Horace Camp
- Indexed articles, last 90 days
- 6
- Latest publication
- Sep 25, 2026
- Outlet visibility, for Guernseypress
- Top 1M sites
- Earliest in this view
- Jul 17, 2026
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Horace Camp: Getting our priorities right (opens the original)
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Somewhere in the bowels of government the 2027 Budget is being put together, with committees making their cases, Policy & Resources looking at the numbers and no doubt an awful lot of people explaining why their particular bit of government simply cannot manage with a penny less. We get to see the result in early October, but I find myself rather more interested in what happens before the numbers appear because, if a budget means anything, surely it ought to be where we decide what is important
Horace Camp: Where are ‘bed blockers’ supposed to go? (opens the original)
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It is that rather wonderful time in Guernsey politics when not very much seems to be happening, which gives me an opportunity to write about my favourite subject. Me. Regular readers will know that I disappeared into the PEH for most of August and eventually emerged 25 days later with rather less plumbing than I went in with and a new companion whom I have named Eugene Le Pet. Those of you with a little French may understand why. The rest can look it up. Eugene is my stoma. More accurately I sup
Horace Camp: If everything’s a priority, then nothing is a priority (opens the original)
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I have called my stoma Eugene Le Pet. I had to call him something and Eugene seemed to fit. Like a good Guernseyman he grumbles a lot, is often full of wind but at the core is a good friend and a lifesaver. He proudly tells me his family have been grumbling about the States since 1204, although I haven’t yet discovered which parish they came from. I didn’t know I needed a stoma at the beginning of this month. In fact on Saturday 8 August I didn’t know there was anything particularly wrong with m
‘The PEH staff, to a man and woman, went the extra mile’ (opens the original)
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On Friday I was out on my trike, met the man behind the CupNSaucer X account and generally behaved like somebody whose immediate future did not involve an emergency encounter with the inside of the Princess Elizabeth Hospital. By Saturday afternoon my stomach had begun making strange noises. There was some pain, then rather more pain, and increasingly peculiar things happening lower down. I blamed trapped wind, constipation, coming off Mounjaro, Laxido and almost anything else that did not invol
Horace Camp: Why is it always the rule that has to move? (opens the original)
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On this island the speed limit is 35 miles an hour. We keep it low because the roads are narrow, the lanes are blind, and there’s probably a sticky-out bit of granite cloaked by the overgrowing hedge just waiting for the unwary. Faster is simply too dangerous for the driver and for everyone else. Now imagine Charles Parkinson is stopped by a policeman for doing 50. He winds down the window and says, ‘Oh officer, don’t worry at all. It’s not my speed that’s the problem. It’s the rule. So what I’m
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