Saturday morning on a May bank holiday weekend and Gatwick is in chaos. Harassed families are checking in for Spain, Greece and Turkey and the queues stretch back so far they merge into a vast whining, bickering mass that blocks the terminal entrances. All this, then security, then hours on the plane, then the inevitable hassle of arriving in a foreign country. 'Poor bastards,' I think, as my girlfriend and I push through the wheelie cases and squabbling children to the quieter far end of the hall, where the little planes to Guernsey check in. How wonderful not to have to go abroad.
Ninety minutes later we're on a boat, heading out from St Peter Port's old stone harbour in brilliant sunshine. Ahead is the green outline of Herm, a tiny island with no cars, one pub, a few brown cows, the odd puffin and about 50 people.
The trip takes 20 minutes, and as we close in on the island I can make out our landing point - whitewashed steps cut from the seaweedy rocks, leading up to a stone wall with battlements and an arched doorway. It looks like an illustration from the Famous Five. And as the captain helps us off the boat it quickly becomes clear that Herm actually is a sort of Enid Blyton-ish fantasy, like a posh British village trapped in a glorious post-war summer, with lashings of politeness, no transistors on the beach, and where ice creams are still bright yellow cornets instead of Soleros and Screwballs.
Matt, the beaming and ruddy-faced campsite warden, throws our bags in his tractor and potters off up the hill with them. Then Leslie, who bakes cakes for the island shop, gives us a tour. We wander through the pristine lawns of the White House Hotel, where Jonathan the manager is supervising the setting up of a wedding marquee beside the tennis court. Here the modern world is quite overtly banned - none of the rooms has a television, telephone or clock. If it rains, there are lots of board games.
We pass the tiny island school - where each Christmas, the eight pupils design a card to send to everyone who has stayed on the island that year - and bump into Adrian, the island manager. Back in 1949, his father-in-law leased Herm from the States of Guernsey, and set about turning what was a deserted and run-down island into a tourist destination. It has been in the family ever since, and from 1980 Adrian and his wife Pennie have been running everything here, from hotel to cafes, cottages and campsites.
Ruling your own island may sound grand, but Adrian is less despot, more delightful, zany, scout master, tootling around his domain dressed in long shorts and Guernsey jumper, spaniel grinning as it perches on the back of his quad bike. It's a varied job - today he's drilling a new water borehole, but tomorrow he will be giving the Sunday sermon in the tiny island chapel while Pennie plays the organ.
Herm is just a mile and a half long, and half a mile wide, and the walk from the harbour to the Seagull campsite on the far side of the island takes 15 minutes. It must be among the most beautiful sites in the British Isles. Our tent flaps open to reveal vast, panoramic expanses of ocean and beyond it, the high cliffs and hidden coves of Sark and its little neighbour Brecqhou, with the Barclay brothers' huge castle perched on top.
A footpath leads down from the site through scarlet foxgloves and rampant purple buddleias to gorgeous rocky inlets which are deserted even though it is a bank holiday. We picnic in a suntrap in the rocks at Puffin Bay, then wander along the cliff path to Belvoir Bay, which is, quite simply, beach perfection. The sand is soft, white and powdery and extends far out to sea, so the crystal clear water appears a delicious turquoise. A small wooden beach shack sells home-made sandwiches, Leslie's flapjacks, and ice-cream to eat on a handful of tables under brightly coloured parasols.
Shell beach, further round the coast, is even more dramatic. The long, dune-backed strand is as white as anything in the Caribbean. I jump in for a (headache-inducingly freezing) swim, before we carry on around the coast to sample Herm's next delight, the Mermaid Pub. What could be more wonderful - a traditional stone pub, right on the seafront, where you can watch the sun set while trying some real ale and gorging on the freshest seafood?
But suddenly the Famous Five dream collapses. The pub's courtyard is full of day-trippers getting sozzled, the ashtrays are overflowing and the landlord looks knackered and harassed. On the PR's suggestion we had booked to eat in the pub's Black Rock Grill, which opened at the start of May to great fanfare and is billed as 'an interactive dining concept'.
Adrian was so incredibly nice that it genuinely pains me to say this, but to be honest, I literally cannot remember having a worse meal. The 'concept' (which I later discovered had been flogged as a franchise from a company on a Basingstoke trading estate) is that volcanic granite stones heated 'to 440 degrees' are brought to the tables, and the guests, decked in branded mini-aprons, cook the food themselves. Obviously this means it will burn on the outside and stay raw inside, but at least it means the restaurant can sack the chef.
The menu - steak, surf-and-turf, fajitas, tuna - could have been from anywhere in the western world. Where was the just-caught fish and famous Channel Island vegetables? (Actually, I asked for veg - the waitress just brought an extra portion of chips.) And where, among the lagers galore, were the hand-pumps for the local real ale? Service was shocking, too. It's not that this is the cheap-and- cheerful alternative to the hotel restaurant either - one main course each and a bottle of wine cost £60.
These days it's not just the middle-aged and middle-class who are obsessed by organics and ingredient-sourcing. Gordon and Jamie are our biggest celebrities and everyone from binman to barrister is a foodie. So while flights to Spain are cheaper than ever, British resorts from Padstow to Pwllheli have managed to create a new seaside boom by making traditional, gourmet, food their main selling point. Herm, wonderful in so many ways, has missed a trick.
