I like St. Helier. Frankly, I like everywhere apart from M********d, and I suspect that feeling’s mutual.
It’s not overly posh, but it is graceful, the art is intriguing,
the toilets have nice handwash,
and the centre is mostly pedestrianised, with some evidence of urban living around squares like the one at the top of Bath St housing “The Cows“.
This is the sort of square you get in a minor German town in upper Bavaria, bustling with early evening activity and kebab shop smells.
Mrs RM and I had a problem, having got the four Jersey ticks in the bag before 8pm.
What do you DO in St Helier at night.
Luckily, Mrs RM had an idea.
I think it was the soundtrack (all 1982 – Tears for Fears, Fleetwood Mac and Eddy Grant) rather than the collection of DIPAs that persuaded her to park up on an outside table, .
But the 6.5% Overtone (of Glasgow) Krafty was gorgeous, even if it did taste like every other 6.5% murk that Stafford Paul has ever drank in secret.
A bloke tried politely to chat up the barmaid, something you rarely see in a Craft Union pub, the music got ever more naff (Bananarama, Human League), and young blokes talked garbage as young blokes must.
It was naff, but wonderful.