Do you ever get asked "are you going somewhere nice on holiday this year"? And are you tempted to reply "no, we've tried somewhere nice, thought we'd go with somewhere horrible for a change"? Maybe just me. And so, when you tend to go to rather obscure places and people ask you wher you're going, it sounds rather odd when you're going to a couple of islands, pretty close to home, famous for cows, tax avoision and a 1980s detective series.

These are odd islands, a hangover from the Norman conquest. They're not in the UK, but not quite independent, governed as Bailiwicks, some only recently transitioned to a proper democracy. All were occupied during WW2, one was entirely evacuated and played host to a concentration camp. They're tiny. And yet still rather famous.

THE NIGHT BEFORE

I'm quite claustrophobic. So why is it that staying in a hotel, in the bowels of an airport, with tiny rooms and no natural light, is such a pleasure? Any excuse, and I'll stay at one of the Yotels, either at Heathrow T4 or Gatwick South. It's like having your own little first class cabin for a fraction of the cost. Plus, you get to sit and watch arrivals over a cup of hot chocolate at night, or a cup of (awful - Costa, are you listening) coffee in the morning. Out of bed, and into Gatwick South! You probably need a certain character to enjoy this as much. Yes, I could have got up early and battled through rush hour commuters with a big suitcase to get here without staying over. But why would I want to do a thing like that, when I can have a bed that converts at the touch of a button, purple lighting, and a very nice shower?

FlyBE 909: London Gatwick to Guernsey

This is Gatwick South. This is the home of bucket & spade charter flights, and this is the first week of August. The spot you stand in just outside the M&S Simply Food lets you see the full chaos: over-energetic children in snaking queues, frazzled parents and testy babies returning from long-hauls, nobody quite sure where to go, the scene dotted with the hi-vis jacket of imagined authority.

And that's why fast bag drop is a wonderful thing. It seems nobody uses online or self check-in here, meaning you skip the entire queue. Lovely, if you can handle the death stares.

They've also installed a cunning security checkpoint upstairs in the shopping centre (surely all British airports are little more than shopping centres - Ed) which nobody seems to be using. Again, lovely. From hotel to airside, with bags, in under 10 minutes, in the middle of the school holidays. It's a miracle!

And then, oh my, we appear to have entered Bluewater on a Saturday afternoon. No, actually, it's far worse than that, as most people have started out far earlier than they would normally, and have that general airport-induced disorientation about them as well. There are shops galore, if you can fight your way into them. There's also a Pret a Manger, always a haven of calm in a sea of shouty shoppers, and here is no exception. Watch me eke out that latte for as long as earthly possible.

(The only interruption to this calm is a running-about-blindly related injury to a small child. Frankly, I'm surprised there weren't more.)

We go to board. Boarding for this kind-of-domestic flight is from the old domestic pier, which is now accessed down a knocked-it-up-in-a-shed converted service corridor from the main departure area. It's a throwback to 80s British Airport Decor - green seats, tacky carpets, formica walls and those hospital-style anti-scuff rails. Being British, everybody joins a massive queue, until they realise that it's actually a queue for an easyJet departure halfway up the pier that seems to be blocking the entire corridor.

We're boarding from a gate at the end, where all the turboprops get sent to. Bizarrely, there are two flights to Guernsey from adjacent gates leaving at exactly the same time, on different airlines. No cause for confusion there, I'm sure. There is a repeated headcount after boarding - perhaps related? We have decent seats near the front in this cheerful little Q400 (pre-booked at cost, naturally - this is how the locos work round here) and are shortly off on a very short hop over the Channel.

Service is breezy and efficient - nothing for free, but then it's a half-hour flight; I can live without a ginger ale and bag of nuts. Despite this being a semi-domestic flight, Duty Free is available. We touch down awkwardly, although looking back at the runway, it's no surprise - I've never seen one quite as angled as this, in both axes...

Guernsey isn't a big island, and it isn't a big airport, either. It's been nicely done, and fairly recently, too, by the look of it. Bags take next to no time, and customs (yes, customs, we're not in the EU now) is a breeze. It's too early for hotel check-in, so we go to leave our bags in the airport, which is an introduction to the laid-back attitude of the islands (in a demonstrative, rather than frustrating, way) and get the bus into town.

Guernsey

I won't go into vast detail, but we loved Guernsey. At first, you could be forgiven for thinking the place is entirely built up and crossed by ridiculously busy roads, but once you leave them behind and start exploring the ruettes tranquilles by foot or bike, it changes completely. St Peter Port, the capital (known on-island simply as 'Town') was a real surprise, a little gem of a town, set around a picture-perfect harbour, rising up from warehouses to shops, banks, squares and houses all up the hill. It's laid-back and prosperous, and rather pretty with it. Food all around the island is excellent - fresh shellfish abounds, and the local dairy produce is unbeatable, right down to the butter on your toast in the morning. Getting around is easy - the bus service is fantastic, and it's good for cycling. The South Coast is a dramatic succession of cliffs and coves, and the West a long series of sweeping bays and treacherous rocks. The centre is calm and pastoral. The island does have some sinister reminders of the occupation, though - the eerily empty Underground Hospital, and the new and converted concrete forts all around the coast.

Sark

We only had a day on Sark, done as a day-trip from Guernsey (due to a limited timetable from there to Jersey). The ferry isn't big, but it doesn't take long to get there. It creeps up on you - a mass of rock that lifts high out of the English Channel. Not sheer, but steep rocks lead up to a tranquil plateau. The only motor traffic on the island is the occasional tractor - one of which can haul you up to the town (it's a steep walk otherwise). Once up there, it's blissfully quiet, and you walk or cycle. Ah, my ideal place - no cars! Its natural beauty abounds, particularly at the famous Coupée, a formerly treacherous (now barriered) path over a narrow isthmus from Great Sark to Little Sark. The dirt alleys are framed by (and almost made into tunnels) by trees. There are exotic gardens, and little cafés and shops, dramatic rocks and seascapes, and barely a sound, until you strain and hear the waves in the distance. Leaving was a wrench.

