No place like home

Dorothy was right: There is no place like home.  We've been away for the week to Jersey.  An interesting place, Jersey - not part of the UK, but connected to it in some strange way.  It's an independent entity, apparently - and not even a full member of the EU.  Too difficult for me to work out what it really is, but it exists and flights are direct from Belfast, which is a good thing for us here in The Liberties.

So we're back home now, feeling tired and what have you from a busy week tramping around St Helier, St John, St Mary and other Jersey parishes.

I've no Jersey snaps as of yet - there's a couple of films sitting looking at me, waiting to be developed but to be honest I didn't take as many photographs as I was prepared for.  I was in holiday mode, in family mode, so opportunities didn't present themselves that often.  I didn't mind - sometimes it's good just to chill and watch the world go by without always pointing a camera at it.

One from the garden, back in April time, just as the ferns were starting to unfurl.  I liked the back-lighting, late afternoon so quite soft light.  Probably a bit too much light coming through in the background, mind you, which I should have tried to burn in a bit.  I didn't have long to take it, as the sun kept disappearing behind the clouds and then coming back out again.  Eventually, of course, the clouds won, as they always do in this part of the world.  A Sinar/FP4+/ID-11/Kentmere combination.

Jersey was an interesting wee place.  Outside of St Helier, the capital city, the roads are quite narrow.  Most of the time cars coming in the opposite direction had to reverse and drive into the side of the road, or even some-one's front yard in order to let our bus past.  Occasionally the bus had to reverse, like when we met tractors carrying a load of Jersey Royal potatoes, for instance.  We had some of their spuds and they were tasty, I have to admit.  Not on the same level as a good Maris Piper, mind you, but good all the same.