Got an early start this morning, forgoing breakfast – us tough old gits can do without – which put me on the cliffs at 7.30. The weather Gods played a belter and it was overcast – albeit still 24 – but lovely clouds. Then about 8.30 it stared to rain. Got a soaking but didn’t give a fig. Just about that time loads of good people needed to get past. This went on for an hour or so. These Jerseyites certainly take their fitness runs seriously. As usual all the Brits said “Hello” or “Good Morning.” The French – not a word. Without the wind I could not smell them coming and we surprised one and other. Though often if they were talking I’d hear them coming a mile off, struck, as usual, by the behaviour of couples. The “happy” ones – how would I know – would say the occasional phrase as they approached and beam at me after uttering one of the above. The ones who had the person behind yakking all the time, boring the vag of them, greeted me with a, kill me now, look. I know that I’ve touched on this before but it still amuses me. I must confess to not a little trepidation. What if the same thing happened? Sick and shaking and thinking that this is my time, that my heart has had enough. Thankfully I motored. My engine switched on and I did yesterday’s shortfall and a little extra at the end, giving myself a chance to finish as I originally wanted. Of course, if tomorrow makes me crash then so be it – I’ll head back someday.
The first cliffs for today and look at that lovely cloud.Looking back at the port of my shame – don’t like that brightening sky Yes I know that there is something wrong with the photos. I just don’t know what.Nice bit of trail for the moment.Looking ahead and Mr Sun is going away.Ah! A little lost woofer has been found and the owner came and wrote ‘Thank You’ on the sign. Hate to see lost dogs etc.Ok. I’m wrong.At least these deep valleys have woods in them – loads of shade. Where was that yesterday. I’m always intrigued by these buildings. Is it a sheppard hut from when the slopes had no trees and loads of sheep. Or a woodsman’s home from home. Whatever it is, I bet the locals use it to scare their little sisses and bros. You know the thing, “If you don’t behave, I’ll take you and leave you in the witch’s hut.”Don’t know if you can tell, but a glorious rain is falling.White rock. Things sort of turn East from here.Now I know what all the peeps are doing. It was a bus queue at some narrow points.Rozel, sort of Balamorey type. Zoom in on the small No Parking sign. NVM too blurry. It says, “‘er indoors parking space I wouldn’t if I were you.” The missing apostrophe is his.Try this one. Look at the figure on the balcony.A living wall. V Nice. While I was taking this I heard the sound of horses and turned around to see two female police constables on horses. They gave me a wee wave and a hello, despite catching me taking photos of some dame’s house.10 Metres on this. I could not find any?Big bollocking house on hill. How do they get planning, I ask. Probably goes back to the days when you could bung your local councillor a few grand or give him a go on your wife (yes really was a thing).The Lords of the manor like to signpost their estates. Here for instance, the head of the Cótil family of the Pallot coast. They also have ones that say, Le Don Cótil, so we can all understand that they are rich with loads of land.The huge breakwater at St. Catherine’s. I am finally where I had planned to be yesterday.A sad looking Jersey tower with his nose up between his eyes.High up on the cliff the drill marks from when the German’s opened this roadway.They tunnelled for years apparently. This bunker marks where the Jersais flooded the things and made a Turbot farm. Heil fucking heil!A dead dingy dinghy dump.We love these islanders and their love for Duckies.The little breakwater looks much bigger walking away.Will I just be walking along and the path will go from under me?They’ve jazzed that one up.The sun is coming out.Mont Orgueil Castle. Yer typical Duke of Normandy holiday home.The tide’s out and there are miles of hard sand to enjoy.The Johansens holidaying on their catamaran imbibed too much akvavit and in the dark tried to park. They missed the marina and ended up on the beach where they now hide their heads in shame until the tide comes back in 6 hours or until the harbour rozzers get them.The old and the new. Same old same old as far as coastal defences are concerned. However, while 5 Jersey towers defended the beach only 1 German bunker covered the same area – shows the range of the old Maschinengewehr 42.Fly away with your mummy baby seagull. I couldn’t bear to tell you of the fate that befell your father on the High Road.I’m at the end of the gloriously long beachGranite is igneous, so how when it is being extruded from the mantle does the red band of alien stuff get in?Le Hocq approaching and a welcome cappuccino and water I think.Just love all the signs being in French. The great avenue of windblown sands.Poor old Pabs he’d be up before the Parish Hall Enquiry quick as.This will probably go over your heads but, “All because the lady loves Milk Tray.” He’s parked his dinghy and hoiked it up the ladder, to explain a little.Talk about leaving half the painting done (clears throat embarrassingly).Is it a sun-faded strawberry? Still smiling anyway.A public petanque court. Well I suppose they all are. But the balls seem to be guarded by that old woman.Another great stretch of beach to enjoy while the tide is not at home. Green Isle beach.St. Helier is finally in view.Goodbye Green Isle.Even to very tried old peeps with sore leggies.The Ariadne steam clock?This sculpture is all mine – the product of a tried mind.Very protective. covering the garden sprinklers with prophylactics condoms.St. Aubin’s bay and on the other side, St. Aubin which I’ve decided to push on to.Jesus! the Fallschirmjäger are coming back. Why on earth am I fixated on the WW2 German army invading everywhere – it was 80 years ago. Though they have history.Beach dumbbells for the very large?No cappuccino – wtf. I’ve had to settle for a tea. St. Aubin’s from the other end.It is a dancing polar bear holding old Dave Attenborough’s head – the hole.A nice pine covered mud lane – nearly as good as sand. I’ve decided to push on after my rejuvenating tea. Up to Noirmont head and the German things. Probably going to regret this very soon.The gun is still there. Auf meinen lieben Gott!
Some dickhead American re-enactment peeps. Do they believe that the yank army liberated Jersey?Quaisne beach and I’ve more than made up for yesterday. Back on schedule with a little bit in the bank. Fuck I’m exhausted.