That night a storm blows up and at about 2am, as the tent starts to leak and sway in the wind, my girlfriend reveals she only paid £10 for it. Adrian (sorry old fruit!) is up at dawn, helping other campers whose tents have collapsed, and warning that force-12 gales are predicted for that night.
We retreat to Guernsey and, damp and covered in grass, check into La Fregate, a sexy boutique hotel set high in St Peter Port's hilly streets. Famous Five it ain't. Our room is one of 10 in a new wing that opened in February. All is pristine, white and minimal, which would be boring were it not for the stunning views, from the big floor-to-ceiling windows and balcony, over the masts of the yachts in the marina, across the water, back to Herm and in the distance, Jersey.
On the ground floor, the smart restaurant is buzzing. Sunlight streams through the glass wall, which gives more great views. Having beggared ourselves in the Black Rock, we can't really afford to eat, but the food looks fabulous.
La Fregate isn't alone. Across the island hotels are being given the 'boutique' treatment, and smart cocktail bars and classy restaurants are springing up. While Herm is wonderfully and wilfully marooned in the 1950s, for years Guernsey has been desperately trying to update its image and shake off the sense that it is still mourning the end of the 1970s, when visitor numbers were three times what they are today. Finally, it feels like this is happening and today it probably makes the best base for a holiday in the Channel Islands. Herm and Sark are close for boat trips, St Peter Port is far prettier and more atmospheric than St Helier on Jersey, and there are some wonderful beaches, from the vast expanse of Vazon Bay on the west coast to pretty cliff-backed coves such as Moulin Huet and Petit Port in the south.
Forty minutes' walk along the cliffs south of St Peter Port is pretty Fermain Bay. At the top of the road leading down through woods to the water stands the Fermain Valley Hotel, which once verged on the Fawlty Towers, but has been snapped up by a local entrepreneur and transformed into something as swanky as anything in the hot spots of Devon or Cornwall. Millions have clearly been spent on the fine flock wallpapers and designer soft furnishings, the food is top-notch, and there is a wonderful terrace with a path leading through the garden to the water.
Down on the pebbly beach, there is an even sweeter surprise. The kiosk that once served cups of tea and lollies has evolved and started producing the most amazing gourmet food. At outdoor wooden tables, visitors are rewarding themselves after their swims with huge plates of freshly grilled prawns, local crab sandwiches, fresh fruit smoothies and home-made apple pie. For today's nation of food-lovers, beaches don't get much better.
Essentials
Aurigny (0871 8710717; aurigny.com) and Flybe (0871 5226100; flybe.com) fly to Guernsey from £69 return. La Fregate Hotel (01481 724624; lafregatehotel.com) has doubles from £145. More information from 01481 722377; herm-island.com, and on 01481 723552; or visitguernsey.com.
Down to the sea again: more of Britain's shore things
Star of the island
For luxury on the beach, stay in a star-shaped Elizabethan castle on the Isles of Scilly, where you can sleep in the original guardroom and have a drink in what used to be the dungeon and is now a cosy bar. The owner catches lobsters in the morning to serve at dinner in the conservatory restaurant, which also dishes up local fish and vegetables grown in the castle gardens. Star Castle enjoys a fantastic position on the headland of St Mary's, overlooking the sea. Arrive in style by taking a helicopter from Penzance (from £118 return). Rooms cost from £99 per person half-board, based on two sharing.
· Book it: 01720 422317; star-castle.co.uk
On the waterfront
Big things are happening in Bournemouth. The south-coast resort is revelling in a new-found cool. The seven miles of golden sand have been expanded and the first artificial reef in Europe will be in place at Boscombe seafront by September, bringing in the waves and the surf crowd. Bournemouth Pier's been given a facelift and the Opera House has undergone a multi-million-pound transformation, from run-down nightclub to stylish entertainment venue with original art deco features. Among latest hip places to stay is the boutique Urban Beach Hotel, chic yet affordable with double rooms from just £90.
· Book it: 01202 301509; urbanbeachhotel.co.uk
Baywatch
Combining the beach with the buzz of a university town, Aberystwyth is a great place to kick back on west Wales's pretty coastline - and new hotel openings are creating a buzz. The Gwesty Cymru opens this summer, a Grade II-listed Georgian building with eight rooms featuring furniture produced by Welsh craftsmen and a terraced seaside restaurant with views over Cardigan Bay serving contemporary Welsh food (doubles from £80 with breakfast). Look out for the 'floating' bar created by Dr Who model-makers. Alternatively, check in to Tybelgrave House, a new boutique four-star hotel right on the promenade, with nine en-suite rooms (from £95 for a double with breakfast).
· Book it: 01970 612252; gwestycymru.com. 01970 630553; tybelgravehouse.co.uk
Crabs, cliffs and castles
For traditional British seaside fun, Salcombe in Devon has everything going for it. During August's regatta week there are crab-catching and sand-castle contests, but there is plenty of beach activity all year round. Families are well catered for - the Ribs4kids Powerboat school teaches children over eight basic boating skills (01548 842727), while kids of all ages can learn to surf just along the coast in Bigbury (discoverysurf.com). Away from the beach, highlights include the Overbecks museum, with its exotic coastal garden, and you can walk along the dramatic cliff paths to Gara rock. The Crab Pot, a great cottage right on South Sands beach, sleeps five (extra bunks are available for children), from £425 a week.
· Book it: 020 8946 8491
