A Salopian in Suffolk to paints and writes herself into existence …
I choke,
on the words that I am expected to suck in,
to believe.
I chew,
on the words for just a short while, before
I spit them out, well beyond the finish line
and then I chase them catch them and
crush
them
Copyright owned by Jay Cool, July 2019
Image by Peggy und Marco Lachmann-Anke from Pixabay
Disclaimer: Should you choose to purchase the featured book, via this post, I will receive a commission from Waterstones.
A highly-entertaining read about the ups and downs of being over eighty years old and stuck in a care home.
The diary writer, Hendrik, has to put up with all the grumbles, farts and burps of his elderly companions and, at times, finds it hard to hold his tongue. As the months go by and he finds himself still alive, Hendrik can contain himself no longer.
Along with his best friend, Evert, he starts a rebellion. Four others residents are recruited and, the gang, plan trips out to take classes in golf, portraiture and cooking. This is all much to the disgust of the care home’s cook, who takes offence when residents turn down his meatballs to dine out elsewhere.
Absolutely, not a book restricted to the author’s fellow oldies, or to those native to the Netherlands. The issues raised by Hendrik will be familiar to anyone affected by the petty rules and regulations of institutions, driven more by profit than compassion. Consider the UK’s Academy Schools, privatised rail companies, and the increasingly desperate tactics of its NHS. How much did it cost you to park the last time you paid a hospital visit to a sick friend or relative?
And things really start to hot up when Hendrik asks the Director for copies of the policies that apparently forbid the pensioners from using the kitchen facilities to rustle up their own culinary treats. In comes a doddery-retired lawyer time on his hands and a wooden spoon of his own!
Loved this book so much that I abandoned my blog for a whole day, so I could have my starter, main course, and pudding all in in one sitting!
Admittedly, I also needed to check out the competition! I did, after all, begin my own ‘Not-So-Secret Diary of a Newly-Qualified Teacher’, just a couple of days ago, with the very promising first entry: Lack-Lustre!
So what are you waiting for – get reading! First, read ‘Lack-Lustre’. Next, tuck into ‘Henry Groen’! Enjoy the feast!
Copyright owned by Jay Cool, July 2019
Links to other book reviews by Jay Cool:
She says ‘No!’ and it’s
unexpected that she should
think differently –
it’s not part of the
business plan of change – the re-
turn to the start box.
Copyright owned by Jay Cool, July 2019
We’ve done what we can,
but … we can no more control
you than abandon.
Copyright owned by Jay Cool, July 2019
Image by Gordon Johnson from Pixabay
Other posts by Jay Cool. Please read and leave a review.
I watch as others
look for love on an island
smug in loving me.
Copyright owned by Jay Cool, July 2019
Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay
Other posts by Jay Cool. Please read and leave a comment.
At forty-nine, I
start my real life – the one
I was born to live.
Copyright owned by Jay Cool, July 2019
Please read and comment on other posts by Jay Cool:
Disclaimer: This is a sample chapter from a WIP book. The story, including all characters and locations referred to, is a work of fiction. Please read, like and comment.
I smile.
I, Faith Vicars, need this job. I need any job. I’ve just completed my teacher training and I need money, ie. I used up my luck with free higher education, courtesy of the six years of fully-funded courses I enjoyed before student loans were introduced. Two of these years of dossing were paid for by European Social Funding. Thumbs up to Germany!
Tragically, the bank manager is now after payback for my student-loan funded teacher training course. I had to stretch out a seventh year of study with something, and the plasticine I bought for that Year 1 maths lesson didn’t come cheap!
And neither did my failed effort to salvage the remainder from the hairy classroom carpet do anything to salve the wound to my purse.
To be fair, then the odds, on this occasion (with only two fellow interviewees) are pretty good. Surely, even I’m in with a chance?
I take in the competition.
Candidate 1: A very pretty, bubbly and beaming twenty-two year old, wearing a smart- floral dress and a formal jacket with kitten-heeled court shoes. She’s always wanted to be a teacher and looks like she was born fully kitted. In addition to the baby, her mother’s amniotic sac contained:
When she beams, she has the most beautiful white teeth – the sort straight out of a Colgate advertisement. Being the jealous type, I cannot but help pose the question (not out loud): Are they false? I know, of course, that they are not, as well as I know that she’s already got the job, before she’s even had the interview.
Candidate 2: Late twenties. Frown. Round-bigger-than-her-face glasses. Boy’s short-back-and-sides haircut. Slacks and mismatching blazer. Chunky-black-lace-up shoes, looking a little scuffed, i.e. teenage boy’s trainers. Doesn’t really want to be a teacher, but failed the sight test for her application to be an Army Pilot, and figures she has an alternative role (still within her skills-set) to play in making primary-school classrooms look like bombs have hit them.
