Archives for October 2010

Lloyd de Gruchy sent this photo of a rainbow at Jersey Airport

They're right, the oranges, pinks and reds filling the skies of the island early in the morning and into the evening can be breathtaking.

As a small community, when something particularly spectacular happens calls of 'did you see that' spread very quickly.

That's something that happened this morning when a red rainbow stretched across the West in a nearly full semi-circle.

Mark le Cornu of the Jersey Met Office said it was spectacular.

"Because the sun was at its very lowest angle it threw up a complete and very spectacular rainbow.

"A complete semi-circle, I don't think I have ever seen one that was quite so high, a really spectacular sight."

On Twitter @Foxxy64 asked: "any jersey peeps see that gorgeous rainbow early this morning? (to the west)."

Did you see the rainbow? Why not share your pictures and thoughts with us. E-mail pictures to jersey@bbc.co.uk.

It's all hands to the pump for Children in Need and this year BBC Jersey's Christie Tucker is organising a 'cake party'.

I asked her to tell us a little more on how it works, what's involved and how it came about.

This is her report.

Radio newsrooms are quiet places on a bank holidays. Like policemen or bartenders, journalists tend to be working at times when most other people are still in bed.

It was early on a bank holiday Monday that BBC Jersey's Cake Party for Children in Need was born.

More than likely I was eyeballing the empty snack table in the corner of the room at the time, craving sweets like a Oompa Loompa turned office worker.

From that weak moment, it snowballed. It was easy enough to start the ball rolling among my colleagues. The words cake, party ... Pudsey. We were sold.

Then it flowed: a bake-off, music, a quiz, bucket-shaking like it's going out of style.

My particular fascination was with having a cakewalk. I had always wanted to have one (how many fundraising schemes actually let you walk away with a whole cake of your own, just for walking around in a circle?).

It's an old-fashioned community event, where people walk a numbered path to music and when the music stops, the person standing on the square whose number is drawn, wins!

Now, it's a month before the event. I was woken up by a loudly buzzing fly at two in the morning the other night, and couldn't get back to sleep until I'd gone over every little detail in my mind.

The gorgeous cakes contributed by Jersey's best chefs for auction, the wonders and Victoria Sponges and lemon drizzles piled up for the bake sale, the baking attempts of well-known islanders captured on camera for eternity...

Today I called on my colleagues to give up their lunch hour to talk Cake Party.

From the early days these meetings were just a few hardy souls debating the virtues of cake categories and china cups.

But now, it's standing room only. Our enthusiasm for cake has swept across the newsroom to the very top.

The new boss has revealed a secret desire to be a coffee server, newsreaders are rolling their sleeves up, and even Ryan our online guru has volunteered to design our posters if I give him a break and fill in on the blog.

So while organising a Children in Need event can require perserverence, can test the limits of your persuasive charm, and can lead to more than one sleepless night, I can now see the possibility of a brilliant party at the end of it.

On Saturday, November 20th I will be nursing a cup of coffee, a slice of ginger cake, and a warm and weary glow.

Now if only we can tempt the rest of the island ...

You can head to the BBC Get Baking site for advice and information ahead of the BBC Jersey Bake Off.

We felt the only thing to do with someone who hates poetry is to send him to a special one man show come poetry reading at the Jersey Arts Centre.

The previous post generated a number of responses including one from Tonytheprof suggesting Wayne reads more poetic greats.

And on the L'Office du Jèrriais blog, Geraint Jennings posted J'avons bliodgi eune rêponse.

Here are Wayne's thoughts on the show

I'll admit, knowing my first blog entry was out there for all poets to read, I was nervous about showing up at the Arts Centre this evening. I half expected to be smacked round the ears with a moleskin as soon as I arrived.

I approached the venue like I was going to war, like going home ready for an argument only to be greeted with a warm hug.

The attending crowd was nothing close to the clichés I'd had in mind (corduroys and not a shade brighter than olive green).

Despite there being only a handful of people it was clear that every individual wanted to be there, I was on my own.

Luke Wright came onto stage with every bit of charm that you'd hope for from an Essex lad in a suit. It was clear from the start, poetry aside, that Luke was an excellent entertainer.

I did, at first, wonder if he really wanted to be a stand-up comedian but shied away from the obligation to make people laugh.

