We ambled out with an hour to spare before dinner. It seemed unlikely that there was anywhere on the island we couldn't get to within 20 minutes and time to spare. I looked at the sky.
"How much time do you reckon we have until sunset."
"13 minutes," said Cliff.
"Do you think we could make it to Corbière Lighthouse before the sun goes down?"
He started the engine and gunned it. I jumped in with a grin..
We made it with just minutes to spare, the sun a bright ball surrounded by glowing orange clouds. I thought I was being clever but it seemed half of Jersey had the same idea: a small crowd had already gathered, cameras at the ready. It was low tide, the causeway to the lighthouse clearly visible and traversable, although Cliff nixed any ideas of crossing over; he didn't fancy the idea of trying to get back after sunset, in the dark. Instead I walked to join the swarm of photographers, slightly self-conscious about my pocket-sized instant camera. I received welcoming smiles. I watched the men with the serious black boxes and tripods and aimed my camera to match their views: the grey skies behind the lighthouse; the small path, waves lapping at the edges; the solitary woman sat on the bench with the sinking sun directly in front of her. And then we heaved a collective sigh as the sun disappeared into a haze of cloud.
"We need to go," said Cliff. "Our reservation is for 8."
I said goodbye to my newfound friends and got back into the car. Ten minutes later we'd arrived at our destination, a carvery which was completely deserted except for us and a rather bored looking waitress.