Journal Entries
Glad I went the long way
Posted Jun 21, 2007
[I apologise for what is surely the longest journal entry I will ever write. Please don't anyone feel they have to read and/or comment. Although if you've got 10 minutes to spare, then help yourself to as much as you like. As my mother-in-law once shockingly said in public "Never mind the length, feel the quality".]
Jersey is OK, if you give it the time of day. Giving Jersey the time of day isn't something I've done much in the last year. I come here to work, not to rest or play. OK, so I spent a bit of time walking about (aimlessly) last summer. But then the days started getting shorter. And the weeks started feeling longer. I worked harder. And things just slid away easier. The internet cafe shut down. The coffee shop (with free wifi) would close for the night before I could get there. The best I could manage in an evening was to come back to the apartment, cook dinner, phone the nippers, iron a shirt for tomorrow, go to bed. In short, I got into a rut.
None of the above is what I came here to write. Hmmmm.
This evening I had something to put in the post. So I went out. And turned left. Which is the opposite direction to the post box. I walked round the block, came out on the Esplanade and thought to myself 'I might just cross the road'. So I did.
And this is what I came here to write. I hope it comes out OK.
St Aubin's Bay is a 3 mile long arc of beach that stretches out like a vast amphitheatre hewn into - no, blended into - the southern edge of Jersey by the sea's natural forces over - presumably - thousands of years. (I deliberately say 'edge of Jersey' and not coast, because, well, because Jersey is tiny, and when you've stood on the North Devon coast on a windy day at, say, Harland Point and looked down at the breakers smashing relentlessly into the cliffs all the way down to Cornwall, you've seen in one glance as much coastline as there is on all of the Channel Islands put together. But I digress. St Aubin's Bay is a different proposition. As we will see. If I ever get there.)
Down at the eastern end of the bay, where the beach ends and the Esplanade starts are Les Jardins de la Mer. Take a minute to stand at the entrance to the gardens, facing south - seaward - with your back to the office and apartment blocks (as a matter of fact, the office/apartment block immediately behind you is the one where Paff works/sleeps). This is just a small area of public space with some bushes and palm trees, paths curving off around to the fountain area, then running out across the grass to join the cycle path that runs along the bay. But step into this little piece of solitude here and the hustle and bustle of St Helier is behind you. Quite literally.
Walk through Les Jardins and out to the bay wall. To the right is La Frigate, a bizarre café designed to look like an upturned boat, all golden ship-lapped wood and little painted porthole windows. Parked behind La Frigate are a couple of Puddle Ducks: even bizarrer amphibious vehicles, half boat, half bus, that take tourists out to Elizabeth Castle on the causeway when the tide is low. (And yes, my spell checker is on, and yes, 'bizarrer' is underlined in squiggly red). Looking beyond La Frigate and the Puddle Ducks, the bay curves away and stretches off into the distance all the way round to St Aubin's Harbour. A three mile walk. Or a two and a bit mile swim. But we're not going that way.
Follow the path to the left, alongside the Waterfront, approaching the marina. We're already far enough away from the Esplanade to not hear the traffic. Instead there's the sound of a group of French kids playing football on what remains of the beach as the tide comes in. A lone backpacker sits on the wall, holding his mobile phone up at the impending sunset westward, peering into the tiny screen desperately hoping that the few thousand pixels he's just committed to Memory Stick with a click of his index finger will do justice to the view he's looking at: a 640 by 480 summing up of the sun, the sky, the sea, the sounds, the ambience.
Up ahead is a bronze tree. Yes, a tree, made of bronze. The Liberation Tree. The plaque says it was unveiled by Her Majesty the Queen in 2005 to commemorate the 60th anniversary of the liberation of the Channel Islands from occupation. It seems a bit out of place here. In 2005 this would've been the perfect place, but now there's a building site adjacent that we've been turning a blind eye to up till now. Profit hungry property developers have done themselves proud and are building a huge great four storey block of luxury apartments right up against the bay, spoiling the view for most of St Helier it has to be said. The Liberation Tree is 'planted' just yards away. Give it another 60 years and maybe a new clowder of fat cats will be liberating Jersey from the scourge of the developer's occupation.
