A Salopian in Suffolk to paints and writes herself into existence …
My stories are told from my toes;
in the places between my joints, where
vast expanses of sun-soaked-night sky
are lit up by the flecks let loose from my mother bones;
flecks, once broken, now holding their own –
numinous.
Copyright owned by Jay Cool, June 2019
Image by Johannes Plenio from Pixabay
Please read more words of wisdom by Jay Cool:
Getting Out of Day Job 33: Grated Orange
Seconds of Seconds in the month of May – and Still Standing!
Today is a Day Job day. Stop complaining, I hear you say; do your bit for society and be grateful.
I feel grateful, as in grated and full.
Bits of my skin have been grated off and the wounds have been allowed to fester. The infection was supposed to make its way into me, to change my genetic make-up – to make me into an automaton, to make me into the kind of half-person who’s happy to step up and on top of others, in order to wobble insecurely on the upper landing. In my case, though, the infection wasn’t strong enough. I’m still full inside; I’m still a thinking (no, not stinking, in spite of the festering wounds) odd-bod and I’m still proud of my orangeness.
Yes, I know there are some of you out there, who have doubts about the saneness of my thinking – but, let me assure you, my thought processes have long since gone way beyond that particular milestone. Confused? Perhaps this diagram of the milestones of my life will help:
bewildered -> emerging from the fog -> normal -> a little different -> crazy -> beyond …..
Once upon a time, I was still at the ‘a little different’ and going into ‘crazy’ stage. And, during that sad time, I came up with my own motto. I like to share, even the mundane details of my most extraordinary life, so here it is:
Yes, there was a time, a very pitiable time, when I, Jay Cool, actually believed that if I worked and worked and worked, using up all of my day-times and all of my night-times, I would somehow be acknowledged and rewarded for my efforts. How crazy is that?
At this moment in my life, I’m running along the dotted line bit at the end, and feeling excited about what might happen next. In short, then I’m a thrill-seeker! Unfortunately, because I am the one who pukes up on roller-coaster rides, I’ve had to keep my feet at ground level and keep on running towards the dot of unknowingness – you know, that dot on a landscape that goes through the point between two hills, and out onto the other side of the photograph.
There is something there worth seeing out there, isn’t there, only I think there’s about to be a major downfall – I’m feeling a little dribble?
In spite of the dribble, I remain, as always, an optimistic person, so ‘no’ I’m not complaining, its just that …
I still believe in Work Breeds Work. Only, the bit I got wrong back then was in thinking that my work needed to be the kind of work that is dished out within a workplace run by the ‘wa**erhood’, the kind of work which others designate to their underlings and then take the credit for.
The work that I do now, and that I will be doing a lot more of, once fully emerged from the day job, is work that I will give birth to for myself. This blog post, will give birth to another post, that will give birth to another and so on, until I can wander up and on, playing my own tunes, through the point inbetween the mountains of my own creation.
I, Jay Cool, have taken my first steps out of own middle, to everywhere and beyond … Travelling companions welcome – for part, or all of the journey. If time is short, and you have other commitments, feel free to step in and out. Just be sure to welcome me back, if I need to return to the middle to rest, refuel and regenerate, and be there to see me off (and even, if you choose, to rejoin me) when I’m ready to venture out again …
Copyright owned by Jay Cool, June 2019
The first four images in this post are from Pixabay.com (Creative Commons)
Copyright of ‘Guitar’ and ‘Foot’ photos owned by Jay Cool
Please read some, preferably all, other posts by Jay Cool:
It’s chucking it down with the Gods’ urine this morning. Not a day for the usual therapeutic-kerbside photography!
What now?
Should I work on my chart hit, or is that too yesterday?
Should I plan ahead for the day job, or is that too tomorrow?*
Today? Today, thanks to an early-morning interaction with the site Cooking Without Limits‘, I turn my expertise to all things culinary.
Out of all the career choices I’ve made thus far, then this is very likely the craziest. I, Jay Cool, am about the worst cook that this planet has ever produced. Hence, why I’m turning to an expert for advice. I take a look at the first recommendation – mushrooms!
Initially this sounds promising. I’m forever picking up nearly-rotten mushrooms from Tesco’s nearly-out-of-date corner, and I really could use a motivator here – something to make me want to cook them up before they are completely out-of-date and irretrievably rotten! Full of enthusiasm, I read on:
Oh! These recipes are for wild mushrooms; foraged mushrooms. Traumatic memories yell out from the bit of my brain in which such things are suppressed into.
‘Stay!’ I yell back. ‘Stay just right there – exactly where you are! Don’t even stick your big toe out!’ (It’s okay, there’s no-one else to witness my panic – except, of course, for you my loyal reader!*)
But, as is usually the story, it’s already out, and it’s right here with me whether I want it to be or not. Luckily, I’m a devotee of the ‘A traumatic memory shared is a traumatic memory halved!’ theory. So, here it is – all ready for the sharing!
