Milking the Channel Island for blog posts is like milking Jersey cows, given that you can’t milk potatoes.

Mancunians will be delighted to know the problems at their airport knocked on to delay our return from Jersey by 80 minutes, 80 minutes spent following planes on flightradar24.

Back home I coloured in the book,

and jotted down a few notes about The Ch’is, as the kids call it.

And one thing to say up front is that there’s plenty of youthful enthusiasm in the Islands. Plenty of young folk in the pubs, too, and no sign of a Covid hangover.

John commented that he preferred Guernsey as a place, but Jersey’s pubs are better. And I agree.

St Peter Port has a quainter centre, and smarter looking places, the sort you’d get in Worthing, while St Helier is more akin to Southsea.

In the Lamplighter, and the Prince of Wales, and the Peirson, Jersey has Proper Pubs to match the very best. Oh, nearly forgot the Farmers..

And the beer, inevitably Federation IPA, never dipped below NBSS 3 in Jersey, and often soared above 3.5.

Sark has the best walking and the best cream tea,

but is otherwise a bit self-aware. One for the Helly Hansen crowd.

Overall locals were efficient and fairly friendly, except this taciturn chap on Alderney;

I’d say “Go”, even if you didn’t have to, but there’s cheaper island fun on the Isle of Man. And remember to spend your notes before you come home.

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