Candidate 3: Me. Faith Vicars. Mid(to late)-twenties, frizzy Ginger, as orange-faced as a giant freckle, and a touch vacant-looking. But wearing a smart maroon-coloured skirt suit (okay, so what if it clashes with my hair), with shiny, but sensibly flat, court shoes, and sporting a fake corner-mouth smile. (Telepathically communicating with God’s firstborn: Dear Lord Jesus, Please don’t let the kilt-pin holding my wraparound skirt around me, rip away from the cloth when I have to stand up again! Amen.)
The three of us stare each other out and make small-talk in the waiting area, whilst one-by-one, we are called up and taken out for our interrogations.
Candidate 1 is still beaming when she returns. Candidate 2 is looking cross; she has been asked whether she has a boyfriend and is rightly unable to fathom why that is relevant. Candidate 3 is … me. I’m zapped out.
The Headteacher who interviewed me was pretty scary. On entering the interview room, I immediately clocked onto her fake smile, and began to shake. I answered the questions as best I could (not very well) and then, out of relief to get to the end, gave her a huge smile back (genuine), then legged it back here to await the final verdict.
I already know the final verdict. Candidate 1 will be returning to this very location come the start of September.
The Headteacher enters. I’m surprised to see how tiny she is, now she’s out of her throne. About five foot, one inch, but with the face of Mrs Trunchball.*
There are no surprises.
Candidate 1 gets the job. I prepare for departure (still smiling with relief).
“I would also like to offer a second post. As it happens, one of my teachers has just, handed in her notice and I will be appointing a second NQT. Faith Vicars, I wasn’t sure about you at first – you looked rather nervous and lack-lustre!”
Lack-lustre? How dare she?
“But, when you were about to leave, you smiled and I saw your true potential. You will be an asset to our school. I would like to offer you a teaching position, also for September. Do you accept?”
Oh! Oh, oh, oh! do I really have to? Yes, I need the money. I have no choice. And, anyway, I quite like Candidate 1 – we’ll get on really well together! Shame about the actual working part of the whole thing, but one can’t have it all, can one?
“Yes, of course. Your school is fantastic. I really look forward to working here!”
And, so the working life of my doppelganger began.
Copyright owned by Jay Cool, July 2019
Images of ‘Bundestag & German Flag’ and ‘Giraffes’ from Pixabay.
*Mrs Trunchball is a character in Roald Dahl’s ‘Matilda’, available from
Waterstones.
Disclaimer: Any commission received from links to booksellers will help to fund the cost of my mid-life-write-as-much-as-I-can gap year. Your support is much appreciated.
**Unfortunately, Candidate 1 cannot be persuaded to part with her family heirlooms, but here are worthy equivalents for any teacher-readers unable to find the exact items on Amazon.
Disclaimer: Should you choose to purchase a featured book, via an image link to Amazon, Jay Cool will receive a commission at no extra cost to yourself.
It’s the morning after the day before; the day before being the last working day of my formal employment. Not that there was anything at all formal about this particular employee. I quote the big man’s goodbye-to-me speech, the one that all big men are obligated to perform in order to look the part:
‘Jay Cool thinks differently to everybody else! And we wish her all the best of luck in her future endeavours!’
Not at all sure that this ‘carefully’ worded phrase was intended to be complimentary. Some members of the audience may will have read it as:
‘Jay Cool is taking some time out for some emergency treatment in the loony bin! And we wish her carers all the best of luck in trying to hold onto their own sanity!’
But, personally, I took the whole goodbye thing as a massive compliment, and interpreted it thus:
‘Jay Cool has the mind of a genius. And we look forward to seeing her words of wisdom outselling the best of the rest. David Walliams – be prepared! Book yourself a place in therapy, whilst your bestselling ‘World’s Worst Teachers’ plummets down the bestselling list at Amazon, Waterstones, WHSmiths, etc., etc., etc.’
I will leave you, my reader, to take your pick of the interpretations on offer (or to respond with an alternative), but in deference to David, who is, in reality, my idol – here is a link to Amazon, whereby you can purchase his work of lesser genius.
Just make sure that you hold enough money back for your pre-order of Jay Cool’s ‘Not-So-Secret Diary of an NQT’! And, in the meantime, I’ll test the deep waters with a little taster ….
Update: Taster just released.
Copyright owned by Jay Cool, July 2019
Image by Joe Alfaraby from Pixabay
Finished.
Finished the day job. Started my life as me.
Finiarted.
Copyright owned by Jay Cool, July 2019
Image depicting my reaction a few moments ago, when Hubby returned from the supermarket minus the celebratory bottle of fizz I sent him out for, by Domenic Hoffmann from Pixabay
I’m still here. And, still to come, is one more day of the day job.
To make thoughts of tomorrow more palatable, I imagine a look-after-themself-only type being situated on a Subbuteo pitch. A large forefinger and thumb descend from on high.
The ball bounces off the goal post, pinging back into a smug face.
Weeble, wobble, fall.
Gone.
Copyright owned by Jay Cool, July 2019
Image from flickr.com (creative commons licensed).
The Silly-Savvy Salopian in Suffolk: read, believe and write ... 