A week in Jersey

Selfie with granddad

Margaret and I are just back from a week in Jersey where we have been visiting Sam and Lucy and getting some quality time with Arthur, our grandson, who is just 18 months old.

He's quite a handful, a lot more wriggly than Julia and much more daring. He will charge down steps, even quite high ones, and is obsessed with jumping.

We picked a bit of a bad week weather-wise, but Arthur was also a bit below par – he had a cough, which woke him (and his mum and dad) every night and he is also getting two teeth either side of the two he already has at the front on his bottom jaw.

He's been walking for a few months now and is really fast on his feet. You can't leave him for a second, although if he's about to do something he knows he shouldn't, he generally says “bye” - that sets the alarm bells ringing.

Like Julia, he's a real mimic, although he hasn't done any impressions of Margaret yet.

He can say “daddy”, "ga-ma" and also “mummy” but he wouldn't say “mummy” when Lucy was about.

He says “no” with a strange accent, almost like “niow” with real expression. He also says “go” and “there” when he wants you in a particular place. Arms held up mean “pick me up please” in universal toddler talk.

He looks like a real little lad, especially after his latest haircut (on Friday) and his favourite thing is to have books read to him. Mr Tumble was a popular choice, also a first words book with lots of pictures, Incy Wincy Spider and Piggy plays hide and seek. He's also allowed a spell of TV, so I was introduced to Something Special (a signing show featuring disabled and able-bodied children), In The Night Garden and Teletubbies.

These are all on BBC iPlayer. I think that In The Night Garden must have been written while the author was high on drugs and Teletubbies also has something of the mind-altering about it.

Normally Arthur is at nursery on weekdays. He gets dropped off by Sam in the morning around 8am and does a full day to 6pm. He's now in the older toddler group and he's one of the smaller ones in there. 

At home, he wakes up around 6am and likes a cup of cow's milk first thing, breakfast at 8am and then playtime until 10am when he really needs a sleep. He won't sleep if we put him down, but if you push him out in his buggy, then he goes out like a light for a maximum one hour (or until the buggy stops). Sam was just the same.

After the morning sleep, he likes a fairly early lunch, more play, an afternoon sleep (same rules as the morning sleep), then play or book and then dinner about 4pm, play, some TV and sleep around 7pm.

Sam and Lucy both had the sleep-deprived, harassed look of toddler parents. It was ironic to hear Margaret re-assuring Sam (Sam who was such a difficult baby) that it wouldn't last long. It does seem hard work (because it is hard work) and you have no time for lots of other things, but it does go by so quickly.

Margaret and I know how they change and grow and how these precious moments of life's first steps, words and discoveries go past so fast. It seems not so long ago that we were doing things with Sam that he's now doing with Arthur.

Arthur enjoyed my company, especially a gee-gee, but he really loved ga-ma. He would always choose Margaret to read him a book and occasionally come to me for a second opinion. I'll have to try harder next time.

We drove to Gatwick and then flew to Jersey by easyJet. It's a familiar route by now and is the cheapest way to do it (although I got my suitcase weight really wrong and ended up paying another £40) It cost more to get the suitcase there and back than it did for our tickets. We arrived around 8.30pm on Wednesday.

Thursday was a nice day. Arthur had to be at nursery because Sam, Margaret and I were booked on a boat trip to the Écréhous, which is a reef and string of tiny islands between Jersey and the Cherbourg peninsula. It's about six miles from Jersey and the same from France, but is part of Jersey and has been since the Normans conquered the whole region in the first millennium. France laid claim to the Écréhous, but in 1953 the International Court of Justice ruled they were part of Jersey.

The name comes from two Norse words – Esker and Hou, meaning 'stony' and 'island'. The Vikings didn't miss much and this tiny string of islands, most of it only visible at low tide, was certainly on their radar.

All but the three largest islands are submerged at high tide, there are no permanent residents and no fresh water there. Due to erosion, they are now much smaller than they may have been within historic times. Maîtr'Île, the largest of the islets, is about 300 metres long. There are about eight buildings, some used as holiday residences, on the largest islets, and one official building, a customs house, on La Marmotchiéthe.

The Écréhous also attracted the notice of the early Christians in Europe. Being remote and grim, it was considered the perfect place for a monk to live and for a few hundred years there was a chapel and priory there. It was also a staging post for smuggling.

According to Wikipedia, there have been permanent residents on Les Écréhous in recent times. Philippe Pinel lived on Bliantch'Île from 1848 to 1898 and exchanged gifts with Queen Victoria. He styled himself king of the Écréhous. More recently, in the 1960s and 1970s a man called Alphonse Le Gastelois sought refuge in the islands from unfounded public suspicion of being a sexual attacker. He home in Jersey was attacked, so he left for the Écréhous and lived there for more than 20 years, even after the real culprit was arrested.

Now the islands are a protected conservation zone.

We took a rib from St Catherine's. It was a powerful craft that sped across the short stretch of water and easily navigated the many submerged rocks and sandbanks. It would have been a much more dangerous trip for the Vikings, who depended on oars and sails. Inside  Maîtr'Île, there is a sheltered inlet and small sandy beaches. We only had an hour or so on the island, but Sam was keen to have a swim and so I went in with him. The water was about 18 degrees, so it felt cold until you splashed about a bit and then it seemed warmer than the air above. I haven't swum in the sea for well over 10 years and it's easy to forget how much easier it is due to the extra buoyancy of salt water. Other people who had come across with us thought we were a little crazy.

It's amazing to swim in a little sheltered inlet like this, miles from anywhere and think of Viking longships laid up there with some protection from a high sea. There was a fair bit of wildlife about. We saw dolphins, seals, gannets and terns.

Once back, we picked up Arthur from nursery and headed home.