Condor Ferries: Guernsey to Jersey

Annoyingly, the Jersey to Sark ferry only runs a few days a week, so we got back to Guernsey, and just had enough time to visit M&S for take-aways before checking in for the Jersey ferry. Actually, we hadn't intended to do so quite so quickly, but as we were standing near where the check-in queue was to be to get out luggage labels, a long queue instantly formed behind us (it may not be Britain, but it does a good impression of it sometimes) so we stayed. The ferry, coming from Poole and continuing to Jersey, was a little late. It turned out to be a catamaran, like the fast SeaCats that used to ply the Straits of Dover in pre-tunnel days. It's nicely laid out, but I'd forgotten just how choppy it felt when you stood up... Which you'd want to do as you approach St Ouen's Bay and Corbiere Lighthouse, quite some entrance to the island. We dock into the swish, airport-like terminal in St Helier, and cab it easily to out hired apartment.

Jersey

Like St Peter Port, St Helier was quite a surprise. It's a lot more French-feeling than Guernsey (it's closer, I suppose), but still has a distinct identity. The markets are wonderful, and it has the same laid-back, prosperous air, like a seaside town that elsewhere would have gone to seed, but here has done nothing but flourish. The only let down is the waterfront, abandoned to developers after a quick buck, and quite unappealing. We hire a car for one day to do a tour of the island - the castles, bays, cliffs, outstanding zoo (Durrell), great sweeping bays and the glitz/seaside mix of St Brelade's and St Aubins. Apart from that, the buses are again excellent, so we explore a bit more, going to the fascinating War Tunnels (again, this island bears many scars of war). Here, the tunnels are home to a very well-executed, very though-provoking exhibition, showing the islands as a reflection of how it could have been in the UK.

BA8040 Jersey to London Gatwick

We got the bus to Jersey airport, quite early, but to no queue at Bag Drop anyway. The man waiting at the desk there decided to disappear while we were snaking our way through the ropes, and we waited for 5 minutes before somebody came over and told us it wouldn't be open for another half hour. It was open 10 minutes later, and so we ended up behind a family connecting to a long-haul, who seemed to take forever to check-in. Oh well.

Security was quick and unremarkable, and the departures lounge not bad for an airport this small. Not much to it, really - it reminded me of a less shabby version of the US terminal at LGA (if that means anything to you...) A few shops, a just-about-acceptable café, and lots of places selling obscure local specialities that we'd somehow failed to see in our whole time here. Go to Gate was announced, then Boarding, then "no, really, Boarding" so we headed to the gate, a whole 30 seconds walk away. Where it wasn't boarding. In fact, it wasn't even close to it, and there were hardly any seats. Why do airports do this?

Once on board (via steps, last to board as it was by row number and we were near the front), it was lovely. I'd forgotten how nice a BA plane can be. And I'd forgotten the joy of a semi-upgrade to the pair-at-the-front-of-Y. This is a semi-domestic again - so it does have a club class, unlike other BA domestics. But no immigration. Service is BA standard - friendly, warm and efficient, easily getting round the full 737-400 with snack and drinks on this short 25-minute hop). We were accompanied by a scout troop from East London, returning from a trip, whose behaviour would put a good proportion of frequent flyers to shame.

At LGW... Well, it wasn't quite so good. We were at an international-only gate, so needed to disembark from the back steps for a bus to domestic arrivals. It happens, time is money with turnarounds, but I'd have been a little peeved if I'd paid to sit at the front. It takes ages, and isn't very well announced. The buses deposit us at an area that's under construction, but from the look of it might not be, and certainly isn't signposted as such. We walk up a long flight of stairs with hand-luggage. Then down some. Then up some more. Then along a corridor with pillars blocking the middle. Then down again. There are lifts, I think, but you'd have to be looking. There's quite a few elderly people and people with children on this flight, with hand baggage, who a few of us help.

This then takes you to a baggage belt, which seems to be temporarily replacing the domestic baggage hall (but again, no signs explaining this). The room has a baffling design: everybody arriving off a domestic/CTA flight has to walk round the entire carousel just to get out, but, of course, it's blocked by all the people waiting for luggage, especially if there's more than one flight in. Getting out after you've got your luggage is a challenge, too, particularly when you've waited 45 minutes for it.

I understand from a thread I started in another folder (which I apologise for not replying to sooner - I've been away again!) that this is all down to construction work. However, this is not obvious, and there is no apology as you walk through. You're just left with an impression of grey incompetence (as, sadly, is often the case with BAA - or in this case recently ex-BAA - airports). Which is a shame, as the staff on the ground are unfailingly excellent.

Anyway, we rush to the now-functioning transit, and just make the London Bridge train we wanted. All going to plan again, until I happen to check the King's Cross departures, and find out that my train is being diverted and hence rescheduled to leave 15 minutes early. A mad dash to a taxi rank (first out!) and mad dash across a thankfully deserted City of London ensue, and we make the train (naturally, at the furthest platform available) with seconds to spare. Sometimes black cabs are good after all...

An excellent holiday, the travel let down only by the works at Gatwick. I can see why people go to the Channel Islands again and again. In particular, I will be heading back to Sark, and am intrigued to visit Alderney and Herm too. Thoroughly recommended!