***************************************
What does a ten-year-old do when holidaying in a ten-foot long caravan with one’s parents and sibling, in the middle of some rain-drenched campsite in Scotland, other than to leave Mother Cool and Brother Cool arguing over which of three channels to watch on a battery-operated TV, and go off with Father Cool into the surrounding forest to forage for mushrooms? Sound fun? Well, yes, it does! At least, that’s what I thought when I set out, complete with the expert. All dads know everything about everything, don’t they? No. That’s why they fill every bit of table space (i.e. about one foot square) with ‘How To’ guides, and why we set off with the ‘How to Spot Edible Wild Mushrooms’ edition. And it wasn’t long before our efforts were rewarded with a clump of large-droopy-hooded mushrooms, nestling at the foot of a tree (no, I don’t remember the species of tree – we had the ‘Mushrooms’ guide with us – not the tree one!). Father Cool became very animated and turned to his guide for assistance. ‘Hmm … mushrooms with a yellow hue! Yes, they look exactly like this picture here. Very tasty fried!’
‘Yes, Dad. Yes, they do look like that picture, but look over the page! They also look an awful lot like that picture, and in that description it says that they are poisonous!’
‘Hmm.. no. No, that’s not them. Definitely not – these here, are the edibles ones. Look! Look at the variation in the shade of yellow. These are the edible ones!’
‘No, Dad, no! I really don’t think that …’
But, it was, as I’m sure you have gathered, already too late. The mushrooms (if that’s what they were!) had already been plucked from their mossy bed, and were on their way to be doused in oil and gassed.
‘I still think they look like the poisonous ones, I persisted, as Father Cool flicked over his sizzling find and added in some salt. And Mother Cool joined in with my efforts to dissuade the fallen. But Father Cool was always (and still is) a man on a mission. Once he’s set out on a path of his own choosing, there’s very little that can lead him astray.
‘Well, I won’t be joining you for breakfast!’ declared Mother.
‘And you know I hate mushrooms!’ grumbled Sibling Simon, at the same moment of taking the opportunity to switch channels.
‘Don’t you dare! I was watching that!’ started Mother.
With Mother and Sibling once again wrapped up in their TV war, I knew that it was down to me. I was the only one, now available, to join Father Cool for a magnificent-bargain breakfast. It was my duty to show loyalty, in the face of such opposition, wasn’t it?
‘I’m not eating any of them, either!’ I announced.
‘But, there’s nothing wrong them. Look, I’m eating them. They’re delicious! Do have some!’ he said, grinning.
But, the sight of the stuff swirling around in his mouth, as he gabbled unconvincingly on, put me off even further (if that was possible), so I declined, sat back and observed. It did, it seemed to me, at that moment, seem as if my father’s complexion was transforming itself. His healthy(ish) pink shade was becoming rather yellow – almost as if, my dad, was actually turning into one of his ‘edible’ mushrooms.
Within five minutes, Father Cool was at the Portaloo, vomiting …
He spent the rest of that day in his sleeping bag, clutching at his stomach, all curled up, and looking to all intents and purposes like a forest snail. I could do nothing now, but hope that he wasn’t dying:
‘Dear Lord Jesus, Please don’t let my dad die. He was rather silly to eat those mushrooms, but he is one of yours – he is a man of the cloth, and I’m sure he’s brought lots of lost sheep into the fold, so please – spare him!’
Jesus listened, and Father Cool didn’t die on that day. By evening, he was right as rain again, and kept us all awake past midnight chatting on and on about how it wasn’t the mushrooms that had made him sick – he’d been suffering from a stomach bug! But no amount of my dad’s arguments could convince the rest of us Cools of anything but the error of his ways.
*****************************
So – to cut an already-long story short – then, no, I will not be popping out my cave today, in the rain, to forage for mushrooms, and no, I won’t be cooking up any Chanterelle lookalikes up with sour cream and parsley! No, no, no!
I move on (don’t say thank goodness – it’s very rude!).
The next recipe, a dessert, looks a trifle more tempting. Oreos and chocolate dessert! It looks scrumptious judging by the image, but I’m a little confused with the instructions. The author talks of making batter for crepes and it then going bad, hence why she makes Oreo crepes with the bad batter! On a second, or third reading, I get the gist of it. The author’s first attempt at making a crepe in an omelette pan went wrong and looked bad, rather than went bad, so she gave it another go, added in some yogurt, rum and vanilla essence, flour, milk Oreos and chocolate and – hey presto – came up with something quite delightful!
Time to go hunt around in my cupboards and give this recipe a run. Anyone know how to make the crepe batter? Or should I just mix the crushed Oreos and cooking chocolate together, roll the concoction into mock meatball shapes and get stuck in?
This is how I envisage the end result:
And, courtesy of the yogurt (forget that -I’ll be using Elmlea Cream!), then I reckon I can achieve this look. I’m going to skip the accompaniment of pears, though – hate the gritty bits in them!
The Sprogs are going to love me (and the nosh)!
Bet you can’t wait to see the outcome?
Copyright of text and photos of Jay Cool, Master Chef, owned by Jay Cool, June 2019
Image of ‘meatballs’ by Lebensmittelfotos from Pixabay.
