Walking on the beach in late September is pretty special. Even with a fierce wind blowing in off the sea. Even the rain held off, which you wouldn’t believe from that sky.

It was Le Touquet – something of an excursion for us as we usually get off the train at Calais and make it no further than Boulogne. Well not this time. We did the usual wine pick up and then headed down the coast road to the town that inspired Ian Flemming to write Casino Royale. Assuming the casino he had in mind was the one on the high street I can’t entirely see the likeness.

The beach was fab, though. The sand was so fine and clean and at this time of year, with the waves thrashing away with fury, almost entirely deserted. There was even a boardwalk for striding along without getting sand in your shoes.

While Le Touquet was nice, though, it wasn’t nearly so cute as the slightly bizarre Hardelot. It’s like a little bit of very middle England set on the French coast – all tall houses, strange architecture and thatched roofs. There wasn’t a great deal there but it was well worth the detour to see it, and for the baguettes we ate among the bikers’ meet-up (and the Earl Grey tea they served us just to complete the feeling of ‘Englishness’).

So, Le Touquet in September… highly recommended.

So long as it doesn’t rain.

Well now here’s a little mine of useless information I’ll never use outside the confines of a blog post. Stuff like the Mercedes bit of the company name being nothing to do with any of the founders or marques they bought along the way. Where did it come from? It was the daughter of one of their first big customers. A sweetener, basically, to secure the deal.

Anyhow, we were in the right place at the right time with a free day to enjoy, so we stopped by at the museum at Brooklands, built within the original banked track that was for so long the home of British motor racing.

That track is now sadly fragmented but you can still see stretches here and there – particularly if you’re willing to dodge a security guard at the local business park. Mercedes-Benz, for its part, has done a lot to keep it in everyone’s mind, using parts of the tracks in its complex, which dwarfs the neighbouring Brooklands museum.

We didn’t do any of the driving activities, and the Build ride was out of order, which was a shame as the height and age restrictions suggested it might have been fun. Still, though, it’s an excellent free day out. If you’re passing.

The second half of this week has flown by. I remember thinking, around Monday or Tuesday, that things were going at a nice relaxed pace, but suddenly it’s Saturday and we’re flying home.

Flying on September 11th – even here security was obviously going to be a bit tighter than usual.

We woke up to rain. Lots of it, and when it cleared we had fog. We packed our bags and moved out of the very comfy cottage that has been our home for the last week and set out in the car, filling time before check-in.

We drove the coast road twice, up to L’Ancresse and then back down again, through the markings and time traps that had been set up for car racing at the back of Cobo Bay. We drove through the little lanes in the middle of the island and we looked at some of our favourite spots – the view from the cliffs at Pleinmont, the common, Fort Grey. Sadly we couldn’t get out for a last walk anywhere on account of the weather, so we drove around slowly keeping an eye on the fuel gauge so we didn’t run out before handing back the car.

We grabbed a sandwich and coffee back at the airport and watched as the fog thickened and descended over the apron. It’s not a large airport by a long shot, so by the time we could barely see the little Trilanders that hop between the islands we were sure we would be in for a wait. The next minute the arrivals boards were showing two incoming flights circling up above us and that seemed to confirm it for us. We resigned ourselves to waiting.

We needn’t have done, though. The fog lifted; the planes could be seen again and we went through passport control, had our bags thoroughly searched and were on the plane just ten minutes later than scheduled.

The flight home, considering the weather, couldn’t have been better. There were barely any lumps or bumps once we were through the clouds, and it didn’t really matter that we couldn’t see anything through them as it’s such a short journey and almost all sea anyway. Three quarters of an hour later we made a steep descent into Gatwick and touched down.

Looking back on the week it really does seem to have flown by, which is such a shame. It is a long time since I was last in Guernsey, but I don’t intend to leave it so long again before heading back.

We didn’t make it to Herm in the end. We woke up to grey skies and high winds – such a contrast to the forecast. We thought about waiting to see if things improved and perhaps getting the half past twelve boat across, but that would have cut down how long we had for exploring and taking pictures. Besides, Herm is such a pretty place you really want to see it in the best weather when it can look positively tropical, with turquoise sea, white sand and beautiful plants everywhere you look. For Rich to have seen it for the first time under grey skies when it would look far it’s best would have been a shame – almost a waste.

