HAVING never met Alexander Burnett, I have no idea how long the man has lived in Jersey, but it can’t have been long enough for him to learn that the Queen is perhaps held in higher esteem here than possibly has been the case in the other places in which he has lived.

Mr Burnett is of course the bloke who spent £3 million refurbishing the former Washington Hotel in Clarendon Road and somehow believes that he has thus purchased the right to do what no one else in the British Isles (and places much further afield, for all I know) does – fly the Royal Standard from his block of flats.

The old lads’ corner in the pub were discussing Mr Burnett’s actions the other evening and while the condemnation -– very real, I have to say – of his action was unanimous, the additional information offered by the participants in the discussion did vary somewhat.

Arrogance, ignorance and attention seeking (another phrase for free publicity to sell or let his accommodation was how it was put) were among the printable comments, with one of Mr Burnett’s fellow Scots chipping in with the observation that perhaps we shouldn’t expect too much from someone who seemingly once delighted in swinging from the broken crossbar at Wembley Stadium that had been vandalised after a football match.

Mr Burnett professes not to see what the fuss is all about, but says that he might well consider taking the Standard down if the Bailiff, whose office pointed out the fact that it should be flown only when the Queen is in residence, condescends to visit his block of flats.

Once there, Mr Burnett has agreed to listen while Michael Birt explains the rules about the Royal Standard and is then taken on an inspection tour. Quite why Mr Burnett links the quality or otherwise of a commercial development which has been undertaken with the sole purpose of making money with his perceived ‘right’ to do what others don’t do is beyond me, I’m afraid.

So, too, is Mr Burnett’s attempt to somehow justify his demands by referring to creating jobs and accommodation at a time of recession.

While he may possibly have an argument about the creation of jobs, someone ought to tell him that most of us crapauds believe that this place needs more luxury flats about as much as it needs another 20,000 cars on the roads.

I actually hope Mr Birt tells Mr Burnett where to get off (without leaving his office, never mind strolling up town to Clarendon Road). And quite frankly it wouldn’t bother me one little bit if on this occasion he forgets this small rock’s tradition of good manners and put it in language which might stand a better chance of being fully understood, rather than attempting to be courteous and diplomatic.

As I indicated earlier, at worst this is a combination of arrogance and ignorance, and at best it’s simply a very cheap publicity stunt.

ALL that said, I don’t know whether it’s a coincidence or not, but a couple of days after reading about Mr Burnett’s antics, Herself and I drove past the steam clock at the Weighbridge – actually it’s on what older readers will recall as The Dump (one of the Island’s first attempts at reclamation) – and noticed that the Red Ensign which used to be flown from what in my view is a harmless folly has been removed.

Whether that’s because some rule or other says it can only be flown from a vessel or because the Harbourmaster’s wife had it in her washing machine I know not, but it certainly wasn’t there.

Perhaps someone can come up with an explanation. And while they’re about it they could also tell me (so I can tell the old boy who pointed it out to me) why the windsock at the end of the Elizabeth Harbour was at half-mast on the same day.

I suppose it’s symptomatic of the society in which we now live that I failed to register any surprise at all when I read that the many hundreds of hours of hard work put in by public-spirited citizens on the Parish of St Martin float was wrecked by the mindless morons we gently describe as vandals within a day of the Battle of Flowers.

What a pity that when this idiotic bunch let the float’s brakes off – an act that sent it careering into the wall of the nearby Rectory – a couple of them weren’t standing in the way. A couple of non-life threatening but extremely painful broken legs would have provided the summary justice they need to demonstrate the error of their ways.

Parish Battle chairman Percy Gicquel said that he hoped those responsible would be caught and made to pay for the damage. You’re being too kind, Percy. What’s needed is for them to be caught and banged up in La Moye until the other side of next Christmas. Cold turkey might then take on a whole new meaning for them after that.

Mentioning that gives me an excellent opportunity to congratulate everyone whose hard work and enthusiasm combined to make this year’s event yet another success. Every now and again the prophets of doom seem to think that the Battle of Flowers has either had its day or is in need of a radical revamp.

Thankfully, there remain those who take the view that while innovation and fine-tuning might be necessary from time to time (for my part, I’d love to see once more the American forces marching bands that entertained us so magnificently many years ago), the principal message must be that if it ain’t broke, there’s no need to fix it.

AND finally … I drove past Havre des Pas bathing pool the other afternoon and it was absolutely mobbed. It was like turning the clock back 50 or 60 years and the feeling was wonderful.