He swung around on the mic-stand like a rock star, perhaps too much for my liking. I felt Luke clearly had the projection to have performed just as well without the hindrance of a microphone.

The delivery was sometimes muffled and Luke tripped over his words occasionally, but this was an endearing quality.

In a way this was a bit of let down, but not the fault of Luke, of my own expectation. I was hoping to be challenged.

A highlight for me was "Luke's Got a Joke", a humorous gibe at his own desire to be the entertainer in any social circumstance, perhaps something I can relate to.

Then just when I thought he had peaked too soon he unveils a piece about the break-up between two fish bar owners, Chris and Ann.

When I was ready to laugh some more, he delivered the story with delicate fish bar break-up cathartic analogies, which, dare I say, moved me.

I feel like I have been told off, but Luke was not angry, just disappointed. He took me by the hand and without a hint of self-righteousness he tore apart my preconceptions.

I enjoyed it, I really enjoyed. I even bought his book.

Carrie Cooper (of the BBC) coaxed me into this outing, and dressed it up as a challenge, like a dog owner feeding her pet medicine disguised in a steak.

What started out as a challenge turned into a very enlightening evening, and for that I'd like to thank her.

Luke Wright is an incredibly talented writer and performer; he deserves every bit of praise. My only disappointment is that there were not more people there to enjoy, what I now believe to be a well-crafted art.

Wayne Stewart is 2010 Mr St Helier

We've decided to open this up and have invited Wayne Stewart, the current Mr St Helier and local comedy promoter to write a guest post.

Wayne is no real fan of poetry, so we're sending him to the Arts Centre to see the Petty Concerns of Luke Wright, a poet from the UK who has sold out audiences at the Edinburgh Fringe.

Before he goes to the show we asked Wayne to explain what it is about poetry that winds him up.

Here is his report.

What is poetry?

One definition I found reads:

"Poetry is an imaginative awareness of experience expressed through meaning, sound, and rhythmic language choices so as to evoke an emotional response. Poetry has been known to employ meter and rhyme, but this is by no means necessary."

This is already starting to make me angry.

I will try and chose my words carefully, or at least intend to. I don't want to offend any poets but then I don't want to befriend any either.

I hate poetry.

The above definition outlines some general principles on which poetry is based but then states "this is by no means necessary".

So from what I can tell a poem can be whatever you want it to be.

How is writing a poem an achievement? Like writing the rules to your own game so that you will win regardless of the outcome.

Is the quality of a poem defined by how much it is enjoyed by the reader/audience? It seems to me that the only people who enjoy poetry are people who write poetry, like it's all one big "in-joke".

It's like a group of people who were never good at anything decided to just make up something to be good at. I can't help but feel poets are just showing off and that they'd like you to think that it's not the poem that is bad, you just don't understand it.

Wayne will see Luke Wright at the Arts Centre

To me a lot of poems sound like the ramblings of someone who simply can't find the words to express something that not even they are sure of.

Instead they use disjointed metaphors and analogies. "Get to the point!" is what I'd normally say to that person.

I wrote a poem once, after the days of rhyming "cat" and "mat" or "two" and "poo" at primary school.

I was a teenager, scribbling words of angst and frustration, faith and lust in the hope that one day someone would understand me. It was complete nonsense.

I've since grown up and learnt to communicate properly without sounding like a pretentious moron.

I pride myself in being a very forgiving person. I appreciate everything the arts have to offer and the role it plays in culture and society, but I am yet to find a place for poetry.

So this week I will be seeing "The Petty Concerns of Luke Wright", Wright's fourth solo poetry stage show, described by The Stage as "one of his strongest shows to date - witty, inventive and, at times, quite raw", but who's to say that reviewer isn't in on the "joke".

I will have an open heart and mind, I will let poetry into my life for one night, like the ex-girlfriend who wants just one more chance, will I discover a whole new side to her, or is she still an annoying cow?

Their time, struggling with security, being stuck in traffic and fighting off bugs, is almost at an end.

Here is Roisin's final report from the Games.

It is with a tear in my eye that I write this on my last day in Delhi (and that's probably more to do with an over enthusiastic application of anti-mosquito spray than anything else!)

