ALTHOUGH age brings all sorts of complications – I get a little breathless walking round the lanes, even with a bit of French apple juice in my system, and sometimes I forget a few things She asks me to get from the Co-op – it also gives you certain satisfaction that you’ve seen it all before.

Age, I have read, is revered in many communities, and it was here, too, until young whippersnappers like Blair and Cameron, and to some extent our own Walker, convinced the British public that young is best.

It was a sad day when Sir Menzies Campbell – a former British sprint champion – resigned as head of his party after criticism that the then 66-year-old was too old. What about Churchill?

But I digress (another privilege of age). Seeing events through the lens of experience – a phrase one of my oldest drinking buddies uses – means you can iron out all the creases of life. Events that might shock someone with a little more water behind the ears can be easily put into context by an old boy like myself.

I’ve got a vested interest, of course, but I think Jersey would be a better place if the decision makers listened to some free advice from the grey brigade rather than expensive counsel from some UK think-tank.

With this in mind, it came as no surprise to hear Freddie Cohen – who must be raking up a few air-miles as he flies around the world on our behalf – wash his hands of that carbuncle on the Portelet headland, telling St John parishioners last week that it had all been ‘a terrible mistake’.

After his U-turn on standing for Senator, it was another piece of classic political manoeuvring. ‘It wasn’t my fault,’ he told his parishioners. ‘It was Deputy Jerry Dorey’s fault’ – an ex-politician so long out of the Big House that he probably forgets what seat he sat in.

Of course, we’ve seen it all before. Who, exactly, was responsible for the Radisson hotel? Who really gave the go-ahead for the steam clock? To me, it seems that accountability is in short supply in our government, and it is all too easy to blame the guy who isn’t there any more. Could no one have stopped Portelet once Jerry Dorey had signed on the dotted line all those years ago, if the minister for smooching up to foreign politicos is to be believed?

I would suggest, albeit from the comfort of my Shed, that there is something seriously wrong with our planning process, and our democracy as a whole, if a mistake cannot be rectified, if a process that most level-headed Islanders are vehemently against cannot be stopped. What kind of place are we living in when an elected politician, or the Assembly as a whole, can’t prevent a piece of precious coastline being destroyed for generations to come?

If (and I’m no expert here, so it’s only an if) it is all about a developer’s right to build within the ‘footprint’ (a word that still reminds me of taking the children to have new shoes fitted by Mr Hefford in St Peter) of an existing building, then the law is broken, because we must be able to put right the mistakes of the past, or at least acknowledge that certain buildings were of their time.

Both Plémont and Portelet were ideal for holiday camps in the post-war years, when Jersey was a magnet for honeymooners and families celebrating the end of rationing. That does not make them right for posh houses and flats. Yet it seems that the sole reason such ill-suited development was allowed was that something was there before.

Call me an old fool (and She frequently does), but I can’t see the logic in that. I might not understand the intricacies of the Planning Law, but I do know that once the need for a holiday village at Portelet had ended, it should have been knocked down and the headland should have been left alone, like the grey brigade remember it.

If we can’t clean up the mess of the past, what hope does Jersey have?

DESPITE all the claims that Jersey is one happy community, elections always remind me that the Island is made up of lots of communities who rarely come together.

Hustings are a wonderful gatherings if you are, like me, part of the community that will probably vote and has a rough idea who the people standing at the front of the parish hall are. In truth – and I make no judgment here – the political process is as alien to many Islanders as collecting vraic at Petit Port or volunteering to serve in the honoraries.

It is not just recent arrivals to Jersey who don’t seem bothered by the elections – and I take my cap off to those who are – but young people, too, are not that fussed, if the turn-out at last week’s Hautlieu hustings is anything to go by.
But their apathy, or whatever it is, is not something to be critical of. I have a friend who loves Jersey but always votes when his home country holds an election.

Rather, I would like to think that a good democracy treats those detached from politics just as well as those who follow it closely.
That said, I still believe that you can’t moan if you don’t vote.

WHILE hustings attract only a small percentage of the population, they are still great community events, even if the candidates seem to answer the same questions in every parish hall.

In St Ouen (where they spell community with a capital C), it was heartening to see Frank Carré, 87 years young, liven up proceedings last week with a request for a public vote on whether Plémont should be returned to nature. His request was politely refused by the retiring Constable, Ken Vibert, who suggested Mr Carré take his notepad out and ask parishioners as they left.

Whether Frank did, I’m not sure, but here is a man who, as long as I can remember, has made public meetings in the north-western parish worth going to.