Illustration by Peewee.

Cher Eugene,

I told you about the weather in January, eh? Well, we had it even worse after, mon vieux. We had snow, us, eh?

I know that usually means about four snowflakes, and everything grinds to a halt, but this was a good few inches, mon vieux.

The children, they were pleased, them, because the schools were closed for two days. Some of the parents weren’t too too happy, mind, because they had to take time off to look after them, eh?

The police, they were telling people not to go on the roads, so people had to walk to work.  Caw, I bet that was a new experience for some of them, eh?

And the postmen, they couldn’t do their rounds either because they go by bike these days, eh?

And do you know, I heard to the radio, the people who walked to the main post office to collect their mail, they couldn’t get in because the gates were frozen shut?

There’s a state-of-the-art building costing millions of pounds and they forgot to put gates that can open when it gets cold, eh?

The airport, it was closed as well, so we didn’t get the national papers until late the next day. Then we could read how Guernsey had been closed by snow, eh?

Mind you, the airport nearly closed the other week just because some firemen went sick, them.

They didn’t have enough on duty for the big planes to land, so the flights had to be cancelled, eh?

And when it looked like it would happen again, the airlines chartered smaller aircraft, but then another fireman went sick so even those planes weren’t allowed to land.

The airlines, they were furious, them. They said the States had an agreement with the firemen to cover people who went sick, but they let it expire without doing anything, and it made Guernsey look like a Mickey Mouse state.

I suppose the only difference is, you can have a laugh at Mickey Mouse, eh, mon vieux?

I said to Jack, if it carries on, they’ll have to get all the old islanders out of mothballs, or find even smaller aircraft that don’t need so much fire cover, eh?

Now the airlines are asking for compensation from the States for all their extra expenses. And that includes the States-owned airline as well, Eugene.

Hang, it comes to something when your own airline wants to sue you for incompetence, eh?

Old Jack Torode, he was saying perhaps the taxpayers could sue the States as well for all the extra expenses caused by their overspends.

I mean, we’ve had the rates going up, and the electric, and this new water tax, and then they were talking about hitting the boatowners with bigger mooring fees. Mick, from Fermain, he said some of them were going up by more than 150% and no one knew about it till they read it on the Press, eh?

The Public Services, they said it was to pay for improvements to the marinas, but what it probably meant was they’ve used all the money in their ports account on the airport and New Jetty overspends, so they have to get it back somehow, eh?

And they’ve only just built the marina to St Sampson’s, so it shouldn’t need any improvements. Unless it’s like that new fire main, eh?

The Public Services, they said it would bring the mooring fees more in line with other places, but you know I get cross when I hear that sort of thing, me.

I mean, why do we have to be in line with other places, Eugene?

Guernsey used to be different, and it was better for it, eh? And when you think, they only say that when it suits.

After all, they don’t bring their airport landing fees in line with other places, eh?

The trouble is, these States members, they can’t think for themselves, so they just copy places like England all the time. And then they let the UK tell them what to do.

I read on the Press the UK Government even stopped a whole pile of laws going to the Privy Council because they didn’t like the way we made our own laws.

I said to Mick, it’s about time we showed some Guernsey stubbornness. Caw, I was getting on my high horse, me. Or my high donkey, eh, Eugene?

I said perhaps we could pass a law that we don’t have to send laws through the UK Government and see how they like that, eh?

It’s like the paid parking, Eugene. They keep saying how you have to pay to park in towns in England, but I don’t see what that’s got to do with the price of bread.

Caw, we hadn’t better get started on the price of bread either, eh, mon vieux?

With the parking, the latest idea is to make everyone pay £26 for their parking clock. Hang, they say we have the most expensive stretch of water between here and England. That would give us the most expensive bit of cardboard as well, eh?

Mick said it was still cheaper than his mooring, so perhaps he could find a space by a slipway, then he could moor his boat in a disc park, eh?

It’s funny how all this paid parking started when they wanted to stop congestion in St Peter Port, but this latest idea will catch everyone, eh?

I suppose they’ve realised there’s not many people go to Town to do their shopping any more.

I mean, I don’t know the last time I went to Town, me, now there’s no markets and not many local shops. It’s not like the old days, that’s for sure.

Mick was telling me even those pound shops are closed now, the ones where everything was on sale for just a pound?

He said perhaps they should have made everything a euro because these days that would have brought in more money.

There’s even a bank closing and moving to the Isle of Man, so that should make the States think, eh?

I was saying to Jack, there was this million pound lottery the other day, so perhaps the bank bought a ticket and didn’t win.

He said the Treasury probably bought a few to try to balance the books, but that didn’t work either.

And I don’t know if you heard, but Woolworths has been bought by those ones to Brecqhou, eh?

But they’re only going to operate it on the internet, so they won’t be opening the shops again.

Mick he said he couldn’t see how it would work, him. He said how’s his grandson going to order his Pick ’n’ Mix online and get it delivered in a little paper bag, eh?

Anyway, I’d better get this letter in the post now because if it gets colder again, the postmen might find they can’t get back into their building with it.

I’ll write to you again soon, mon vieux.

A la perchoine,

Your cousin Emile