AL L IN A DAY ’ S WOR K
William Shakespeare must have known a thing or two about hotel life when he penned the immortal words:
of lost limbs and a determination to drink my bar dry of malt whisky.
‘All the world’s a stage and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances . . . ‘
Equally hard to erase from memory are that 92-year-old Australian couple who rested up with us for a while during a world tour which included a rail trip from Vladivostok on the trans-Siberian railway. And, like many who came before and after them, they promised to return to Guernsey – ‘perhaps not next year, but in a few summers’ time’.
Whether the ‘Bard of Avon’ ever had designs on managing a small hotel in Guernsey has never been chronicled. But, after having done that personally for the past 22 years, I believed his words ring just as resonantly today as they did way back in the early 17th century. My ‘stage’ since 1992 has been the small 16-room Hotel La Michele Guernsey’s best-kept secret in the country lanes of St. Martin’s - where I’ve had to abandon my previous inquisitive role as a journalist in favour of one of 24-hour customer care and answering guests’ now all-too-familiar questions: ‘How can you gauge a local car’s age by its number plate?’ ‘What does a yellow arrow and unbroken line signify at a Guernsey road junction?’ ’How many people live on Herm?’ ‘How do you pronounce Moulin Huet?’ And there have been many memorable entrances to our award-winning private hotel over the years with the majority of them followed by fond exits and promises of a swift return. It’s hard to forget a now-aged World War II veteran fighter pilot who took the meaning of ‘legless’ to literal proportions, both in terms
Not so sadly missed is that attractive young lady who was shown the door - quite literally - after she attempted to pay her outstanding bill by inviting an assortment of young (and not so young) patrons from a local hostelry to visit her ‘single’ room. They were heady and exciting days when my wife, Susie, and I returned to Guernsey shores in March 1992, to take over management roles at La Michele. Guernsey tourism was still experiencing a high, with the island’s registered bed stock topping dizzy heights - a far cry from today when it has dipped alarmingly. And happy-go-lucky visitors were still able to ride our buses for the same fare as the ‘locals’. How outrageous was that! It’s claimed that nostalgia is not what it used to be. But, way back then, Susie and I were welcomed to an island where progress was achieved with the minimum of fuss. Bureaucracy was in evidence, of course, but not to the overbearing levels that it is today. Yes, we were up and running successfully
within days of arrival. The sadly-missed Guernsey Tourist Board - ably guided by such doyens at tourism director level as Mike Walden and Chris Brock - was totally supportive, while nothing was too much trouble for Guernsey Telecoms (gone but not forgotten) when connecting us to the outside world. Island suppliers and providers of specialist services, too numerous to mention, were always forthcoming with their wares and expertise, often at a moment’s notice. While fellow members of Guernsey Hotel and Tourism Association (GHATA - remember them?) were always on hand to offer advice, guidance and a united voice to these new upstarts at the hotel game. Fast forward to the present day - and how times have changed. Today’s newcomer to the Guernsey small-hotel management scene faces a plethora of regulation, legislation and petty bureaucracy which questions one’s very existence - not to mention one’s ability to serve an appetising breakfast. The death knell to Guernsey’s small hotels and guest houses can be attributed to many factors - most notably a relaxation in ‘change of use’ restrictions and switches in traditional holidaying habits which has brought about the demise of the bucket-and-spade family market at British resorts. The situation has been exacerbated by our
It’s hard to forget a now-aged World War II veteran fighter pilot who took the meaning of ‘legless’ to literal proportions, both in terms of lost limbs and a determination to drink my bar dry of malt whisky
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