Jersey: Cows and paracetamol

On our last day we had time for a little more sightseeing before our flight home in the afternoon. After much consultation of the maps, we decided to head to the Katherine Best jeweller. We’d seen the adverts for the place everywhere we went and on the offchance that the lady did indeed own the entire island, a visit seemed the right thing to do.

Ordinarily catching the bus from our hotel to the jeweller’s would have been a piece of cake, but it just so happened that the road was being dug up and so the bus no longer came to the end of the hotel’s road. We got directions from the hotel receptionist and headed off through the country lanes, pulling our cases behind us. We admired the beautiful Jersey cows – who stood when Suzy mooed them the instruction to do so over the hedge – and when we realised that we’d been walking far too long with no sign of the windmill in which Katherine Best was housed, Lauren got (better) directions from a lady pushing a beautiful old-fashioned pram.

Suzy and I were lagging a way behind Lauren and Dave because my legs had decided to play up and hurt like hell. I was concentrating on walking and cursing my joints when a car horn sounded behind us. I looked round and the girl I’d seen at the airport when I arrived pulled up next to me. I crossed the empty road to talk to her and her friend, whom she was taking back to the airport.

Windmill

Caroline had actually come out to look for me at the airport, but we’d already got straight into a taxi and gone. And now we’d met in the middle of nowhere thanks to us being sent down the wrong road by our hotel receptionist. I wish I’d had longer to talk to them, but before we’d had a chance to swap much more than our names all the traffic in Jersey – including a tractor for extra dramatic effect – had piled up in both directions wanting for me to get my backside out of the way. We said goodbye, making promises to connect on Facebook – and indeed Annie was waiting in my inbox when I got home.

Eventually we found Katherine Best and I knocked back a couple of painkillers and sat outside in the sunshine with Dave recovering from the walk while Lauren and Suzy perused the jewellery. The grey clouds disappeared for a while and revealed a blue, blue sky and as I looked up at the great sails of the windmill against the blue I wondered if I’d find the energy to get up and take a picture of it before the clouds came over again. Didn’t happen unfortunately, as you can see!

Jersey: Saunas and tortilla chips

We slept well after the sea air and G&Ts of the night before. In the morning we headed down to the dining room. Well, actually it was a case of going down one staircase and then back up another – surely they could have built us a bridge or secret tunnel to get us across on the same floor?

There was an array of cereals and continental breakfast stuff on offer and I had some nice toast and jam and coffee – white with equal opportunity sugar (one white cube, one brown cube). To save any unsightly skirmishes at breakfast time about who sat where the hotel had made a seating plan for all the guests. Our table for four was next to another four – a young family with whom we spoke now and then during our stay when one party could no longer hide that they were totally earwigging on the other.

The wedding wasn’t until mid-afternoon and so we spent the morning taking advantage of the hotel’s leisure facilities. In fact Lauren had been mad enough to already have been down to the gym before breakfast. We had a splash around in the pool, tried to persuade the jacuzzi to tone our bodies into those of athletic supermodels in the few minutes we spent in its hot bubble jets and finally headed to the steam room. Lauren’s a fan of the steam room, but Suzy stepped back out after about 2 seconds. I lasted a little longer, but ultimately the inability to breathe and the weirdness of my eyes apparently steaming up was too much. Instead we tried the sauna, which was much more to our liking – hot and nice-smelling and, above all, we were able to breathe. It was quite fun until a couple of guys came in and poured a bunch of water on the coals, raising the temperature to ouch, so we got out at that point and Suzy and Lauren were crazy enough to have cold showers. Being flicked with cold water by Suzy was quite refreshing enough for me.

Getting ready for the wedding

When I was a kid I hated having to get dry in the changing rooms after swimming and so it was very enjoyable to simply squeeze what water I could out of my plait, wrap a towel around myself, put my sandals on and step quickly through the lobby, down the corridor and up the stairs to my room. It was only a two-star hotel after all, it’s not like I’d treat guests at the Ritz to that kind of delight. Back in the room I hopped into the shower to rid myself of the chlorine smell that is nowadays frowned upon at weddings.