Breakfast at El Tico's always goes down well.

On Friday, the weather was getting wet and windier. We wouldn't have been able to get to the Écréhous this day, so it was as well we had gone when we did. Instead, we had breakfast at El Tico, a favourite location for breakfast when we're in Jersey and then did a supermarket shop at Waitrose in Red Houses and Sam took Arthur for a haircut (his second). Having a 'big boy' haircut really makes him look grown up and older than his year-and-a-half. Arthur's routine isn't as rigid as Julia's. She goes to bed for a two-hour sleep at about 12.30pm, but Arthur seems to catch some zzzs when he can. A trip in the car or the buggy, soon sends him off to sleep.

On Saturday, we all went to Jersey Zoo, which had an open day for 'friends' – including people who have bought a year-long subscription. I don't really like zoos and, especially zoos that have birds in cages, but I acknowledge that my dislike is perhaps not based on sensible science but rather putting myself in the position of the animals. We bought Lucy a subscription to the zoo, so that she could take Arthur along there any time and it has been fairly well used. It's in a nice parkland setting, so it's a pleasant place to walk around and there are some interesting plants as well as the usual animals. I had a nice chat with the politically incorrect gorilla keeper and went to say hello to the fruit bats. Arthur wanted to run downhill (any hill).

We had lunch in the zoo cafe, but plans for my first taste of Jersey ice-cream were thwarted when the ice-cream machine had broken down. There are two types of Jersey ice-cream (made with Jersey milk) – soft or hard. I rather like ice cream, but for some reason I've never had one on holiday in Jersey. Perhaps the weather has always been too wet.

Nice ice-cream for Arthur

After the zoo, we drove out to the north shore and had a little stroll along a beach and slipway. A party was just setting off on a coasteering trip and it brought back horrific memories for Sam who was terrified when he took Max and Inna coasteering this summer.

In the evening, we were babysitting so that Sam and Lucy could go out for dinner. It had been their wedding anniversary (ninth, I think) that week and they went to Ormer, the Michelin-starred restaurant in St Helier. Arthur was very good for us, but woke up just before Sam and Lucy arrived home. Margaret was able to get him down again. Poor lad has a cough and spits his dummy, then needs comforting. Sam and Lucy were both stuffed with food and wine. They'd had a taster menu with a different glass of wine with each course!

It was good that they could go out. It's hard with a small baby and no family support nearby, so they depend upon Maureen or Margaret being in town to have a social life.

There have been lots of changes to the house since I last visited. There are new wood floors, wood-burning stoves in both living rooms, the kitchen units have been painted and the garden is much changed and restocked. Lucy has some lovely grasses, which I rather coveted. She found me some seeds for one variety, but the other is not hardy enough to grow in our garden. I do have its name, so I might try anyway. Perhaps I could find a warm corner.

On Sunday, I helped in the garden by sorting out the pile of wood from various trees that have been cut down. I persuaded Sam to put the bigger logs in his wood-store and stacked the smaller pieces in a neater pile at the bottom of the garden. They should be good for insects and birds. Sam says he isn’t scared of spiders any more, but he wasn’t in any hurry to dig into the woodpile.

We also fixed the lock on the front gate, so Arthur could be locked in the back garden (he could open the gate and get out onto the road) and also did some general tidying.

Windy day at St Brelade's

In the afternoon, Sam and Lucy took advantage of grandparent day-care to visit the gym, so Margaret and I walked Arthur around St Brelade's. Soon after we set off, the rain blew in on a strong wind and so we decided to carry on across the beach to the Smugglers’ Inn at the end of the bay. Arthur was snoozing happily, but Margaret and I were soaked on one side and completely dry on the other. The rain was coming on horizontally.

I like the Smugglers’, it has fires and allows dogs into the bar. We got Arthur some fish & chips and apple crumble with ice cream. He ate fish, licked tomato sauce off the chips and ate the ice cream. Thankfully, the rain had stopped for the walk back.

St Brelade’s is probably the nicest beach on Jersey. It’s not as long as St Ouen’s, but has good sand and it’s very pretty, with a rocky clump of granite dividing the beach (and the bay) in two. At low tide, you can walk around it; at high tide, you have the scramble over the top.

Jersey isn’t very green. All household waste gets incinerated and there’s no organised recycling. Electricity comes from France, so I guess that’s nuclear and it’s either green or the end of the world, depending upon your point of view.

Well, on Monday I went with Sam to the recycling centre. I’ve been before, but a new one has opened just north east of St Helier. It’s very impressive. There’s a recycling shop, where you can drop off things that might be useful and they are then sold for charity; also different skips for different types of rubbish. It’s all clean, very easy to park and very quick. We also took some garden waste, which is composted and you can buy topsoil/compost by the bag or giant bale. The best thing about the old site was a pile of “possibly useful” things which you could help yourself to. That’s no longer there because the charity shop takes them all. Trouble is, the stuff that might be useful to someone, but is a little shoddy, now tends to get dumped.

Foamy sea off St Ouen's Bay

As we drove to the recycling centre, the waves were crashing over the sea wall, so afterwards, we went round to St Ouen’s Bay, which faces west, just to see what it was like. The sea was foaming and waves were breaking over the wall – not a day for a walk on the beach or a sea crossing. If we’d come via ferry, we might have been wondering if we’d get home on Wednesday.

St Helier was windy, sunny and wet – all in the space of a couple of hours. We had a look round the shops, bought some Jersey Pottery for Emilia and Julia and met Lucy for lunch at Pizza Express. Arthur was good, but needed a dance with Margaret to keep him amused. He does like to dance, but other diners might not have noticed the small toddler and thought: why is that crazy woman dancing in the middle of the restaurant?

