Quiet cliff paths, vast sweeping beaches, cobbled high streets … and freedom. The writer and presenter finds the things she once wanted to escape from are now the island’s principle attractions

I wish someone had told me at the time that growing up in Guernsey was extraordinary. Not that I was receptive to that information – I was far too busy dreaming of what else the world could offer. The excitement and glamour of the mainland was too gripping to let me take stock of the privilege of plodding towards adulthood on a tiny island. I took for granted the freedom I had: the slow speed limit that almost guaranteed my safety; the low crime rate; the fact I was never more than 10 minutes away, no matter how much I tried to escape. Guernsey was my playground and yet I spent most of my days staring at the horizon yearning for the energy of the big city.

I was raised by Londoners who moved to the island to set up shop in the 70s. They were more than aware of the contrast to city living – yet I never knew any different. Dramatic cliffs and coast roads, vast sweeping beaches and “island hopping” on ferries was regular life. As soon as I was old enough to pass as 18, the island’s pubs were my stomping ground, of which the walls still hold many of my deepest secrets. As a teenager, I was always more of a town girl than a beach girl, spending most of my time pounding up and down the cobbled high street of the quaintly pretty St Peter Port that clung on to independent retailers and pushed crab sandwiches like America does fast food.