A taxi was ordered and we got ready for the wedding while feeding our faces on room service sandwiches and tortilla chips. Jersey lets itself be influenced by nearby France in that everything shuts down on a Sunday, including, in this case, the ability to have a sandwich in the hotel bar. But having the same sandwich in your room is fine. Once all dressed up in our finery we waited in the car park and along came our car – driven by the same driver who had taken us to Gréve de Lecq. He was suitably admiring of how well we’d scrubbed up.

Towards La Mare Wine Estate, where the wedding was to be held, we saw a group of Helen’s friends whom we knew from the hen do. They were teetering along the country lane in their high heels, their hotel being the one I’d nearly booked for us. On the map it had looked to be just a hop, skip and a jump from the wedding venue, but it turned out to be much further than that. Although we spent a fortune on taxis while we were out there, I was glad I hadn’t gone for this hotel that was apparently walking distance. Throughout our stay I found it very difficult to get an idea of how far apart things were on our various maps of Jersey. Especially when looking at the tourist map that was cunningly left devoid of any scale.

Jersey: Rock pools and crab cakes

After our pit stop for food we went down onto the beach at Grève de Lecq, feeling Jersey sand between our toes for the first time.

The beach had a number of rocky outcrops, some of them dressed with vivid green grassy seaweed and in the sometimes very deep crevices were rockpools. We found beadlet anemones, little fish and molluscs clinging so tightly to the rocks that you needed something much stronger than just your fingers to pry them loose.

I’d left my polariser at home, not thinking I’d be getting very close to the water with my camera. Of course I’d forgotten about rock pools. Fortunately Suzy was there to cast a shadow with her hand, having about the same effect when needed.

The weather treated us well, the sun shining just enough in the late afternoon to cast great reflections and shadows and then to make us wonder whether perhaps the sun cream would have been better off in our bags than our hotel rooms.

My original plan for the beach had been to built an enormous castellated sand fort around us and within its walls we would lie about and do nothing. That didn’t come to pass though. Apparently we’re too old. And we didn’t have a bucket and spade either. Nowadays we’re more sedate and are content to paddle about in the waves and stare into rock pools. And, if you’re Lauren, exclaim that you’ve found gold when you find a glittery rock. And, if you’re Suzy, risk certain death by poking anemones with your finger. And, if you’re Sarah, proudly write your name in the sand for all to see. And if you’re Dave? You just wait patiently.

In the evening we took a taxi down to St. Brelade’s Bay for dinner. The driver dropped us right at the beachfront and in the summer evening light we admired the little garden and the pretty beach before heading to The Crab Shack to eat. The walls were decorated with shells and cactuses and boards with terrible seaside puns were nailed up here and there. From the menu we chose a few dishes from the “Shackatizers” and variously had crab cakes and chips, Jersey Royals and seafood risotto for our mains.

Back at the hotel we had a nightcap in the bar, where the girls made me try a gin and tonic as I’d never had one before. The number of things that had come up in conversation that day that I’d never done or tried was making us wonder if I’d actually lived at all. But at least I can cross “drink a gin and tonic” off the list now.

7 Days: Day 6 – Chanel makeover

I’ve been dying for someone to do my makeup since my interest in the stuff was rekindled by my “obsession”, as Bonnie put it, with the Pixiwoo videos and with adding some new classy makeup and brushes to my collection. Sit me in a chair and fiddle with my face and you’re my friend. So having asked at the Chanel counter for some advice on foundation – and trying out the Vita Lumiere – I booked an appointment. And it just so happened that I made sure the appointment fell during 7 Days.

Here I took the opportunity to try and get my camera set up right (hell when you’re having to point the camera at a mirror surrounded by bright lights) while the makeup artist, Charlotte served another customer. I had already been primped and polished at this point with moisturiser, eye cream and serum. Apparently you’re never too young for eye cream – prevention is better than cure. It had been for that reason that a month or two ago I found my old eye cream in my cupboard and started using it again. Until I realised that the subsequent outbreak of spots I suffered was no doubt linked to the fact I was smearing stuff onto myself that was x years old and had most likely been acting as a petri dish all that time for whatever crud was on my finger last time I’d stuck it into the pot.

