Day 2 (still) of the Channel Island Collection, and I used the three hours (should have been 90 minutes but the boat was delayed due to stuff) till the ferry to Guernsey for some public service, confirming to The Wickingman that Jersey is Bass free, despite what What Pub might tell you. Who knows, that might make you WANT to visit.
“Try the Post Horn” said someone.
We did. It’s a lovely pub, but 6pm on a Friday in Summer wasn’t the best time to visit. No tables in the courtyard, and Mrs RM was abruptly moved on from an inside table apparently reserved for regulars despite no signage.
“No Bass ?” I asked.
“Ooh, not been for AGES !”.
It’s a Liberation stronghold, and I see no problems with Locale beers for local people,
particularly when the IPA was, once more, a 3.5. This was getting daft now. Would Jersey move from the bottom of my beer quality league table into the Top 10.
The town itself was vibrant, loads of young drinkers thronging the outside tables, and not a besuited banker among them.
I’d have taken Mrs RM into the Lamplighter (top), but I don’t think she’s a Lamplighter sorta person, and as the clock struck 7pm we headed for the Elizabeth Terminal.
The whole Channel Islands trip was a little stressful, and the security arrangements for getting us onto the boats with sharp weapons or with migrants in our hand luggage were both tortured and lengthy.
We finally arrived at St Peter Port at 11pm, and with no taxis in sight had a late night dash on foot to our hotel a mile and half away.
Mrs RM was thrilled with that, and the thought of an alarm clock set for five hours later when Island Taxis had PROMISED in triplicate they’d take us to the airport for a connection to Alderney.
If the taxi didn’t turn up, Sark is sunk, and GBG 22 completion too.
I didn’t sleep a wink.