Yesterday was wasted. Today, therefore, is going to be The Day!
First stop – the doctor’s! Still have three months of The Day Job to get through, so must restock on the magic mood-boosting pills. The doctor is thrilled by my imminent redundancy and suggests that I wean myself off the higher dose when my new life begins. Little does he know that my new life has already begun; it began the day I volunteered myself for freedom. Still, reckon I’ll keep going with the pills for the time being – might pre-empt any further attacks upon Prado Lounge’s beautifully-shiny-white saucers, with the smashed-up remains of a Poundland-Purple Pencil!
I skip out of the Doctor’s, kick-start my Dacia into action and fly back (1) up the cliff face to my cave in Chilton.
Yelling at Sprog (who knows which one!), I gather Sprog and Sprog’s computer games into the backseat of my Dacia (really must give it a name (the Dacia, not the sprog!)), and we go into hovercraft mode, zimmering our way across country to Monks’ Eleigh (2). Do hovercrafts zimmer? No matter!
Sprog is deposited into the company of three other sprogs and I’m dismissed. Dismissing me, Jay Cool, though is no easy matter and, being a rebel, I return to Daredevil Dinah (have now Christened the said Dacia by the nick-name of one of my late grandmothers (I think she’d be pleased!)). I return but – I don’t retreat!
Once the sprog gang are out of sight, DD releases me back into the wild and I boing across the road to investigate an ancient churchyard. I’m made up. All of yesterday’s despondency has diminished, and I’m back up on high (or on the low, depending on how one views my penchant for graveyards).
It’s a tad dark and chilly in my new haven, so I nip back to DD for more coverage. Feeling sexy in my denim jacket, I decide it’s time for a modelling shoot.
The gravestones and shadeless trees, do the job marvellously. In fact, the models have been stripped, have had any stray eyebrow hairs plucked and are all ready to be dressed-up by Gok Wan’s protégé:
And I’m particularly chuffed to see that the Monks’ models know the importance of maintaining an au natural body image, and are rebelling against the old pluck-the-bush procedures (so out!).
Being the imaginative type, and knowing that the best image is my own image, I conjure up a vision of myself walking up the red carpet, to crowds of adoring ginger fans. These models would look so splendiferous if I could just top them all off with Annie wigs!
Due to lack of payment, I make an early exit from the shoot (they’ll just have to fork out for Gok’s services!), and I pay my respects to the deceased.
I don’t find any of the late locals particularly sociable (i.e. none of the gravestones display surnames associated with the Salopian Cools) so, preferring my own delightful conversation, I venture on. (Have never understood the origin of the term ‘lonely backpacker’!)
A quirky-little gate beckons me yonder.
At this point, I am convinced that I’m a reincarnation of Bessie, the best character in Enid Blyton’s best book – The Enchanted Wood. I’m Bessie and here is the gate at the end of her back garden. Just beyond the gate there will be a stream. I will leap across the flowing water and dive into the magical wood beyond.
I give it a go.
It’s magical, in the way that a disused and overgrown allotment is magical. So, out comes the Nokia (and the old Motorola) and I capture the moment (many moments).
Suddenly (hate that word!). SUDDENLY, EVERYTHING BECOMES CLEAR!
This is my destiny. I was born to the keeper of my own smallholding. Just like Grandad Arnold Cool! It doesn’t look anyone’s using this bit of land. I’m going to claim it – make it my own! I’m going to build a brick-based greenhouse, with underfloor heating – do things the old-fashioned way!
And, I’m going to plant gooseberry and raspberry bushes, grow runner beans and cauliflowers. I might even have a wild-flower reserve! I can see it all ..
The extensive views across my dominions will be, and are, spectacular:
Droppings shatter my looking glass surrounds and, reluctantly, I step out of the bubble to find myself … standing – on someone else’s land! Does this abandoned parcel of gold actually belong to someone else? Why? (3)
Time to move on.
But, … a strong and sinister presence bars my way!
The scene confronting me is reminiscent of a take from the most haunting horror movie I’ve even had the misfortune of viewing: Stephen King’s Children of the Corn!