Tuesday was our last day with Sam, who had to return to work on Wednesday. We had a quiet day, with a couple of walks for Arthur so Sam could spend some time sorting out his broken boiler (leak, then short circuit when it was turned on), the blokes who had come to dig some tree roots out of the garden and also looking at the John Lewis website. Sam wants a new oven and hob to complete his kitchen makeover and his favourite reading is currently the Bosch catalogue and the John Lewis website.

The gardeners did an OK job and there’s now lots more space for new plants. We rounded our day off with a trip to Waitrose. I took Arthur to see the fish on the fish counter and the shop-assistant (it being a slow day) thought he’s entertain us by picking up a mackerel and making it swim towards Arthur’s face. Arthur was not amused.

I let him have a run around after that and he found the toilet roll aisle bewitching. I realised that all toilet rolls and paper towels have pictures of puppies or teddies on them.

Our last day was Wednesday and we could have packed Arthur off to nursery and had a quiet day, or given him another day of books, buggies and Teletubbies. We chose Teletubbies. It was nice to spend time with him on our own, although we did need two long walks to get him to sleep. Sam arrived back from work in time to take over and to take us to the airport.

Not happy today - needs some Calpol

Discovered the joy of watering plants

Building a tower ...

Looking after grandchildren

I have not posted much on my diary for the past couple of months. I seems to have been ridiculously busy - I am looking after Julia one day a week, I've taken on the job as chair of governors at school and there has been an edition of the Thorney Post to get out. There's also Probus meetings, Churches & Teas Group, helping at Thorney Friendship Group and Spanish classes.

I'm not complaining, I enjoy all my jobs, especially the time spent with Julia, but it is surprising that my retirement free time is so small. In the new year, I will have to resolve to get better organised. I'd really like to devote a bit more time to fitness and also get the allotment better organised. Perhaps the two could be combined?

I started my Julia-sitting duties at the beginning of October when Lucy began her PhD at King's College, Cambridge. I had agreed to do Wednesdays, Margaret Fridays and Tom Thursdays (Julia would go to nursery on Mondays and Tuesdays). It's easy to sit down and plan these things, but reality has a habit of getting in the way of the best-laid plans. Julia didn't take to nursery very easily and, to make matters worse, Tom and Lucy had chosen one in Letchworth instead of the one across the road from their house. This meant a mile-and-a-half trip each way, the purchase of a bicycle, child seat for the said bike and a lot of worry about whether Julia would ever settle.

Of course, she did, but only after a few weeks. The trouble with nurseries is that they take every opportunity to get the child back home, so if parents show any weakness (such as saying "let us know if she's upset") they will be straight on the phone. It's hard to be hard, but it's the only way.

Julia did settle in pretty happily in the end, but Tom and Lucy have now moved her to the nursery opposite their house, which should be a much more convenient arrangement. There are more children in the group, but I'm not sure Julia will worry about that.

Lucy has been hit hard by the amount of work she needs to do and has had to do a lot more reading, research and essay writing than was anticipated. This, combined with Tom's unpredictable work demands has meant we've been on call for some additional days and also some weekends.

I was a little worried about looking after Julia, it's been a long time since I had a toddler to care for, but it has been a real joy. She seems to have had a continual cold and cough since starting nursery, but she's a real pleasure to be with and it's nice to be able to spend so much time with her. When my own children were this age, I was working all the hours I could to earn money and progress my career and I missed out on such a lot.

She loves a walk around Baldock and a trip to Tesco is always a good bet. I've also taken her to Heartbeeps (grown out of that now), toddler singing in Letchworth, Logan's Den (a play cafe in Baldock) and a regular trip has been to Grandparents & Toddlers Playgroup at the Mrs Howard Memorial Hall in Letchworth. This runs from 10am to 11.15 on Wednesday mornings and, combined with a rail trip from Baldock, plus a look at the fountains in Letchworth, makes for a very convivial morning. After that's it's lunch, potty training, sleep, play, dinner, bath and then mum or dad is home.

Julia has a snooze on grandad's belly (nice and soft)

I've been rocking her to sleep to Edward Lear's The Owl and The Pussycat. My mother used to say the poem to me when I was a little boy going to bed and I can still her her voice, deep in my soul: "what a beautiful pussy you are ... you are ..." as I drifted off to sleep. I'm not sure Julia always hears the magic and sometimes I have to revert to “Rock-a-bye Julia in the Tree Top”. A tired teddy was a useful prop for a couple of weeks, but Lucy has now hidden Teddy so Julia doesn’t suffer from this crazy English teddy fetish. Lucy has never used a cot for Julia (she calls it a cage) so the sleep routine has to be to rock her in your arms until she nods off, make sure she's properly asleep and then put her down on the bed. It's like handling high explosive - you need a steely nerve and a steady hand. Often, I'm ready for a sit down as well, so I just rock her to sleep in the comfy armchair and enjoy a quiet hour or so myself.

It's a shame we can't enjoy as much time with Arthur, but Jersey is not as easy to reach as Baldock. Arthur has been in nursery full time, five days a week, since Lucy started back at work in August. We've just has a weekend with them in Jersey and I can't believe how hard they all work. Arthur is generally up about 5am and is starving. On Monday, I was down at 6am and he was, uncharacteristically, crying and grumbling in Lucy's arms. Lucy said he wasn't happy because his milk was taking a while to warm up so I took him into the lounge to divert him by showing him the Christmas tree.

Lucy was soon through with his milk and he sits back in his little rocking bed and holds his bottle to drink. He's very dextrous when it comes to holding a bottle and he does love his food. His joy in a morning is to go to nursery at 7am and have a Weetabix with warm baby milk when he gets there. He started on a few solids a month or so ago and he will now try pretty much anything. He doesn't have teeth yet, but he worked his way through a good length of banana, various vegetables and meat, including ham. He seems to have a slight egg allergy so Sam and Lucy are avoiding that. Because we won't see Sam and Lucy at Christmas, Sam did us a Christmas dinner on the Sunday evening, complete with chicken, ham and roast potatoes (plus Christmas pudding). Arthur had his first taste of Brussels sprouts and thought they were yummy.