So instead we piled into the car and after getting briefly lost around Torteval, struck a course north to the freesia centre, the candle makers and the Oatlands Centre. None held our attention for long. Rich sent home some flowers from the freesia centre despite the fact that the ones that were still there on display ’for your enjoyment’ were dying. The candle makers weren’t making any candles, leaving us just the gift shop to walk around, and the best parts of Oatlands – the glass blowers and the pottery – are now long gone. We didn’t stay at any for long, and soon found ourselves back in the car heading for Samaurez Park for a cup of tea. No luck there, either. They were setting up for a car show that starts tomorrow and very officious man told us off for driving into the park when it was closed to the general public. The fact that the gate was wide open, there was no sign saying it was closed, there was a map showing you where the tea shop was and there were other people in there walking their dogs apparently counted for nothing.

Despite coming to Guernsey with walking boots, Rich and I still hadn’t been up to explore the cliff paths, so when we had finished our tea we got mum and Andrew to drop us off at Fermain Bay so we could walk back to St Peter Port and meet them there. Fermain is pebbly, not sandy, but it’s still one of the nicest bays on the island. It is fully enclosed by high cliffs so is sheltered from the wind, the sea is a beautiful turquoise blue and at the back of the beach itself there’s a first class cafe, picked by the Guardian as one of the five best beach cafes in Europe.

I can see why, despite the fact we didn’t eat there. Instead we hiked up the cliff path to get a better view of the water as a speed boat slipped in, then on through the bluebell wood and around to the capital. It was a beautiful route, and despite the fact that the hill through the woods was fierce we were in St Peter Port within 40 minutes, feeling thoroughly refreshed by the beautiful coastal scenery. We vowed to think of it when we were stuck in the office this time next week.

Forty minutes was much less time than we’d expected it to take, so we sat on the gun battery in front of Fort George and looked out across the sea to Herm and Sark and, closer at hand, down to the bathing pools between us and Castle Cornet. I never used to like those pools as a kid. They’re filled by the sea every high tide and I remember them being full of barnacles and sea weed, but looking at them today they were so inviting. I was quite sad we didn’t have our bathers with us.

We met up with mum and Andrew again and had lunch at the Portolet Kiosk for one final time before mum and Andrew headed home to pack their bags, leaving Rich and I to walk around the headland past the fort at Pezeries and up to the German towers closest to home. It was a very different route to the cliff path between Fermain and St Peter Port but none the less beautiful for it. The landscape was broader and more rocky and this time covered in ferns rather than trees. The views across the sea were less tranquil and more savage, and most of the island was behind us.

I wish we’d had time to walk right around the coast.

One of the reasons for coming to Guernsey this particular week is the airshow. It takes place on a Thursday in September – today, as it happens – over the sea between St Peter Port and Herm. There can’t be many air shows in the world that boast such an impressive backdrop.

The day started with an early breakfast, then, followed by a bus ride to town (how the drivers manage to steer their long buses around the island’s twisty lanes I don’t know). It drops you off at the bus station on the harbour, where we stopped at the corner shop for sweets to see us through.

The best place to watch the show is the top of Castle Cornet – the castle at the end of the causeway that protected the island from invaders (and, after the Germans successfully invaded after Britain demilitarised the Channel Islands, was further built up by them as a place from which to repel the British). From up there some of the lower flights come straight past you at eye level, which makes for a very different view to the one you get at your average air show.

We arrived an hour before kick off and took up our places at the front of a German-built concrete block. The wind was whipping around and every time the sun went behind the clouds it turned distinctly chilly. Between those clouds, though, it was glorious. The sun glinted off the planes’ wings, the helicopters blew at the waves as they danced with one another, the Lancaster and Nimrod lumbered past. The red arrows screamed through the sky at an almost deafening rate.

Some of it was slow and perhaps it could have been better paced with fewer ups and downs in terms of speed, but the location couldn’t be beaten and we headed for the cafe at the end for sandwiches and coffee feeling thoroughly entertained, and just a little bit cold. We walked about the castle after our sandwiches (unbeatable cheese and chutney) and then to the lighthouse at the end of the pier for a view back into the town. St Peter Port must be one of the most beautifully-placed island capitals, opening out onto the port full of fishing boats and yachts. The Herm and Sark boats chugged past. We’re planning to head for Herm tomorrow.

The air show really took up most of our day, but when you consider how many pictures we took between us we clearly made the most of it. We walked back down to the bus station from the pier and looked at the boats now high and dry in the harbour (and the enormous, rather scary-looking spider crabs that were sitting on the bottom of the dry dock looking like the aliens out of Aliens (pre-incubation)). We were planning to head up to L’Ancresse to walk on the common and visit the candle makers and freesia farm but by the time we got home we were exhausted by all that standing around and by the sun and the wind and so instead we drank tea on the patio and then headed out to Cobo Bay for a walk on the sand with mum and then some more sunset photography.

Walking along the sand was just beautiful. The sun was coming down over the sea and the waves were washing in across the sand. The sunset picture-taking somewhat less successful.