I really don’t want my life to be over – it has only just begun! A do a backwards walk, locate a footpath, and break into sprint mode (and, no, it wasn’t a backwards sprint).
I know that you are hoping for a photo of the great Jay Cool herself, but I really don’t think that my middle-aged legs are up to doing the high jump over the pictured gateway. Also, I would very likely be prosecuted for trespassing, as that is not the pathway I am sprinting along – it’s merely a bystander (i.e. I am taking a nosy look into a not-so-private-and-very-interesting garden).
Desperate to get back to DD, I pick up pace. And it’s not all easy taking photos of the village, when one is galloping – but needs must and, somehow, I manage the feat (the BBC really ought to take me on to do stunts).
Note the house with the Carter Jonas For Sale sign! This is the house I am going to buy (along with my ancestral home in Signal Lane, Albrighton), when the BBC pay me lots to be interviewed by Graham Norton. (In the meantime, I’m expecting a ‘thankyou’ letter from Carter Jonas for being an unpaid sales rep!)
I can see DD somewhere on the horizon waiting for me, but why waste an opportunity? The dandelion seeds will be gone with the next breeze, and who knows whether I’ll ever see this water pump again! I don’t think I’m a boy, and I’m definitely not any sort of a person in the human sense of the word, so I guess I could indulge in a surfeit of vandalism but I really don’t think the amalgam fillings my all-too-inhumane dentist inflicted upon me are strong enough for this sort of a snack. So I leave be.
DD – don’t leave! I’ll do anything, anything – if you’ll only hang around me for me a few minutes longer!
She’s not listening and she’s beeping her horn nineteen-to-the-dozen, so I lunge forwards and in and regain control of the steering.
No! On the ride back, I zoom in on some beautiful blood-red poppies. Poppies have to be my favourite flower. Poisonous, pretty and oh so very useful. I order DD to stop in the middle of Little Waldingfield, and go for it. Just in time, though, I recall another scene in a film, when some amorous teenager stops his car in the middle of a road to make out with his girlfriend and a some idiot (I mean fancy driving on a road!), smashes into the back of them (car and couple), and they all go kaput! I don’t want this to happen to my lovely DD, so I tell her to move into the side of the road and park in a normal place. She’s not happy, but does what she’s told anyway.
A safety bridge appears and I cross over to examine my finds:
Even the least artistic of you will agree that the contrasting shades of gangrenous green and Jaffa Cake orange are a sight for sore eyes (and a headache, for those of you in the wrong season)! So, close your laptops and get out of doors – it’s the last day of meteorological spring! (BUT READ THE REST OF THIS POST FIRST!)
Yes, there is more, or rather – less. No sooner has DD delivered me back to my cave, than I realise it’s time to return to Monks’ Eleigh. I’m supposed to be picking Sprog back up again! (Plan to leave said Sprog in Monks’ Eleigh with other family thwarted!)
It’s okay, though, because my return provides me with the platform to view, once more, the full nakedness of my churchyard hunks:
Finally, the truth is out! I see now that these fine specimens are not Gok Wan’s have-seen-better-days models; rather, they are the stilt foundations for my new abode – Jay Cool’s ‘Treetops’ pad!
The forthcoming pad will, as I’m sure you are aware – due to it’s not-insignificant supports – be a much grander, and fuller version, of the featured prototype.
GINGER CAT – KEEP AWAY!
DD? Come on – you know I can’t fly!
DD, where are you?
Copyright of text and photos (except where stated) owned by Jay Cool, May 2019
(1) Please note that Harry Potter and Ron Weasley do not have the monopoly on flying cars or, in the latter’s case, in the MCR1 gene (i.e. the featured cat shares this with Ron!).
(2) If Eleigh belongs to the monks, then I figure the monks need to be apostrophised – and, as far as I’m concerned, then the village information website has got it all wrong! And, that ‘Eats Shoots & Leaves’ lady would agree with me! Lady – you are not required to respond!
(3) On my return to my cave, I’ll be hooking up with ancestry.com and checking out whether any of my ancestors owned land and property in Monks’ Eleigh – and then? Don’t be so impatient – wait and see!