During the week, Arthur's day starts around 5.30am with breakfast milk, then he's off to nursery at 7am and dropped off by either Sam or Lucy, who then go on to work. The nursery is in St Helier and is quite close to both Sam's and Lucy's surgery/office. He's there all day and get's picked up after work and home about 6.30pm. Arthur is often ready for sleep and so it's time to get him ready for bed and then off again in the morning. Weekends are when Sam and Lucy get to spend time with him. It's a very different routine to the one we had with our children, but Arthur seems very happy and is growing up fast. He can sit confidently, but can't yet pull himself into a sitting position. If you put him on his belly, we will lift himself up into a crawl position and can move himself backwards on their wood floor. He will also stand and lean against the back of a chair or between your legs, so he has a lot of core strength for his age.

He likes to go in his walker and can get around the lounge quite well. He also has a lot to say for himself and jabbers away to the world, generally with a nice smile on his face.

Arthur falls for the old reindeer ears picture

We only had a couple of days on Jersey and on Saturday morning we went to St Peter's Garden Centre near the airport to buy a Christmas tree. We'd feared the worst that crowded Christmas shopping could throw at us, but it was actually a really nice atmosphere and Arthur quite enjoyed all the sights, the people and being wheeled/carried around. Sam was on call and had to go to see a patient, but we'd taken two cars, so we stayed on a bit and had a drink and cake in the cafe. Margaret has been campaigning for a new artificial tree and I have been a bit grumpy about it because we had an artificial tree which she gave away two years ago. I think I got into the Christmas spirit in Jersey, if we hadn't been restricted to two cabin bags, I'd have bought trees, lights, reindeer ...

It was fine weather, but with quite a cold wind and, in the afternoon, we went down to St Aubin's Bay and walked around to St`Aubin, where there was a small community Christmas Fair. Arthur was well wrapped up in his special suit and slept pretty much the whole walk. Margaret insisted on pushing him despite cold hands.

Once Arthur was in bed and we'd watched Strictly Come Dancing on television, I suggested Lucy decorated the tree. She didn't look very happy at the prospect (I think she had her heart set on finishing the sherry bottle), but knew she wouldn't have time the next day, so she set to. She soon started to enjoy herself and the tree looked lovely. Arthur was very interested the next day and grabbing a bauble off the tree might be just the incentive he needs to get his head around this crawling business.

Blowing raspberries at Arthur on the walk.

On Sunday, we walked through St Lawrence, via the back roads to Hamptonne Country Life Museum, where there was another Christmas Fair. It's an interesting place and one of the attractions was a working cider mill, which would be a great facility to have in Thorney. There was an apple crusher, a press and a collection of fermentation barrels. We had mulled cider and an enormous sausage in French bread, which meant I could barely eat anything for the rest of the day.

Arthur was happy to snooze most of the time, but woke up on the way home and decided he's spent enough time in his buggy. Sam and I carried him, taking it in turns until the last quarter of a mile when Margaret wanted a turn. When we got in, Sam cooked a Christmas dinner, while I entertained Arthur and Margaret went with Lucy to Jersey zoo. We'd decided to get Arthur a year's membership as it seems a good place to go to keep him entertained at a weekend. Arthur needed a nappy change and had presented me with a poo. As soon I I got his nappy off he wee’d and I only just managed to jump out of the way. I now had a wet pad and no idea where the new nappies were. I eventually found one under the changing table, but it turned out this was a swimming nappy (designed to keep in poo, but let wee straight out), so he needed a complete change by the time Lucy and Margaret got home.

The weekend was over all too soon. Lucy dropped us at the airport the next day and we had a monster breakfast there before flying back to Gatwick. It was a good journey and we were back about 2pm, in time to buy that artificial Christmas tree, some lights and pick up a delighted Holly from kennels.

We'll see Sam, Lucy and Arthur in January when we go skiing, but these little glimpses of Arthur bring it home how lucky we are to be able to spend so much time with Julia.

Three generations of Rayners. Arthur would love to get his hands on an iPhone!

Meeting my grandson for the first time

I have been over in Jersey meeting my new grandson, Arthur.

Margaret had already been across, but this was my first encounter. Arthur is now seven weeks old.

We flew from Gatwick via easyJet and Lucy was waiting for us at the airport with Arthur.

I've seen lots of pictures, so felt that I knew him quite well already. It was quite emotional seeing him for the first time, but being of strong stock, I managed to keep a stiff upper lip.

His photographs are an excellent likeness. Next to Julia, he seems very small. I remember how small Sam seemed in comparison to Tom when he came home from hospital.

He's a good baby, despite suffering a little with colic (certainly better than his dad) and has lots of very expressive facial expressions. There’s grumpy old man, where he looks just like his dad (and perhaps a little like his grandad Rayner), there’s also the very-interested face and the mildly-amused face.

When he wakes up he opens one eye first to have a check around and then the other one.

He loves a good sneeze and seems to mimic what you’re doing - so he will smile if you smile and if you put your tongue out he will do the same.

He likes to be carried belly down on your arm and can keep his head lifted for a long time. He’s very strong for such a new baby. He seemed happy to go to sleep on my arm with his legs draped over each side, while an arm was hooked underneath like a little monkey on a branch.

Arthur has sandy-coloured hair and will probably be blond, like his dad, while he’s little, getting darker with age. He sleeps quite well through the night and enjoys his food - a mixture of breastmilk and formula milk.