Mum returned to the car to read her book when we got to the end of the beach while Rich and I went to meet Andrew on the rocks on the end of the headland where we clambered about for an hour and a half waiting for the sun to go down. Andrew wedged himself into a corner of the rock that acted like an armchair while Rich and I took long-exposure pictures of the sea crashing about the rocks and it was all looking very hopeful until the last minute when the sun disappeared behind a cloud and the sunset-proper was lost.

Boo.

Still, it was a very fun evening spend clambering about on the rocks and it was good to be out of the house with dinner and an evening of cards to look forward to.

We played blob when we got back, as we have done every night of the holiday so far. I won, for then second night in a row.

Today we walked to Lihou, the closest island to Guernsey. We had to wait for the tide to recede, so headed out to the west coast straight after breakfast to look at some of the German war defences down on the Pleinmont peninsula. It was only a time filler, really, but still an interesting diversion. The last time I was here you could go into a lot of them but now many have been gated up so you have to hunt around for any you can enter, but we found one and took pictures along the coast through the gun slots. It must have been horrible being stationed in any one of the coastal towers during the winters of the war, but certainly a lot preferable to being sent to the front.

As soon as the tide was low enough to uncover the causeway we headed up the coast to walk across to Lihou.

Lihou is tiny, with only a hostel and the ruins of an 800-year-old monastery in the way of buildings, and a lot of grassland and rocks to get around on. The only way onto and off the island is to walk across the causeway, which doesn’t dry entirely, even when the sea is out, so we spent a lot of time hauling up the legs of our trousers to stop them getting wet at the hem.

The pools that remained were filled with seaweed and small shells like the ones you used to see all over Shell Beach on Herm.

It was such an escape to walk around Lihou. London felt a million miles away and it was hard to imagine the people we worked with heading out for sandwiches in the grey city. We walked around to the back of the island and up over the hill on the top and then back across the causeway, all in the blazing sun. I found myself regretting wearing a coat and, when I took it off and slung it over the strap of my camera bag, not wearing any sun cream.

The sun went on all day – right through sitting outside at the Imperial to eat our lunch (moules and frites for Andrew and Rich), through standing at the end of the runway to watch the Aurignys flying off to the other islands, and through walking over the rifle range to the fortifications north of L’Ancresse Common. The views were unusually good. The horizon was a sharp blue line where the sea met the sky, and you could see not only Herm but also Sark behind it in stunning detail. It almost looked as though they were part of Guernsey.

It would have been nice to have spent more time walking around the range. It’s largely unspoiled and an interesting mix of scrubland and rocky outcrops, studded by sea kelp and gauze, depending on whether it’s pebbly beach or heath. Unfortunately the time was moving quickly on and fast approaching four o’clock.

We’d checked the departure boards online over breakfast this morning and knew that there were four or five flights scheduled to leave the island between four and half past. With the wind blowing the way it was we’d be able to get some good photos from the gold centre car park.

Unfortunately the Guernsey works department had other ideas, and as we fought our way back across the island we came up against a series of closed roads that forced us further inland than we wanted to go, on a more twisty and tortuous route than we’d have liked.

We eventually found ourselves up by the reservoir, skirting first the dam and then the back of the water, and got to the airport after a lot of back seat navigation at ten past four. Not bad going, all things considered, and still early enough to see more of the planes, including the famous G-JOEY.

The sky was still a brilliant blue and almost entirely free of clouds. It looked like the perfect evening for a sunset, so we headed home for some early drinks and to get dinner into the oven, and then mum drove us out to Perelle Bay to take pictures of the sun as it sank into the sea. It went so quickly as it neared the horizon, and when it was comfortable to look straight at it without blinding yourself we could see it slipping away millimetre by millimetre. There was something quite special about seeing so brilliant a golden disk being swallowed up by the ocean at the end of a day when we had walked through that very sea on the way to Lihou.

I’m not going to want to leave here at the end of the week.

They forecast rain again today, but in the end it didn’t come until almost five o’clock. By then we’d toured most of the southern half of the island.

We headed first for Moulin Huet. That in itself was a feat, navigating the narrow Routtes Tranquilles down into the valley.

I remember the pottery at Moulin Huet as a must-visit location where two or three potters would be forever spinning cups on their wheels and chatting as they worked. I have a Moulin Huet pen pot at home that must be 25 years old, and two nice mugs that mum and Andrew brought back with them last year.

So I was disappointed when we got there. There were two people there, but neither was throwing a pot – they were both watching the cricket. There was some pottery at the front, including some very nice goblets, but upstairs most of the space was given over to paintings that none of us liked. We didn’t buy anything.

We walked down the slope to the beach.

