Just a few weeks later, I headed southwest
For a short vacation and a new Maiden quest
On the shores of Brittany I sought some repos
In beautiful Dinard, lying near Saint Malo.

I saw on a stroll through the town's pleasant park
Some houses look haunted and hellish and dark
The Psycho killer no doubt could have played
In one of these mansions hov'ring in the dark shade

A warm sun was shining, I relished the breeze
The view of the ocean had my mind put at ease
The endless Atlantic, so mighty and deep
Put awe in my heart, and this joy made me weep

I scanned the horizon, I searched sea and sky
Beyond the vast open the Channel isles lie
Before the World Piece Tour, the Maiden guys stayed
On the beautiful island of Jersey. Great!
I decide that one day on this trip must be saved
To see where Steve Harris had his tattoos engraved

I'm a later riser, but that day I stood up
Quite early and drove with my car to the ship
That was destined to take us to Jersey by sea
A drink and some pastry you could get for free
But, alas, no matter how fancy the ship
Once out of the haven, big 'orra that trip!

The waves were high, the boat was whipping to and fro
My face turned white, then green, I sat and thought "Oh no!"
I could not drink, I could not eat, just barely could I look
I could not think, I could not speak, I could not help but puke

I will not torture nor amuse you anymore
With gruesome details of my pitious plight galore
A bumpy ride on Humphrey's billowing back
Can hardly be worse than this hellish sea-treck

When safely arriving in Jersey I thought
The best way this island could now be explored
Was driving around it and stopping to see
The sights that my map was pointing out for me

My first stop was Gorey, a quiet sea-town
Over which looms Mont Orgueil Castle alone
I found a nice pub where breakfast was served
As yummy as ever on England's old turf

Jersey coin

The people were friendly and tourists were few
I bought some nice postcards and started anew
Along the north coast and towards the west
But driving was tricky, these roads are no jest

The "green lanes" - romantic and nice to behold -
Are not made for traffic, if truth must be told
Take a right turn with a green screen before your nose
An adventure, almost like driving with eyes closed

Towards noon I stopped at the "Devil's Hole"
A ragged old heathland, around was no soul
Standing there above the thundering sea
I felt like wild Heathcliff's rebellious Cathy

A magical spot, it was hard parting from
But I’d read in the CD booklet of POM
That Steve and his bandmates once hoped to find
In the village Saint Ouen their piece of mind

Not far from the village, under high rocks was housed
The "Treasures of the Earth", which my interest aroused
An exhibition is leading through cavernous rooms
Where crystals and earthstones sparkle in velvet wombs

All the cars on this island have a license plate
That starts with a J, as this picture can state
Which I took in a car park in Saint Hélier
Just before I was heading back to the pier

I had to brush the number with black colour because it wasn't really legible. I know it shows, but well.

I’ll spare you the rest
Throwing up is no jest
Instead I’ll go on
Part three is London!