We arrived on Wednesday evening and were to head home on Saturday evening. On Thursday, Lucy drove us across to La Grève de Lecq, a nice little seaside village on the north coast. There’s a small, but sandy beach in a sheltered cove, but we were really there for breakfast at Colleen’s. Jersey has some good little cafes and snack shacks - The Hungry Man and Mad Mary’s spring to mind - but this is more like Bill’s (the UK chain of cool breakfast eateries).

I had an English breakfast, Margaret had burger, bacon, sausage and chips, Lucy had a bacon-and-egg bap on a Portuguese roll (which is a huge thing). Arthur had formula milk with some Gaviscon to help his colic. He was very well behaved and only needed some small walks around the restaurant to keep him amused. On the way back, we took a detour to buy some Jersey Royals from a particular place that grows them in the traditional way with seaweed. They were £3 a pound, but tasted beatutiful.

Sam and Lucy’s house is looking more like home. They have acquired a lot more furniture since I was there decorating earlier in the year. They have a couple of large settees, a big sideboard, a very large, gothic-looking dresser (which grew on me each time I saw it), some tables and chest of drawers. John, Lucy’s dad, has made them a very nice kitchen table from rescued wood. They have a patio table and chairs on order, also a parasol, so will be well set up once the warm weather arrives.

The VegTrug we bought them for Christmas has a couple of rows of radish, beetroot and lettuce coming through.

During the afternoon, we watched a TV show called Tipping Point, a quiz where players win coins to put in a Penny Falls machine to see if them can win tokens. Arthur had fallen asleep on my arm and after an hour I’d put him down in his chair. Amazingly, he remained asleep and stayed asleep while we had dinner (Jersey Royals and sausages). Having had such a long sleep, he wasn’t in any hurry to go to bed and still looked wide awake when I went to bed at 10.30pm. That’s the joy of being a grandparent, you can duck out when the going looks like getting tough.

We had a slow start on Friday and it was not until late morning that we headed out to Ransome’s, the garden centre in the north of the island past Trinity. We been there a couple of times before and it’s quite a good place. Lucy bought a dahlia tuber and also a pot for a fig tree they have been given. The plan is to have the tree on the patio at the back of their house, which is south facing and so very sunny.

Margaret was wheeling Arthur around, while Lucy and I browsed. Arthur likes to keep moving, so Margaret was covering a lot of ground and she spotted some plants that Marina (Inna’s mum) had given me last year. She didn’t know what they were called, but they had them in the garden centre as spectacular succulents with green/red leaves growing like huge rosettes. They are obviously a ‘thing’ this year because there were lots of them - priced at £20 per pot.

They are called Aeoniums or Tree Houseleek and they are native to the Canary Islands, with some also being found in Madeira, Morocco and the mountains of Ethiopia (I’ve been researching on the web now I know their name). The trick is to given them little water, keep them frost free and make sure the purple ones are in full sun. The green ones (we have one of those as well) are happy with some shade.

That’s pretty much the advice we had from Inna’s mum. If we could grow them into plants as spectacular as those in Ransome’s, we’d sell them no trouble at the Thorney Church Flower Festival plant stall. I’m thinking of new plants to grow next year for that.

I also spotted a plant called ajuga, which I have in the garden but didn’t know what it was called. It’s a low-growing, fast-spreading ground cover plant with pretty red foliage and small blue flowers. That another one to propagate for the plant stall.

It was time for lunch when we’d finished looking around and, by good fortune, Ransome’s has a restaurant which seems to do more trade than the garden centre. We’d had no breakfast so it was a late brunch. I had chicken and bacon sandwich with chips, which was quite nice, and then made the mistake of ordering a cake. I went for a Victoria sandwich and when it arrived it was massive - a huge slab of cake in five layers with jam and cream between each layer. It looked like a challenge (and it was) but I munched my way through and then could hardly move afterwards!

Arthur had been good and had a little snooze so we could eat tea in peace. Sam came home fairly early and we had pasta for tea. It was a struggle to eat anything to be honest - even after seven hours that cake was lying heavy.

Sam didn’t feel well in the night. He had severe stomach pain and thought at one stage that he might have appendicitis. That was also my diagnosis (for what it was worth). On Saturday morning, Margaret and I acquired Arthur and enjoyed his company all morning while Sam and Lucy had a lie in. It was gone noon when they eventually surfaced. Saturday had turned into a really nice day and so I decided to do a little gardening. The previous owner had planted eight apple and pear trees in the garden and also had low-voltage lighting all around the borders.

While Sam pottered about with his special lawn weeding tool (which is very impressive), I set to and removed the roots of three shrubs and also the low-voltage lights and wiring down both sides. There are still some cables we’re not sure about, but Sam has an electrician coming on Tuesday who should be able to make certain that everything is disconnected and safe. There’s a big hole in the decking where the hot tub has been removed and Sam has also arranged for a handyman to fix that.

I’ve said I’ll go back in June and spend a few days helping to get the garden straight. Hopefully, they will have patio furniture, a chiminea and barbecue in place by then.

We had a late flight back from Jersey and got home about 12.30am. Arthur is a lovely little boy. It was a pleasure to meet him and I look forward to seeing him grow up.

Eating out in Jersey

For a small island, there are plenty of places to eat in Jersey.

On our brief stay in June, we did our bit for the country's restaurateurs and here's a quick round up.

We started at the top - Ormer is one of Jersey's four Michelin-starred restaurants and it's run by someone called Shaun Rankin, who is a very famous chef (so I'm told). I might have heard of him, but to be frank, I don't really follow all this food porn on television and the glossy supplements.

Anyway, Ormer has a Michelin star and everyone was very excited about the prospect of eating there, so what's not to like?

