The steps down from the clifftop were many and steep, but Portelet Bay, on Jersey’s south coast, was worth each one. The tide was out and a tentacle of rose-gold sand sliced the beach into two smooth curves, leashing tiny Ile au Guerdain to the land – for now; soon the leviathan tide would turn, making this tower-topped mound an island again.
I stuck a tentative toe into the water and squealed. The water’s sparkle belied the fact this was the brisk Channel and not, as it appeared, the Aegean. But I plunged in anyway, and surfaced just as – out of nowhere – the Red Arrows swooped by.
