rules, but more nuances than English. I learned that I drive a bay emmay oobay doblay (BMW), but most Spaniards call them bay emmays and, amusingly, a VW is an oobay, oobay doblay. I also learned that my name is Ehric Ryanair (rolling both Rs) Littleh. I'm not very happy about sounding like a budget airline, but what can I do?

We are learning to speak Castellano, which has slight differences in pronunciation from South American Spanish, but I think that's the least of my worries right now. I have to miss next week's class because I'm in Jersey, but John has promised to mail me the exercise sheet. I'll have to swot up on that, plus my Dualingo if I'm ever to escape to the intermediate class.