Ormer is an interesting name. It's a type of sea mollusc (a little like an oyster). It comes from French "oreille de mer" (a sea ear) because the open shell looks like a large ear. In the Channel Islands, they love them and there are ormering tides when the tide goes out a long way and people dash down onto the exposed rocks to collect them.

They are rare, cost a lot of money (around £10 each) to buy and are considered a delicacy. We asked if they had ormers on the menu at Ormer and the head waiter said they didn't because they were rather tough and they'd never keep their Michelin star if they served them.

It seems a bit odd to call your restaurant after sea food that you wouldn't put on the menu.

The place was pretty quiet for a Saturday night, but we had chosen to eat fairly early (7pm). There was an Australian girl (with an older chap) wearing an incredibly short skirt and halfway through her meal she started a long Skype call with someone on her iPad. It was (just) too far away for me to eavesdrop, but the couple on the next table clearly thought it bad form and asked to be moved. It was an interesting social/class interaction. One couple had perhaps come out for a special occasion and thought it very vulgar to start a Skype conversation in the middle of a meal at a Michelin-starred restaurant; the other pair treated Ormer with not a slightest wisp of respect - like most of the proletariat treat McDonalds.

We started off with cocktails in the bar while we chose our food and I thought they were a little too keen to get us seated and served. I almost had to neck my negroni! I chose crab as starter and fillet steak as my main. They don't ask how you'd like your steak, they tell you it will be rare and ask if that's all right. I have quite a high tolerance of steak from rare to medium, so I was happy enough, but should a restaurant tell you how your food will be cooked? I guess that ultimately it is up to you to vote with your feet and leave and all this "how would you like your ..." is a bit unnecessary. They should probably just cook it how they think it's best and most of us would get on fine.

Our table was situated so that we could see into the kitchen - no heads, just torsos moving about behind the hooded counter. There are a lot of people in there and Margaret was very interested in what was going on. It looked just like one of the reality restaurant shows she likes - Jamie Oliver could have swanked in at any moment and started poncing about.

I thought the food was very good - rich (of course) and small portions, very nicely presented and with interesting flavours. The steak was tender and nicely cooked; the waiters attentive and very pleasant without being ultra formal. Margaret had some Jersey Royals and thought they were a little too scrubbed and therefore lacking in flavour.

To finish, I had a cheeseboard and it was very good, a really nice selection and served at just the right temperature with a slice of quince jelly. There was the added entertainment of a stray ant that had hitched a ride with the cheese and spent the rest of the evening running around the table in a very confused state. If I'd been a Michelin inspector, that ant might have cost them their star!

Once the food was done, the waiters left us alone and were a little tardy bringing the bill, but I'm nit-picking because of the high standards the restaurant sets itself. I had a really nice meal. Total bill was just shy of £400 for the four of us (Sam's treat).

We were staying at the Royal Yacht on Liberation Square, a four-star hotel that's quite lively at night. St Helier is a strange mix. In some ways it is a market town version of London with a mini Canary Wharf finance centre attached. It's cosmopolitan, but compact and it has a seaside feel to it - a nice place to live (apart from the rush hour traffic and the parking).

The Royal Yacht's bars and nightclub seem to attract the young-to-middle-aged party set. It's not Cardiff on a Saturday night, but there were lots of high heels; short, plunging dresses and a good deal of sexual tension. Tattoos are much in evidence among the women and there were a lot of smokers. The warmer climate allows outside bars and so it's much easier to social smoke than it is back home.

The Royal Yacht hotel was quiet, spacious and comfortable. There was no noise in our room, despite the party going on five floors below. Breakfast was the usual Full English or Continental and it was nice to be able to eat on the first-floor balcony. It didn't get the morning sun, but some gas heaters dotted around made it more than warm enough. Jersey doesn't seem to worry about global warming. It buys its electricity from France (nuclear) and there are no wind turbines or solar panels. Almost every cafe, bar or restaurant has an al fresco area, but its literal meaning (cool air) is always warmed by countless gas heaters.

The Hungry Man (and woman) at Rozel

On Sunday, we had a walk with Skipper the collie dog (who belongs to one of Sam's partners) along the coast from Bouley Bay to Rozel. The north coast is up and down and the granite cliffs very pretty. It was a lovely warm day with a fresh breeze and lunch was at The Hungry Man in Rozel. This is a gaily painted shack with tables around the quayside and it does a roaring trade, with people queuing half an hour for food.

We let Sam do the queuing, while we sat at a table and enjoyed the sun and scenery. I'd offered to help, but then forgot, so he had to carry everything back on his own. There's a steady stream of cars driving down to the end of the quay hoping for a parking space and then having to turn around and drive back when they find there's none free. I've never seen so many disappointed drivers.

I had a crab roll, the house speciality, and it was good. That's crab twice in two days! Lucy likes nothing more than a bacon-and-egg roll with lots of sauce. Later, we drove round to St Ouen's Bay, which has a massive beach stretching for five miles. It's west-facing and catches the afternoon and evening sun, so was very pleasant in spite of a brisk wind. There's a beach bar called Watersplash that was pumping out a reggae beat at high volume carrying for miles along the almost-deserted sands. I'm surprised they get away with noise-polluting such a beautiful beach, but the tourist board seems to want to create the image of a surfers' paradise, so that means loud music and you can park your VW Camper on the slipway without being fined. I sound grumpy, but actually I didn't mind the music too much.

After enjoying some sea and sand we wandered back to a cafe called El Tico to see if we could eat. Sam, Lucy and I had breakfast there the last time we came to Jersey and it was very good. On Sunday evening, the place was pretty busy, but most people wanted tables inside and so we got a nice spot outside in the sun. Sheltered from the wind, it was really warm - who would want to sit inside when you could enjoy the sun and look out across the sands? El Tico is a safe bet for food; I had a salad in a desperate last bid to get a couple of my five a day.