What can I say? Yes there have been frustrations, yes our broadcasts have been blighted by bureaucracy on more than one occasion, yes the frisking has sometimes bordered on obscene.

But these small hiccups don't deter from what is essentially a great event. The actual facilities are world class, and the athletes, to a man, have had the experience of a lifetime. 

For me, the opening ceremony was out of this world. One thing the organisers got truly right at an early stage.

As for our small but perfectly formed team from the Channel Islands, well Roger has taken to the culture like a duck to water.

People don't actually know who he is - he's just known to everyone as 'Kaftan Man' He has curry for breakfast every day and is loving it!

Personally, I am down to my last two pot noodles and am now saving them for emergencies.

There have been many laughs along the way. For those of you who don't know, the boy Bara is a bit of a whizz on the old piano. And it has become a bit of a tradition on these away trips to find him a keyboard and let him work his magic.

Usually the owner of the aforesaid instrument is delighted to watch a true pro in action. Not here.

Let me set the scene. In our hotel, there is a large central atrium. Tucked away in a corner is a baby grand. Eagle eye Bara had clocked it with a smile before he had even checked in.

A couple of nights ago, we had an uncustomary early finish. Since the resident pianist seemed to have the night off, and the nightclub was in full flow, we thought it would be a good time for a little respite by way of a few tunes.

After an opening of 'Misty', Roger settled into a bit of Rachmaninov, and, even before the second tune was over, the Duty Manager had scurried over and was anxiously hopping from foot to foot, trying to catch our attention.

Oblivious, and in a world of musical bliss, Roger played on. Meanwhile, I went to see what was causing his obvious distress.

"Sir cannot play the piano" - I begged to differ, and enquired whether he was doing the piano any harm?

"No, Sir plays very well. Sir is very fine musician. But Sir must stop" (by this time, Roger had cottoned on to the conversation and was playing a medley of Keystone Cops, interspersed with the Muppet Show theme tune)

After protracted negotiations, (accompianied by a backing track of Land of Hope and Glory, in the hope it may rouse a little Commonwealth spirit) it transpired that the reason 'Sir' could not continue was that the piano was tuned specifically for the two resident pianists and no one else?!!

The assembled fans sadly left the atrium to the tones of the funeral march....

Yesterday, we had the privilege to be signed in as official guests of the Jersey team at the athletes village.

As you may expect, this has taken some extensive planning on the part of the Assistant Chef de Mission, Paul du Feu.

After giving out passport details, visa numbers, accreditation codes, full names, past names and inside leg measurements several days in advance, we got a last minute phonecall. Paul needed our dates of birth.

25th December I said, September the 11th said Roger, as I passed him the phone.

There was a long silence on the other end. It took a further five minutes to persuade him that we weren't joking.

So safe in the knowledge that we share notable birth dates we reach the final day.

We have survived a Tuk Tuk journey or two, made one bottle of Duty Free Sauvignon Blanc last two weeks and not had even a hint of the dreaded Delhi Belly.

There have been moments of extreme highs, times of extreme lows and many, many laughs along the way.

All in all, a fantastic experience. A great team, both here and back at base in the Channel Islands, leaving me with many memories to treasure for years to come.

You can look back at the Games in Delhi through the BBC Jersey Flickr stream.

In case you've decided to avoid the television, radio, internet and any other form of media or conversation - the Commonwealth Games are still happening.

And our man on the scene, Roger Bara, is still there and struggling through the heat, traffic and security.

Here in his second guest blog post from the Games Roger takes us around the Broadcast Centre.

The International Broadcast Centre is an impressive set up, located in the middle of a large enclosed area, where security is so tight, they don't want to let you out, let alone in....

Let me explain - after a long long day, the girl Roisin and I were on our way back to our hotel from the Centre.

We walked to get a taxi down to the nearest exit of this huge compound, rather excitingly called Gate 7.

When we got there we were told, in no uncertain terms by a fierce looking policeman, that we were not allowed to walk out, I repeat, OUT, through that entrance.

We could, however, go through those gates if we were in a vehicle.

"We want to get out, not in" we pleaded, but to no avail - Here, rules is rules.

So we had to walk to the even more wonderfully-named Gate 10 - about a mile away. A tad frustrating, you will agree.

The Centre, or as it's affectionally called here, the IBC, is an interesting place to work.

