It’s very much a case of any old port in a storm

Always assuming that it’s not chucking it down with rain, we will then spend a (fairly) pleasant hour or so meeting and greeting the diminishing number of faces we recognise in the stretch of the pedestrian precinct between Boots and Charing Cross before heading back to Chez Clement.

There I will no doubt spend at least another hour making a veritable pig’s ear of wrapping whatever gifts I happen to have bought, secure in the knowledge that comment will yet again be passed about the ‘huge’ amount of paper and sticky tape used in the exercise.

No doubt my response, yet again, will be two-fold – focussing first on ‘it’s the thought which counts’ and then suggesting that we skip the ‘opening presents’ charade and I’ll put whatever I’ve bought straight in The Shed along with the rest of her gardening gear.

Those of my generation and older will agree that my reference to the pedestrian precinct dates me in much the same way as did my moan to Herself last week that it costs nearly ten bob in real money to send a Christmas card to people living a hundred yards away whereas when I first started sending them it cost tuppence (less than 1p) provided you didn’t seal the envelope.

As to cars in King Street, I can remember one broken down outside Noel and Porter’s – anyone remember those fascinating cash carrying contraptions that whizzed from counter assistants to a central cashier in the middle of the store – and a policeman asking the driver examining the innards under the bonnet to move his legs as he want to take down the registration number. Those were the days when the only offence you could commit in certain parishes was that of not knowing a Centenier.

Meanwhile, down in the Last of the Summer Wine corner of the pub it was interesting to listen to the views of some fellow old lads about Sir Dick from the Docks’ younger son John and his ideas about relaxing housing rules to allow more retired millionaires to move here.

I’d hazard a guess that even as little as a three or four years ago such an idea would have met with a least a couple seated in that corner jumping up and down and getting excited about taking homes away from local people and things like that.

Now there seems to be a moderation of those views and perhaps a realisation that, in terms of raising money to pay for the standards of public service we have become far too used to, it’s very much a case of any old port in a storm.

What particularly found favour were two of John Shenton’s ideas which were linked to the principle he was advocating – namely that such immigrants be retired and, as a condition of residency, that they furnish themselves with private health care insurance.

At the risk of sounding mercenary – which I really suppose we ought to be when as attractive a commodity as residency is being ‘sold’ – this means that the net ‘profit’ between tax revenue and demands on social services is greater than if no such demands were being made.

However, as one of the oldest of those present pointed out, given the attitude of the Whitehall bully boys towards these islands, it would only be a matter of time before they wanted even more personal details of those who live here in addition to the hat size and inside leg measurements they were demanding the other week.

I know that it’s a week or so early for New Year wishes – and resolutions also, if you’re that way inclined – but oh how I yearn for that lot in the Big House to find a bit of bottle when it comes to the British Government using and abusing the Privy Council process for its own ends to the detriment of this place and, as far as I can make out, the other Crown Dependencies also.

I’d love to see a Loyal Address to La Reine, Notre Duc tabled, debated and voted upon which stressed the 946 and a bit years of unwavering loyalty to the English Crown, expressed our dismay at the danger of it being eroded by British politicians, and called for our domestic legislation to be considered at Privy Council level by counsellors not aligned to any political party in the United Kingdom but appointed specifically to deal with matters associated with these islands.

I know it’s a bit of wishful thinking for 2013 but after all these years of putting up with those bully boy tactics from all shades of British political opinion, I reckon we’re entitled to at least hope for a change.

LAST week I made a flippant comment about Alan Maclean’s absence from the Big House when the vote was taken on the major Plemont proposition being because of his worry that his ring binder might again get a mind of its own and, in hitting his voting button, given the western parishes a park to match the one it gave to town dwellers.

It goes without saying that I was unaware that his absence from the States and the Island was directly attributable to illness in his family. Had I known that then the comment would not have been made and I am grateful to one of Senator Maclean’s colleagues for enlightening me.

And finally,

My good wishes for a happy, healthy and enjoyable Christmas to everyone who reads this weekly offering and particularly those whose praiseworthy or sometimes questionable antics are referred to in it.