We're gobbling down the calories, but we are getting plenty of walks.

Monday started with another "Full English" and then we met Sam to collect some paintings he'd ordered for his consulting room. Margaret put her foot in it by telling him she didn't like one (typical!) so he didn't ask her views on any of the others. We then drove out to Plemont, which is a lovely little cove and beach on the rocky north coast. The Plemont Beach Cafe is highly rated and is very nice. We'd already had a large breakfast so I just had a hot chocolate (very good), Sam went for crab (again) and Lucy might have had a bacon and egg roll. It was just (only just) too cool to sit outside unless you were in the sun and so we went inside. The cafe overlooks the beach and there's a lifeguard station on its roof.

From Plemont, we walked around to La Greve de Lecq, which is about three miles along the coast. There was a strong, cool  wind blowing but it was sunny (quite good walking conditions). The coast here is very up-and-down but the path is good, narrow in places, but with steps cut into the steeper inclines. Lucy is doing a round-the-island walk in a couple of weeks time and the north coast will be the toughest section. The walk is just over 50 miles, so quite an undertaking.

There are supposed to be puffins nesting along this section, but we didn't see any. There are good views of the other Channel Islands though. You can see Sark, Little Sark (which is joined to the main island by a narrow isthmus), Herm and Guernsey. The missing one (Alderney) is way off to the north.

Above La Greve de Lecq, Sam said he'd run back along the road to where we'd parked the car and pick us up in the village. We walked down to a nice pub called La Moulin de Lecq, which is a converted watermill with the wheel still in place. I tucked into the beer (it's nice not having to drive) while we waited in the sun for Sam to arrive.

Cocktails at Banjos.

In the evening, we were to eat at Banjos, which is a restaurant and cocktail bar housed in a former gentlemen's club in St Helier. We'd planned a meal there last time we were in Jersey, but weren't able to eat because Margaret was feeling unwell. This time, we almost missed it because I took a wrong turning and ended up half a mile from where we should have been, so we only just made it in time for cocktails with Sam and Lucy before sitting down.

I'd promised myself a fillet steak (another one!) because that's what I was having last time. Unlike Ormer, they give you the option of how you'd like it cooked, but I got the impression that they wouldn't have looked upon me kindly if I'd asked for it "well done". There was almost a food disaster when the waiter delivered a steak to my plate and then asked who was having the other. We said no-one else is having steak, so he took it back to the kitchen. In a couple of minutes he came back and said he'd brought it to the wrong table, so my steak was whisked away. Fortunately, I hadn't sliced a little taste off the end, but Margaret said the people on the table behind me who were getting a 'second-hand' steak didn't look very pleased (and I can't say I'd blame them).

Banjos doesn't have a Michelin star and the food isn't as theatrical or as well presented as Ormer, but it's a nice place, the cocktails are good and the building is splendid. It's owned by the Jersey Pottery group, which has a number of cafes and eating places around the island. I like the pottery (Sam and Lucy bought us a piece when they were living in London, years before they ever thought of moving to Jersey) but it's a shame that the pottery is made abroad, not on the island. Even if some of the smaller, cheaper pieces were made in the far east and some had been retained on Jersey it would have been better. As it is, I think it's a dangerous game to jeopardise the integrity of a brand. Of course, they're not alone - Portmeirion is doing exactly the same thing and I won't buy any of their new stuff for exactly that reason.

Corbiere lighthouse - at the start(and end) of the railway walk.

I'm not sure if Sam thinks we need to get fit or whether this was part of Lucy's training regime for the round-the-island walk, but he had planned a number of walks for us. We were supposed to be going on a boat trip to Les Ecrehous today, but the wind was too strong to be able to land there, so it was cancelled. Instead, we did the railway walk that was planned for another day. Jersey had only one railway and it ran from St Helier, along  St Aubin's Bay and out to Corbieres. If they'd kept it open, a steam railway might have been Jersey's most popular tourist attraction, topping the Nazi War Tunnels and the Battle of the Flowers, but they didn't. All of the tracks have been removed, but the section from St Aubin to Corbiere remains open as a footpath. It's a very gentle downward gradient from Corbiere, but the views are not great (in fact most of it is through woodland, suburbs and a golf club).

So it's a pleasant, if unspectacular path, much favoured by dog walkers, with a cafe half-way along. The only problem (and it's one which many paths suffer from): cyclists. They are more polite in Jersey than they are in the UK, but walkers and cyclists don't mix - dogs just add an extra dimension to any problem, of course. There's a cycle-hire shop in St Aubin at the end of the path and it's an obvious thing to make a trip to Corbiere your first target. Fortunately, most of the tourists don't cycle much faster than I can walk.

At the end of the track you're in St Aubin, which has a pretty harbour and a collection of shops, houses and hotels. We had lunch in the Boat House, which overlooks the harbour; very nice decor, very friendly and efficient service and a nice view. You can site outside, but it was far too windy today. Margaret and I had tapas, which was OK. To finish the day, we went to Ransome's Garden Centre, which may also be part of the Jersey Pottery empire (or perhaps it's just the cafe). The cafe is renowned across Jersey and, by the time I'd walked back to Corbriere, I had made room for a cake. I think garden centres make more money from their cafes and restaurants than they do from selling plants. This one should do - it was very busy, packed with middle-class mums and their noisy children. I have quite a high tolerance of noisy children (having had three myself), so this wasn't a deal-breaker. Service was good and the tea/cakes were also good (if a little pricey).

On Wednesday, we visited Jersey zoo, or the Durrell Wildlife Park, to give it its proper name. It came highly recommended and we were told to be sure to watch feeding time for the large primates. I'm never very happy with animals having to perform and, although the chimps’ tea-party fell into disrepute years ago, even the prospect of gorillas being thrown food made me a little uneasy.

