It’s all abaht the cahs, you see. The cahs. C O Ws. Cahs.

Beck in 1997 a few farmer friends from St Ouen, St Mary and St Peter desarded thet not enough attention was bein’ paid to our milk spurtin’ friends and thet they’d be best joinin’ forces. And so the West Show was born, a bi-annual celebration of the farmin’, traditions and animals for which our arland was once known, before it all went pinstrarp-up.

Held on a twenty-farve acre patch of land owned bah the Quenaults up in St Peter the West Show has developed into somethin’ of a major event in the Island’s calender. Think of a circus run bah farmers ’n you’ll get the general ah-dea.

Me ’n Pips Drelaud popped dahn there Sunday this yer to see how his sister Fleur was gettin’ on with her stall. Old Fleur does a lovely larn of business makin’ figurines of States members past and present aht of common farmyard waste. She got a real knack as well and meks a fair bit of cash while she’s at it. Only last month she oversaw the installation of an entire Council of Ministers fashioned from ossified cow-muck in the front offices of a local trust fund; ruddy sart to behold, thet was. Straw fer hair and everything.

Anyways, me and Pips made it as far as one of them cider stalls and the rest is history. Next thing yer know Pip’s arrested fer attemptin’ ta steal one of them brend new tractor-machines they hed on display bah urinatin’ ’gainst it’s tire. Ruddy screamin’ he was when they pulled ’im away; haven’t seen ’im since.

Not sure how Fleur got on; ah woke up in a hedge some tarm early Monday mornin’ in a parl of sick and half-eaten Jersey Wonders. All stale bah then, they were. Ruddy waste!