Whoever the guy was who handed out national animals, I think Jersey slept with his wife. Because it's a toad. A crapaud to be exact. That's the french term for it, and that's what people from Jersey are, apparently. Not just toads, but toads with the word 'crap' nestled right in there. Right and cosy in there. Thing is, we could have changed it, they could have put it to a vote and then our animal would be a gorilla having sex with two sharks or something, but no. We own that animal. At the far end of King Street, Jersey's main road (i.e. the road that had the Waterstones and the HMV (RIP) on it, there is a small pillar. At the top of that pillar is a stone toad. That toad is the symbol of our fair island. And one day, when Jersey faces its darkest hour, that toad will come to life and save us with whatever powers are unique to a stone toad, and we will welcome it into our homes to share our wine and meats. And we will be so happy.