George the mouse is an interesting creature, who I've seen not exactly scurrying, but walking at a steady pace, from one corner of the room to behind the photocopier - he's also been seen on the table in the room where we make tea.

Two days ago, several birds appeared, without a by-your -leave, fluttering high up near the ceiling -and then vanished.

Those who saw the Hitchcock film would have understood my anxiety.

The food here is abysmal - like at most of the venues - little choice, and poor quality, which is hugley disappointing, especially in this country.

Then Rosh finds out that there is an eatery down the road in this compound, and she gets dead excited.

We eventually find it, go through the security stuff, and walk into a gigantic hall with at least 200 tables, and over 1,000 chairs - massive - but, just like all the stadiums hosting the games, practically deserted.

There's a counter there where they offer 5 dishes, chips, samosa (veg or chicken), chicken burger, pasta or pizza (only one option for those last two). Mouthwatering I think you will agree.....

So we ordered, went to pay our 60 rupees each, only to be told they don't accept money.

So we were sent to another counter across the other side of this aircraft hanger, where they asked how much our bill was, took our rupees, and proceeded to give us tiny paper coupons for the equivalent amount.

Yes, you're right - we then had to traipse all the way back to the food counter, by which time they'd long since forgotton what we'd ordered.

Eventually, our food came - sadly, Rosh's chicken burger was just slightly shy of raw, definitely on the red side of pink. But my Samosa was good, which was bad, for me, 'cos I had to give Rosh half of them to make up for her inedible Chicken Tartare.

The best was yet to come. "Can we have a receipt please," asked Rosh politely. "Oh yes" said the girl behind the counter. "Can you come back at 5 o'clock?"

You can follow Roger and Rosh in Delhi through their photos of the Channel Island teams on Flickr.

The oldest competitor in the games, Guernsey lawn bowler Don Batiste, interviewed by Roger Bara

He is currently in Delhi following the Jersey and Guernsey teams around the city for BBC Jersey online and on air.

You can hear regular updates from Roger throughout the day on BBC Jersey (88.8fm, 1026mw and online).

Here is his report.

If you don't mind sweating all day from head to foot, standing in queues waiting for your every piece of equipment to be checked several times at every opportunity, (fondled by another bloke with a geiger counter at the same time).

Swallowing enough calories in the form of little flying creatures each evening to not need an evening meal, with the threat of Delhi-belly and Dengue Fever ever present, then this is the place to be!

Welcome to my India, a place incidently I adore, as does Mrs B, but that of course is when we're on holiday.

Working is just a tad different.

Don't get me wrong, the security here is welcome - the problem when you're rushing around like a mad rushing-around-type-person is that it's just everywhere - and what you can get through one checkpoint, you can't in another.

The traffic in Delhi has meant getting around the Games has taken longer

One of our collegues was forced to eat a strong anti-diahorrea tablet otherwise they were to be confiscated - we haven't seen him for a couple of days.

Another bloke from the BBC was attacked by a monkey - needing hospital treatment.

And some poor reporters have found that the barcode on their accreditation doesn't work (not their fault) and they've had to stand around for ages, using the gentle art of persuasion...which often works, which is very good news if you're a terrorist.

I'm working with Roisin Gauson of BBC CI News fame - incidently, she attracts these huge moth-like creatures (but about four times the size of what we get back in the Channel Islands) - Rosh, as she is affectionately known, but not to the authorities here, is convinced these moth-type things wear hob-nail boots and are out to get her. She's probably right as usual.

Anyway, she is fast gaining a reputation for standing up to the authorities when they are being ridiculous - as she told me, it's nothing to do with her being a control freak.

But it's good to stand behind her, as many of us blokes do, when things get tough and a bit hairy. (Don't tell her Mum...)

I brought this kaftan shirt, long sleeves, long everything, with me to wear, in which I look even more ridiculous than usual, but it's incredibly thin, and relatively cool - so I didn't care about the early mickey taking

It was interesting though, on that very first day we were here, to be offered a large amount of rupees by a journo who was almost dying of sweat, for the very same shirt of mine.

It was a special and most attractive moment for me, and will live with me for some time...until the next blog perhaps.

You can follow Roger and Rosh in Delhi through their photos of the Channel Island teams on Flickr.