Moulin Huet (pic below) is one of the most interesting beaches on the island. It’s sandy in parts, stony in others. There are little pools washed clean by every tide, and at the back there are huge rocks and small caves. It’s the perfect beach for laying out your towel among the rocks and getting the feel for having a private little beach of your own.

We weren’t there for that, but we did clamber about the rocks and take pictures of the sea and the rocks and the pools. It was so lovely and warm. Such a contrast to the windy conditions up on the cliffs. Down here, surrounded by the rocks and the trees it was calm and summery.

The climb back up was a gentle stretch, but the rain held off and we pushed our luck and went back to Portelet Bay (pic below) in the afternoon to walk around the headland to the fort at Pezeries Point, down by the Fairy Circle and the path back up to Pleinmont and on towards home. The road has been closed for years due to the state of the erosion, but mum remembers when you used to be able to drive down there. That was when she and dad still lived here. Now it’s a busy walkers’ route, shaded by tall pine trees and fringed by hedgerow fruit. The brambles – strange for early September – were a mix of ripe and well under ripe. I’d have been expecting them all to be ready for picking by now this far south.

There’s been a defensive structure on the headland at Pezeries since the 1600s and, in common with many of the island’s oldest military structures, adapted the Germans for use in the Second World War. There’s actually not much evidence of the wartime additions any more, but it’s worth trekking out to as it gives out on good views across to Lihou and up the north western coast.

The whole time we were there the sky was getting darker and the clouds rolling in, but the rain held off until we had got back home by way of cups of tea for dinner and cards.

Blob again. Rich won.

The forecast for tomorrow looks much friendlier. We may even get over to Lihou.

They had forecast rain for today – lots of it – so we weren’t too sharp about getting up. We made it down to breakfast by about half nine. I burnt us some scrambled eggs and we filled up on toast and then headed for town, in part to have the tyre repaired.

It cost £96 all in, which isn’t so bad when split four ways, and at least we shouldn’t incur the wrath of the rental company.

I navigated town fairly well. I took us to the Press shop where we bought the obligatory postcards and stamps, down the high street to the lanes that run to the market hall and then back up to Creaseys for tea.

The market is a shadow of its former self. The stalls have gone and now one end is a big HMV. The other is a co-operative food store. It’s a shame, really, as it was such a nice market.

The rain really set in when we were sitting in Creaseys. We were up on the top floor, under the curved plastic roof, looking out over the harbour and it was hammering down above our heads. The whole while we were there, though, a rather hopeful-looking seagull was perched on the other side of the picture windows hoping for scraps. No chance.

In light of the weather we wrote our postcards there too, but even then we were done before the end of the storm and we had to brave the elements in a dash back to the car.

We had to find indoor activities so we drove over to the underground hospital, which is an impressive network of tunnels dug out by slave labour during the war under German orders. It’s pretty grim walking around the cold, damp, unwelcoming results, and horrific to think that people were operated on down there. Just laying in a wooden hospital bed would be bad enough. I can’t imagine you would ever have dry bedding. The water was pouring in down some of the stairwells, dripping through the roof and leaving stalactites and stalagmites behind them.

It took the best part of an hour to walk around, which is surprising as there isn’t much to read until you get out of the far end, but we stopped and took a lot of pictures and commented on how glad we all were to be wearing our coats as it really was freezing.

We met up with one of Rich’s old work colleagues and her husband for dinner. They picked us up and drive us out to the Rockmount (or The Rocky as the locals called it) on Cobo Bay. They left London a couple of years ago to return to the island where Chris was born and Rachel spent a lot if her years growing up. I think they made an excellent decision there – particularly as they are now expecting their first child. It would be a lovely place to grow up.

They are a fount of useful local knowledge, such as the fact that Waitrose is coming to Guernsey, having bought two of the largest supermarkets on the island. This explains why we have been seeing Waitrose products in the local stores: they were testing the water. Plus the fact that Jenson Button lives more or less on the road where we’re staying for a big chunk of the year. And the fact that Guernsey Post spends £2500 per week repairing their vans because of damage done by driving around the island. The granite rash, also called the Guernsey kiss, is apparently very common. That’s exactly what happened to us yesterday.

The food at the Rocky was tasty and excellent value. Four drinks (two pints of beer, a pint of cider and a diet Coke) which would have cost £15 or so at home was £10.50. Dinner for two, consisting of battered cod, chips and peas, and steak and ale pie with chips and vegetables, was £19. The portions were huge.

Highly recommended.

We left fit to bust and enjoyed the journey back along the coast road, a wall of blackness to our right where the view was lost to the sea, and then came Fort Grey… illuminated on its little rocky promontory. Who couldn’t fall in love with this place?