Let's look past the bronze tree. Walk on a bit. Here's the marina. Water still. No activity. Boats all clean and white, luxurious and expensive. (Jersey residents live offshore, do their banking offshore, and mess about on the water offshore). There's a ferry in the harbour beyond the marina. It looks huge, ungainly and mechanical compared to these sleek vessels in front. The ferry is unloading. There are sounds of lorries struggling down off-ramps, containers being winched off, and dock workers shouting instructions at other dock workers.
At the very end of the marina, where you can go no further, some guy has gone further, has climbed over the railings and is down at the water's edge standing precariously on some rocks - fishing. And what a place to fish! The backdrop is the English Channel, and off unseen in the distance is the French Normandy coast, but between the two, just a stone's throw away - well, a few hundred yards away - is Elizabeth Castle.
The sun is going down, and the lights are coming up on the castle. Golden outer walls. Silvery central keep. The causeway that leads from the castle creates a stripe of darker blue in the sea. The flag pole atop the castle keep points at the crescent moon, which in turn points at where the sun was.
Shhhh. The unloading ferry has quietened down. There's just the sound of the water lapping at the rocks around the marina wall on which our fishing guy still precariously stands. Lip lapping. Lip lap. And the dull sound of bells on boats tied up but rocking to and fro. B-dong. G-ding. And the breeze fluttering at bits of sail that have come slightly unfurled. Flitter flutter. And rope creaking as it is slowly stretched. Released. Stretched. Released.
Look back now towards the Esplanade. The lights have come on along the path, and all the way around the bay. Between the suitably olde worlde lamps are strung coloured lights, most of the way round that 3 mile stretch to St Aubins Harbour.
Walking back, briskly now as the temperature is dropping out of the air now that the sun is well and truly gone, the other sounds of life return. The French kids are still there. Not playing football any more, but standing around in a huddle. Chatting, joking, sounding romantically French, although for all we know they could be being coarse and rude. Let's assume the best though. Back here the sea is not lip lapping, but is breaking against the beach in gentle wave after gentle wave.
Across the grass, into the Les Jardins, and out. Traffic. Not much, but there it is. Back across the road. Round the side of the office block. Up to the post box. Finally posting that letter. A one minute walk back to the apartment.
Glad I went the long way today.
Paff
Discuss this Journal entry [10]
Latest reply: Jun 21, 2007
Keep taking the tablets
Posted Jun 14, 2007
I've been on painkillers non-stop since the end of Feb when I did my back in:
The doc gave me some quite potent stuff at the start (although it made me go a bit looney)... I got onto some fairly strong over-the-counter stuff quite quick (although it wasn't really doing much)... I could drive by the time of the Devon meet (although it killed me, to be honest (I wasn't going to let on though))... I could sit on a plane for an hour and a half by April (although I passed out two weeks in a row)... I could sit down at work almost without noticing the pain by May (although getting up was another thing)... I was experimenting with not taking them in the evenings by June (although some evenings were better than others)...
Today, I bought a pack of 32 bog standard paracetamol and I'm looking at them thinking 2 lots of 2, for 8 working days, none at the weekends, and I'll be off them in a week and a bit. 
Looking forward to normality.Paff
Discuss this Journal entry [8]
Latest reply: Jun 14, 2007
New Zealand
Posted Jun 5, 2007
Lets go on a little journey in time...
1995.
Back in the early days of the internet, before there was the www, when it was text based 2400 baud message boards, I wrote in my cix resume (equivalent of a h2g2 personal space) something about leaving London for Kent, and how if it got too busy in Kent...
"I might consider Scotland, New Zealand, Canada, or the Moon"
2005.
