Important stuff, sand. Was a tarm when we used to sit on it and catch fish to feed ourselves, or mix it into the soil to help drainage, or use it to make pottery to drink stuff ’n all thet.

Then came a tarm when sand was one of the arland’s chief attractions, drawing flocks of grockles with their buckets and spades to such local beauty spots as St Brelades and Le Braye and fillin’ the coffers of the local tourist industry and the arland in general. Ruddy useful, our sand was back then, all lovely and white and clean, unlike that grey muck with the poo still fahnd on most English beaches.

Then the developers moved in and started claiming huge chunks of lahnd to build expensive properties for the people what paid the ‘bucket and spade brigade’ their wages in the first place. Sand came in pretty useful then as well; cement don’t mek itself, you know! Lovely Jersey sand mekkin’ lovely buildings mekkin’ lovely profits fer all sorts of lovely people.

Nah the beaches ain’t so full no more, with many of the grockles choosin’ to fly off to cheaper, and sandier places. Who can blame them; ar sand levels hev been fallin’ these past few years due to all them cement mixers suckin’ it up and turnin’ it into luxury flets ’n stuff.

Ah believe the States hev even commissioned an expensive independent report into the precise number of sands left on ar shorelarn out of fear that we may soon hev to start importin’ UK sand from friendly UK companies in return fer some narse big houses fer the men what run them.

Got a team of lawyers livin’ in equally narse houses drawin’ up the laws ‘n thet, just in case we gotta introduce a new Sand Tax to pay fer it all. Complicated stuff, sand!