Getting Out of The Day Job 23: Dancer

Read you (i.e. I read the post Read me? by the author of ‘Waking Up on the Wrong Side of 50′)!

Read all the first half, then skimmed the rest, as the thought of some tulips I spotted on the school run is luring me outside. Sitting here on my laptop watching the sunshine fading away is not the thing at this moment in time. But, loved what I read. Well-written. High-quality. Tasty!
Now, I ought to start planning for my day job tomorrow – but, it’s so sunny out there and the tulips are so red! See you later!

*******************

Update!

Made mistake of popping upstairs to check on Sprogs’ rooms. And this is what I came back downstairs with!

img_20190603_095809

Am I going to wash the lot up?

No!

Time for revenge!

‘Had an idea,’ I informed Sprog 3. ‘I’m going to take selfies of myself doing ballet poses in lots of different locations!’

‘NO, Mum! No! Don’t! I won’t ever forgive you!’

That was yesterday. Yesterday, recalling my own embarrassing parents, I felt empathy with Sprog 3’s situation. Yesterday, I thought I might just use an artist’s wooden doll as a substitute. Today?

Today, I go back upstairs and dig out my ballet tutu. Yes, I am a hoarder – I still have my childhood (teenage!) ballet gear!

A pang of conscience causes me to hesitate and I look around my study for the artist’s doll. It’s nowhere to be found. One of the sprogs must have nicked it. Suspect No. 1 is Sprog 3. She nicks everything!

Conscience gone.

I don my ballet tutu, and decide that perhaps I should experiment in a few garden locations first, i.e. my own garden (hope the neighbours are out!). But, there’s a problem! how do I get my whole self into a selfie? I can only get my face, and that’s not so attractive!

img_20190603_095935

I find my old camera – abandoned when I discovered mobile phones (very recently), set it up on my writing desk, stand back and quickly nip my hand out to press the ‘go’ button. No good! I have to crouch to be in the shot, so I can hardly go in for an arabesque. What to do? I need a photographer! But Sprog 3’s hardly going to volunteer.

Idea!

One of Sprog 3’s Barbie dolls. She doesn’t need them anymore – she’s almost a teenager. Sorted.

See you later!

********************************

I don’t of course, go and get a Barbie doll? Why? A conscience recovered? No! I’m just far too lazy to go back up two flights of stairs to find one;  plus, I might find more dirty crocks up there on the trip!

But, I’m still getting out of here. And, what’s more, I haven’t yet quite given up on the idea of me – doing the ballet poses.

I proceed across the local housing estate (but only after I can see that the very sensible old lady over the road has gone out!), and take a few neat snaps along the way:

img_20190603_104524-collage

And I manage to cover a reasonable distance in my beautiful tutu, before …

img_20190603_105038

…I am detected. An older-than-me (so pretty old) lady is taking a happy stroll with her shopping trolley (no, she hasn’t nicked it from Tesco – it’s one of those tartan things on wheels that my Nanna Daredevil used to have!). She’s in front of me, so I’m feeling quite safe. But ..

…she turns around to faff about with the flappy bit on her trolley-bag, then jumps a bit, and looks up! I feel the need to explain myself (no need to be responsible for someone’s heart attack), and start babbling:

‘It’s okay, I’m not crazy (untrue), this is just a joke – thought I’d embarrass my daughter!’

She’s now looking positively chirpy. Smiling she responds with: ‘Bye then!’ And I conclude that either 1) she’s got a granddaughter she’d love to show up! or 2) she’s relieved that I’m moving swiftly on!

I proceed to my destination – a busy roundabout adorned with tulips and daisies. Perfect! I skip across the road and make myself comfortable in the wilderness within. Several vehicles slow down, with the drivers seeming a little distracted – this is only mildly embarrassing (hey, who am I trying to embarrass here?)! I snap away, head down in the wild.

A massive bumble-bee objects.

bumble bee

Time to head back!

*********************************

I’m rather disappointed with the resulting pics. In expression, I look distinctly like my own mother and, beautiful as she is, she is in her seventies! I try to put my finger on what exactly has brought about such a striking resemblance. Then, I get it.

nutter roundabout

Stress!

I look anxious. And I look stressed. Some might even argue that I look a tad awkward (embarrassed?)! Playing around with some edits, I decide to go for the ‘vignette’ look – best to fade myself out a bit – to round off the sharp edges!

A photographer! I know what I need – with the right crew on board, there’s no reason why I shouldn’t still make it as ballet dancer and model!

Just one small problem? Who? Who is likely to be prepared to stand in the middle of a busy roundabout taking snaps of a forty-nine-year old nutter?

Not Sprog 3!

Sprog 2?

Sprog 1?

Bribery?

**************************

Reality?

No, stop reminding me! Please stop!

Yes, I know that tomorrow I go back for my final eight or so weeks of The Day Job. And, yes, I know I have to do some preparation! And, yes, I know that this is – prevarication!

And with all of my knowledge of the knowing, I’m heading – back into my wild garden!

Hi!

stunner in wild garden

Sprog! It’s time …

img_20190603_102828-collage

For payback!

img_20190603_102727-collage

Hah!

Copyright of text and photos owned by Jay Cool, June 2019

 

Coming soon ….

Jay Cool in ‘The Nutcracker’. Tickets are selling out fast …

Alternatively, you can always get free entry to a Suffolk Punch Comedy Gig, e.g. Feast of the Feline!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s