I joined hootoo, and wrote on my PS a casual, throw-away comment that says to this day: "we might consider Scotland, New Zealand, Canada, or the Moon."
2007.
In a recent post ( F2089434?thread=3834828#p45039037 ), I've said this: "Not leaving Devon - no. ... Like it says in the Devon EG entry, I _belong_ here."
But interestingly, in the same post, I said this: "Although, talking of New Zealand ..."
Hmmmm.
I love Devon. I really do. I mean, I really really do. I just wonder. I just wonder...Paff
Discuss this Journal entry [27]
Latest reply: Jun 5, 2007
Using Other peoples internet connections: Executive Lounge (4 in what appears to have become a series)
Posted May 16, 2007
I get my flights as cheap as I can. I'm not into paying extra for your executive lounge malarkey. Oh yes, 50 quid extra might get you no screaming kids kicking at the Bob the Builder 20p-a-ride tractor. 50 quid extra might get you plush leather executive seats. 50 quid extra might get you air-con and a packet of crisps. 50 quid extra might even get you an unlimited supply of executive beer from the executive fridge.
But none of this is any use if you have to pay for your internet connection. If I'm going to have to wait around for a plane, I'd rather be doing something useful. Something like checking my email... or my hootoo messages... or, more likely, my 173 Autosport RSS messages and 284 Jobserve RSSes (most of which are for ridiculously irrelevant vacancies like Dutch speaking infrastructure specialists in the Netherlands. But I digress.)
You see, in the executive lounge your 50 quid extra also gets you WiFi internet access. But it's BT Openzone and it's going to cost you extra. Of course, you're an executive, so you can afford it. You've probably got a company account. At the very least you'll be putting it on your Amex and claiming it back on company expenses.
Back with the plebs in the public lounges (where the kids are screaming, Bob is asking once a minute "Can we fix it?", and the kids are clearly wondering "Can we break it?") Jersey Telecom have cleverly installed a free WiFi hotspot. Great for zipping through your RSS backlog (if only to delete all those unwanted European computer techy situations vacant).
But back in the executive lounge, you can't get access to your free JT hotspot. You're sitting in your increasingly uncomfortable leather executive seats, having to keep your jacket on because the executive air-con is a bit over enthusiastic, getting greasy finger marks over the keyboard from your executive packet of crisps that you wouldn't've eaten normally but they were there and free and so you had to get your money's worth, and wondering whether to start on the executive beer. And who needs the internet when you can read the complimentary copy of the Financial Times anyway?
So, spare a though for me today in the executive lounge through no fault of my own, (having been upgraded) having to write this journal offline and post it later when I can get a hit on some other WiFi link, most likely off of my own broadband connection at home.
That'll teach me for leaving it till the last minute to change my flight home.Paff
Discuss this Journal entry [1]
Latest reply: May 16, 2007
Misplaced b-side
Posted May 15, 2007
[That's a rubbish journal subject. I wracked my brains for a better one, but that'll have to do]
So here's the thing. The missus got round to buying Misplaced Childhood on cd (Marillion, for anyone of the wrong age) last week because I wasn't getting round to getting it out of the box in the loft and sticking it on the new turntable and converting it to mp3.
So, actually, here's the thing. I've ripped the aforementioned Misplaced Childhood, and I'm playing it. It gets to the end of the a-side, and just carries straight on. How bizarre. I was about to get up to turn it over. Every time I've _ever_ heard that album (and I used to listen to it a lot in 1985) I would have to go over to the record player, turn it over, pop the needle down on the other side, go back to what I was doing.
Bizarre. I'll just have another go at playing the last 30 seconds of Heart of Lothian...
*plays last 30 seconds*
...That's just bizarre.Paff
Discuss this Journal entry [2]
Latest reply: May 15, 2007
aGuyCalledPaff
Researcher U1522321
Write an Entry
"The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy is a wholly remarkable book. It has been compiled and recompiled many times and under many different editorships. It contains contributions from countless numbers of travellers and researchers."