Spot the animal - favourite game at Jersey zoo.

For a small island, Jersey zoo is very large. The animals, mostly, have large enclosures, which means that the indignity of being stared at while you eat is probably not such a problem. In fact the biggest problem is finding an animal to stare at and demean. The Andean Bear enclosure was notable for its lack of Andean Bears, the orang-utans were merging successfully into the background (which is quite hard because they’re orange and the background is green) and even the meerkats were a little backward in coming forwards.

There are animals in Jersey zoo, trust me, it's just that it takes you a while to learn how to spot them. Once you've got your eyes accustomed, you can normally find some kind of creature within half an hour or so. It's a very pleasant place to spend a day even without animals, so look upon a sighting of the tip of an otter's tail disappearing under the water as a bit of a bonus.

Sam in the observation bubble in the meerkat enclosure.

We eventually saw more than two meerkats (I think the sight of Sam appearing in the observation bubble scared them all to one end) and we found the Andean Bears in their underground enclosure indulging in a little afternoon hanky-panky (well foreplay at least). The orang-utans put in a brief appearance and the gorillas appeared fleetingly for feeding time and the gorilla talk by a zookeeper. The menu today comprised lettuce, which the zoo grows itself and which is lobbed into the undergrowth in the gorilla enclosure so the animals have to forage (as they would in the wild). You'd think a gorilla would need more calories than is contained in a lettuce, but they don't seem to be underfed. The highlight of a zoo trip for me (like any child) is seeing an unusual animal doing a poo. In Jersey zoo, we saw a gibbon hanging by its long arms from a steel wire (strung like a clothes line for his amusement and exercise) to relieve himself. First he (or she) did a long wee and then the creature forced out a long poo. The gibbon and the poo hung there for a couple of minutes before it dropped (the poo, not the gibbon). I've never seen that before, although if I were a gibbon, I'd definitely try it. There was also a bonus in the fruit bat enclosure. These are amazing creatures, wonderful to watch. When they're not flying or pooing they hang upside down - think about it, you can't do a poo upside down, it would make a terrible mess. So what the fruit bats do is turn over, hang the right way up, get the business done and then go back to hanging the right way (wrong way) up.

It's a well-known fact that Margaret is very fond of pizza, so Sam and Lucy planned a trip to Pizza Express at St Brelade in the evening. Sam had wanted to book a table by the window and after some difficulties had been promised one, but we'd arrived a little early and had time for a walk on the beach and a drink before eating.

St Brelade is a nice place and overlooks Ouaisné Bay (another of those Jersey place names which is quite hard to get your tongue around). There are two wide beaches intersected by a rocky outcrop which you can walk around on the sand when the tide is out. When the tide's in, there's a path up and over it. We walked the length of the beach to the Old Smugglers Inn and then back to Pizza Express. The place was absolutely packed, it was doing a roaring trade! Of course, there wasn't a table by the window, I think they'd forgotten our booking and we were squeezed in, then had a long wait for the pizza to arrive and mine had a soggy bottom - they were just too busy to do a good job. The after-dinner drinks were no better - Lucy ordered a mint tea and got greenfly floating on the top, I ordered an Irish Coffee which didn't taste of coffee or whisky and was crowned by a massive blob of squirty cream. We complained and they gave us some money off.

Exit this way - inside the mound at La Houge Bie

Thursday was our last day, we were flying out that evening and we started the day at Bouley Bay where there's a little beach shack called Mad Mary's. Lucy is fond of their bacon-and-egg baps (the best on the island, I'm told) but I'd already had bacon and egg (plus toast, black pudding, a sausage and tomato - I'd resisted the hash brown and baked beans), so I settled for Mad Mary's other speciality - hot chocolate. Mad Mary didn't look very mad, but she did give me a perplexed look when I said "no thanks" to squirty cream on my drink. What is it with squirty cream - you can't avoid the bloody stuff in cafes these days.

Sam and Lucy know I like nothing more than a day with a prehistoric mound, so they took us to a place called La Houge Bie, which is claimed to be the finest passage grave in Europe. It's Neolithic, dating back to around 3,500 BCE and it is a really amazing place. You can crouch and walk into the chamber and at sunrise on the summer solstice, the sun shines directly through the entrance and onto the back wall. The place has been knocked about a bit - the Christians built a church on top of the mound (which is about 30ft high), then some rich Victorian guy built himself a mock palace (which was later pulled down) covering part of the mound, then the Germans used it as a communications and command bunker during the Second World War.

It's amazing what bad care we have taken of prehistoric monuments over the years - it's amazing there are any left. The Christians were the worst, they pulled them down, built churches on them ... At Avebury, we built a village on the most amazing Neolithic stone circle in the world.

In spite of its trials and tribulations, La Houge Bie has survived and it retains an ancient, special feeling. There's a good museum, you can go inside the chamber, you can climb on top of the mound and go inside the tiny church. The WW2 command centre is open and has been converted into a memorial for the forced/slave labourers who died on the Channel Islands during the war. The Channel Islands was the only part of the British Isles to be occupied during the war and the Germans spent much effort in fortifying them (all using slave labour). In the end, the Allies invaded France and left the Channel Islands alone until the German surrender by which point the garrison (and a lot of the population) were starving.

Well we certainly weren't starving on Jersey and our holiday came to an end in typical British seaside tradition - fish and chips in the pouring rain. We'd driven to Grouville and the plan was to have a mooch about, a walk on the beach and then grab some chips to eat on the beach before catching the plane home. As we were driving from La Houge Bie, a few spots started to appear on the windscreen, then it was pouring down, then it was thundering. We had a drink in a pub instead of a walk and chips (from Entwhistle's, I think) were consumed inside a steamed-up car.