I took this while Charlotte was applying my eyeshadow. We’d gone for a purple smokey look and she’d used a pale lilac all over and was then apply a dark shadow in the outer corner. She also used a funky purple eyeliner, which came home with me in a posh Chanel bag. That’s the trouble with buying this posh stuff, you end up with posh bags that you don’t feel you can throw away. But then it’s not as though you can use them to package gifts for other people, either. Happy birthday, here’s a Chanel bag, but don’t get excited, it’s just a bracelet from Marks and Spencer.

This is the final look – a little more glamorous than I’d usually go in the daytime, but great fun. You can just see me swanning out of Fenwicks clutching my Chanel bag looking like this, can’t you? Now I feel like going round all the other counters and seeing what they come up with for me.

Kristina from Duvemåla in London

On Wednesday evening Mum and I went to the Royal Albert Hall to see a concert production of “Kristina“. The musical “Kristina från Duvemåla” was written by Benny Andersson and Björn Ulvaeus of ABBA and enjoyed great success in Sweden in the mid-90s. The term “musical” does it somewhat of a disservice though – it’s so much grander than that, leaning more towards the tragic and operatic. It is based on a series of books by Vilhelm Moberg that tell the story of Swedish emigrants who leave their hard lives in Sweden and travel to the New World to start again in America. In no way is it “Mamma Mia!”.

I have the CD set of the Swedish production, which is full of fantastic music and singing. Now having played an English language concert production at Carnegie Hall in New York, “Kristina” came to London for a night and – thanks to seeing some Facebook chat about it – I found out in time to get tickets. We were up in the Circle with a good view of the stage and I’d taken my little binoculars along for when I wanted a better look at the faces of the performers. They were also useful for spotting ABBA fans I know from a mailing list to which I used to subscribe down in the front rows.

There was a standing ovation before the show had even begun, as Benny and Björn took their seats in the auditorium. It was the first time I’d even been this close to any members of ABBA, the group who were my first musical love, whose music is always in my playlist.

The performers were Russel Watson as Karl Oskar, Louise Pitre as Ulrika and Kevin Odekirk as Robert. The title role of Kristina was taken by Swedish singer Helen Sjöholm, who was the original Kristina in Sweden and has an incredible voice. I was excited to see her perform live, but was still surprised by the tears that came rolling down my cheeks as she came on stage and started singing to the melody I know so well.

This is a Swedish performance in Minnesota, with English subtitles, of that first song. Kristina waits for her love, Karl Oskar, to come to her from his home.

The real showstopper of “Kristina” is “Du måste finnas” (“You Have To Be There”), which I have written about before. For the first time in her life Kristina doubts her faith, she has lost a child and for the sake of her health must have no more. She questions the existence of her God.
This is the English performance from London:

The applause for Helen went on and on. I do so hope that the plans of the two talented men below to bring “Kristina” to the stage as a full-scale musical come to fruition.

Benny Andersson and Björn Ulvaeus at the curtain call.

7 Days: Day 6 – Rainy day

I went to Tonbridge today and was accosted by a very nice Friends of the Earth man who talked to me about factory farming. He knelt down to talk to me on the wet pavement, which I found very chivalrous. He asked if it was ok to do so and I told him that he’d done absolutely the right thing. If you’re going to ask for my money for your charity, I’d much rather you did it at eye level. I had my camera in my bag, but unfortunately it didn’t occur to me to get a photo with him until I was quite a walk away from him and had already called for my lift home. So instead, here’s the puddle where I waited, reflecting the tree and the photographer just waiting for spring.

7 Days: Day 4 – Top knot

Messy pile of hair. I have much more of it at the moment than I usually do and it was getting in the way tonight as I tried to get a shot. So I put it up in a knot on the top of my head. And that was that.