Un-named Item in Baggage Area

I’m not lost ..

But, I am late.

You might not think it possible to get lost in Sudbury, but you are very much mistaken – and you are not me, Jay Cool.

Only two weeks ago I, Jay Cool, got lost on my way to our Horse and Groom venue – and its only 200 yards up the hill from where I now stand at The Brewery Tap.

Still, it feels good to be on familiar territory again, and its comforting to see that I am not the only loon who, occasionally (on a lot of occasions), gets lost! There’s a tiny lost-and-found child behind the mic, cracking a joke about our emcee, PJ, being a **** chaperone, and lamenting the fact that he’s here in The Tap, instead of at home snuggled up with mumsy and watching Chuckle Vision.

I’m trying to chuckle along with him, trying to play the surrogate mum part, as is more appropriate to my age than the Eyeore t-shirt I’m wearing, but it’s just not happening. Guess, this is the consequence of being a late arrival, always having to make do with the tail-end* of the joke.

A Creative Commons image from khwiki.com

Realising I have no idea of the kid’s name, I dip into my back pack for an ‘informed consent’ form. Wasted paper. I can’t ask a sprog to sign his own consent form – I need a parent. PJ’ll do – he is the named chaperone after all and, therefore, in loco parentis.


But the kid’s already leaving – he’s finished his set and now he’s off.

How rude!

Fancy not waiting to see the other acts. Perhaps – bless his little cotton socks – he can’t face the competition! There he goes, rushing out the door, muttering apologies about his dad being out there in the car, waiting for him, revving up his engine and raring to go.

His dad?

A parent?

And I’m out the door, waving the consent form around!

Dad? Dad? Stop! Wait! Sign here!

But the kid’s already in the car – behind the wheel! And, there’s an old man slumped on the passenger seat beside him. Behind the wheel? This kid’s no kid – I’ve been conned. We’ve all been conned! PJ’s chaperoning skills weren’t needed.

Still, at least I can write what I like about this guy now. I can name and shame him. Name? What was his name? I missed that!

If you recognise this guy – he just drove off in a Morris Minor with something lifeless on the passenger seat! Name?



No, the fake sprog wasn’t Bim!

Bim is the next comedian to take the stand. I’m confused. Isn’t BIM was the name of a prestigious music college in Brighton? This Bim’s claiming to be from Cambridge. And, even more confusingly – he’s claiming to be a 19 year-old Chinese man!?

But nothing is as it seems here at the Tap this evening. Bim is really a poverty-stricken teacher, who shops in charity shops – a far cry from the celebrity TV comedian PJ led me to expect – but it might explain why he’s come bare-footed. Either that or, since Bim’s traumatic experience of living with a flatmate called ‘Jesus’, he’s indulging in some self-aggrandising wash-my-feet-and-I’ll wash-yours behaviour.
Sorry, Bim, but PJ’s not even going to pay his Blogger Extraordinaire, Jay Cool, for doing this charity gig, let alone lick anybody’s toes!
Bim, you tell us that your old mate never did teach you how to ‘turn water into wine’ but, more importantly, can you turn Coca Cola into mango cider? Because, at this moment, with thoughts of crusty feet on my mind, I’m having second thoughts about my resolve to go tee-total. I’m going back to the bar for seconds.
I’m in for the mango.
Who’s up in the second half, PJ? Gavin Milnthorpe?
Copyright owned by Jay Cool, March 2018

Sources: All photographs by Rob Lee http://www.facebook.com/rhlphotography – used on this blog by kind permission of the artist.

* This attempt at a joke, PJ, is the reason why I, Jay Cool, have got down from the stage and am now sticking to Blogging!

If you dare – come and join in with the laughter at The Brewery Tap, Sudbury, first Wednesday of every month. All donated proceeds go to prostate cancer research.


Published by The Silly-Savvy Salopian

Freelance writer and descendant of the cave dweller and outlaw, Humphrey Kynaston. Banished from Shropshire for my eccentricity, I have made my home in Suffolk. I write poetry, short stories, travel journals, comedy gig reviews and non-fiction articles. My wish is to write my way back into the heart of my birth land. All writing commissions (and free holidays in Shropshire!) considered.

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