Here’s one to try on a Saturday nart in St Helier; the next tarm yer approached by a group of drunken 12-year-olds brandishin’ broken bottles and demanding yer wallet or mobile or whatever, fall to yer knees and scream out Haro Haro! A l’aide, mon Prince, on me fait tort!

Chances are you’ll get yer teeth pushed through the back of yer head but at least you can spend the next three months in traction safe in the knowledge that you done yer bit to keep local tradition alarve.

As the mob smear you across the pavement you mart even want to explain to them abaht how the Clameur dates back to the tenth century and was originally raised as an appeal to Rollo, the grand old duke of Normandy (and patron saint of them ‘orrible toffee sweets what look lark little mini rabbit-creps) bah any poor sod thet felt thet him and his property was being wronged.

Hopefully none of the yobs will ’ave a background of legal training (though don’t be surprised) or else they’ll probably point aht (in between blows) thet the Clameur only really applies if yer on yer own property ’n hev two witnesses with you. At which you should point aht thet as a tax payer you own part of the pavement upon which you’re sprawled, so there. Haro! Haro! (Mah guess is you’ll be asleep bah this point.)

Meks you wonder why the Clameur ain’t raised more often, what with the hash they’re making of the Rock ’n thet. Perhaps we could organise a ‘Clameur de Haro In the Sand’ event stretchin’ around the entirety of the arland’s coast; mart not get anything done but at least we’d give those sods in Planning a ruddy good earache in the process. Any takers?