Spring Weekend

We both took off early from work on Friday -- yay for flexi-time! -- so that we could enjoy the late afternoon sun. Our beach down at Ouaisne was busy; the tide was out and plenty of people were out for a stroll. Women in bikinis, even!

I'm so glad we did get to enjoy the weather, because although the weekend was supposed to be even better, it totally wasn't! Anyway, no complaints because Friday evening was lovely. We set out off across the bay to St Brelade, to have dinner at the Crab Shack (mmm, yummiest crab cakes!) before walking up to James's parents' house.

Here is Ouaisne bay as we set out; judging by all the tracks in the sand, it must have been a busy day for boats, too:

Here's a special kind of sandcastle. I guess some kind of little worm makes them; there're usually hundreds all across the beach and on Friday they were even bigger than usual -- about as big as your fist.

And here we are; there's the Martello Tower in the background:

James decided to take a photo through my sunglasses:

And there goes the ferry to England! It's much bigger than the one we took to France:

Outside the Crab Shack, looking back towards Ouaisne (as far in the distance as you can see):

James tried some artsy photography; I thought it turned out pretty good!

Oh! These are our next-door-neighbours. Locals at the Smugglers (imagine James sitting at that bar when he was six -- probably with those same men!):

And here is our friend and Smugglers' barman, Stretch. He's only slightly taller than James at 6 feet, 3 inches... (plus another 2 inches for the hair?) He has to duck his head to get through all the doorways in the Smugglers:

This, from our wonderful local paper today (in the ACCOMMODATION WANTED section):

Retired lady, non-smoking and retired cat, need one bedroom flat, ground floor, town area, reasonable rent.

Love it! I wonder what line of work the cat was in before it retired, and whether it has a good pension.

Congratulations on your engagement!

Wish we were there with you and the rest of the Dog Group, Katie, so we could celebrate with you!

Hair of the Dog

James is going to regale you with tales of our travels in France; so I won't mention the Fr-word again and I'll stick to an entirely different topic... I'm thinking dog hair.

It seems that the longer we're away from America, the more intense the homesickness (not quite the right word) is becoming... and the odder the things that trigger those feelings! Take the dog hair. It was so annoying to find a black Remy-hair on a clean white shirt (according to James) or stuck fast between the S and the D keys on my laptop. Let's not mention the rogue hairs that collected in really gross places like the bottom shelf in the freezer door or under the soap dish in the spare bathroom... Yeah, let's not.

Instead, let's talk about poo-bags. (Because British people don't say 'poop.') It was so frustrating to find those scrunched-up little pink bags in every single pocket of every single jacket, bag or pair of jeans I owned. We'd go to Vegas and so would sixty-six (new) poo-bags -- one in every handbag, backpack, jeans pocket, plus fifty more in the boot/trunk of the car. Someone would open a car door at the side of the road on the way to Estes, and a gazillion little pink bags would float out into the wilderness. We'd find them stuffed down behind the washing machine, folded into tiny squares and stuck under the coin dish, tied to our keyrings. Everywhere.

Now I can actually get sentimental over a scrumpled-up (clean) poo-bag -- one that mysteriously ends up on a dressing table in a hotel room in France. Or a Remy-hair inside a shoe; a pair I bought in London only three weeks ago. I miss that dog, but I suspect I'm focusing all my homesickness and missing-ness (missickness?) on him, in an effort of wimpy self-preservation. Gosh, if I can cry at the sight of a (unused) poo-bag, imagine what else might set me off...

We are happy here; I'm happy here. I'm so very grateful for a job I really love and have learned so much from already, and the most incredible scenery right on our doorstep. I just miss the poo-bags; the nasty little dog hairs; our church; our friends; more incredible scenery; the best dog in the world... and not neccesarily in that order!

***A little disclaimer: all bags that escaped with the wind were dutifully chased after and stuffed back into the car -- or a pocket, or a bag. Perhaps that's why they were so very everywhere. ***

Creatures of the Night

A couple of nights ago James jumped out of bed at about 3am, and couldn't find the light switch. That was the first clue that he was still half asleep -- he was searching all over the wall for the switch, which is actually on a different wall... I asked him what he was doing, and he just got madder. When I finally managed to tell him where it was, he turned the light on, then off, and got back into bed... I asked him what was wrong, and he grumpily told me "nothing." So, the next morning I reminded him about it and he explained that he had "woken up" to see a lobster (!?!) crawl out from under my pillow and head towards his. It wasn't until he turned the light on that he'd realised he'd been dreaming it. The funny thing... the lobster was RED! Cooked and ready to eat! (But according to James, still really scary...)

We didn't end up doing anything this weekend that we'd planned to do -- in fact, we didn't even Hash today. Yesterday we went to Ho8 -- the underground hospital -- which is a museum now but was built by slave labour during the German Occupation for use as a hospital. In the end it was never used for its intended purpose. You follow an exhibit that winds through the tunnels (no tour guides; just wander along by yourself -- in parts it's pretty creepy!) and it's all set out in chronological order, starting with an overview of the war, and then the Occupation itself (which lasted five years), right through to Liberation Day and beyond. Definitely was worth a visit, and although James had been before, he found it really interesting, too.

And today... not much. We watched the Grand Prix this morning until it was rained off, and this afternoon went to James's parents for Sunday lunch. So now I am full and sleepy, and need a nap.

Taking a Break

We might need to take a break from the blog for a while, because:

(From the Jersey Evening Post)

Jersey internet bloggers will in future have to be licensed because of previously overlooked regulations imposed by the Island's Telecommunications Law. The law says that noone may disseminate comment, opinion or any contentious material electronically without sanction from the 'broadcasting authority'. Since the demise of the Broadcasting Committee of the States, that authority is deemed to have been transferred to the Chief Minister's department. Island-based bloggers who wish to continue their online activities legally are required to lodge an application within the next seven days.

I'm pretty busy for the next seven days.

So it's lucky it was part of the April 1st issue. Of course I didn't fall for it. Absolutely not.

Hooray! It's Friday! We don't really have plans for the weekend; Hash on Sunday, nothing on Saturday, maybe a concert tomorrow night. James's best friend is a percussionist and plays in the Jersey Symphony Orchestra occasionally.

Well, while I take a few days off to lodge an application for our blogger's licence, James is going to take over the writing part. He's going to leave out the contentious material until we're sure that this blog is legal under this new law. Ok?