Up yer in mah neck of the woods bein’ born with the odd surplus finger or two ain’t all that uncommon and can even be considered an advantage (as demonstrated bah the victory of lasy yer’s Parish Piano team in that i-stedford thing they got in town).

Still, there are limits; bein’ born with an extra finger in the centre of yer forehead is considered pretty unlucky wherever yer from.

Poor old Pete le Brocq; him and his girlfriend Petra (le Brocq) didn’t half take some stick upon returning to the village with their newborn, despite their bravest attempts to hide it’s deformity bah carryin’ it round bah the head like a boule.

As usual, the culprit behind little Rocky le Brocq’s bonus digit was quickly indentified. Flamanville, we whispered, with a sympathetic nod towards Pete and Petra’s mum. Ruddy Flamanville again.

It ain’t easy living with a nuclear power plant reacting on yer doorstep (let alone a French one) but over yer in Jersey we been doing just that since the mid 1980s when they first plugged the thing in. Ah’m no physicalist but apparently the whole thing works like a giant kettle with a ruddy great nuclear thing where the element should be. Or something lark thet. Don’t be quotin’ me for yer GCFEs or nothin’.

Recently the States of Jersey got all shirty abaht the construction of the new third reactor, set to be fizzin’ out nukelies some tarm soon.

A report written in 2006 expresses concern ’baht the possibility of some nutter flyin’ an airplane into it. Not kwart sure why anyone would want to be doin’ thet, thugh it certainly meks a welcome alternative to landin’ in Guernsey, so who knows? Keep thet bunker stocked…