P.S. Is it just me, or does anyone else out there think that the image from Pixabay parading itself under the ‘meatball’ keyword search, has been wrongly categorised? Would it be more at home in the ‘dog poo’ category? And which bird did it’s white ‘s**t’ all over it?
*Video of Jay Cool singing her version of Annie’s ‘Tomorrow’ coming up – look out for future posts!
In the meantime, please enjoy reading these other crazy posts:
Needless to say, now that I’ve hit the kitchen, things are deteriorating at tip-top speed.
I’ve gathered together the basics, i.e. a measuring jug and rolling pin, but, I’m having trouble with finding any available cooking chocolate. I would ask for your help out there, with a ‘Has anybody seen the chocolate?’ plea, but then you might think I’m some kind of children’s magician (now, that’s an idea)!
In an effort to salvage the situation, I’m modelling my best hat. All Catering Managers and Industrial Uniform Manufacturers – get in touch Jay Cool! With the help of a beautiful assistant, your edibles and non-edibles will sell like hot cakes! I say like hot cakes, because by the time you get the orders out (there’ll be such a backlog), the cakes will be stone cold, and the uniforms will be so yesterday. Still, people pay lots of dosh for vintage stuff! As, I said – get in touch and we’ll negotiate!
I find the flour (long times since I last used it – hope it’s still in date), some sugar, milk and eggs and decide, that even without the chocolate, I can probably find a suitable substitute and muscle up some sort of a dessert for the sprogs. Further investigation uncovers a tin of sardines. Sardine crepes? Why not? I did once mash up some sardines and mix them up with plain yogurt. Sprog 2 loved it (when too tiny to complain much), and downed it all, thanks to a devoted mum flying spoonfuls of the stuff into said mouth as she made Jumbo Jet noises. Sardine crepes wouldn’t be so different, would they?
Ketchup crepes? Regurgitated chocolate? Regurgitated chocolate it is!
Chocolate mixed with ketchup?
What an attractive shade of orange!
I have to say that I really am enjoying this cooking lark! There’s nothing like clearing the system out for a bit of a lift from the doldrums. Just what the doctor ordered!
And there’s nothing wrong with the odd, well-earned refill!
Following which, turn up the heat and get on with the job in hand!
My creation really does look like something special. Reminds me of an out-of-this-world pencil drawing I did, back in the day, at school – a depiction of the landscape on another planet, all blue grass and orange skies! What it would be to be there …..
Hmmmph! Okay, so I’ve singed the blue grass a touch. But whoever said one couldn’t have a bonfire on Venus?
Also, to be completely fair, then the outcome isn’t all that bad looking (in an orangey sort of a way)!
Yum! Appearances, in this case, are not at all deceptive. The finished product tastes as good as it looks!
Which is why, I’m just off to ….
Copyright owned by Jay Cool (currently on sick leave from the day job!), June 2019
End of the job that somehow led me to where I am now; led me to where I am but, perhaps not to who I am.
So who am !?
And, more to the point, what am I?
Needing to know what I am, it dawns on me that this is a rock-chick day.
A work colleague once put it to me that I had too many plums in my pie. I wanted to be a bit of this, a bit of that and a bit of the other (are there three types of plum?). He was wrong. Wrong in that he’d misunderstood me – failed to see the whole! Because, in truth, there is much more to me than that! What I really want to be is: a bit of this, that, this, the other, this, that, the other, and perhaps even a bit more of the other. To see me as three-dimensional was a complete misconception. I, Jay Cool, am more than that. I, Jay Cool, am (no, not even multi-dimensional): I have an infinite number of dimensions. With me there is no beginning, and there’s certainly no end. How could he have been so wrong?
You will, no doubt, be irritated with me at this point in my tale. What, the heck (can’t say h**l, i.e. I’m a vicar’s daughter), has any of that got to do with my rock-chick day? But, don’t you see? It’s got everything to do with it. The rock-chick Jay Cool is just one of the infinite. And, if you’ve read the preceding posts, you will already be familiar with a selection of the other bits of me, i.e. Jay Cool the artist, Jay Cool the writer, Jay Cool the ballerina, Jay Cool the geologist, Jay Cool the ………………blah, blah, blah!
But, forgetting the blah, blahs – today, I present to you: Jay Cool the rock chick! Time to Google ‘rock chick’! A rock chick, according to How to Be a Rock Chick, wears cut-off shorts, which look great over black leggings! It’s me. Shorts and leggings are my daily diet! Without even needing to sing or play a note, I am already a rock chick!
And, if you don’t believe me – take a look at these rock-chick legs:
Okay, so the shorts aren’t frayed, so the look is rather marred by the hemming – but it’s not my fault that Hubby hasn’t washed my pretending-to-be-young cut-offs yet! Is it? (And, anyone out there with a Hubby who doesn’t do all of the laundry, needs to get a replacement!)
I read on to see if I meet the other criterion:
‘Denim shorts also look great over black leggings or lacy tights, paired with combat boots or motorcycle boots.’
I’m not wearing combats and I don’t ride a motorcycle, but surely my walking boots will suffice!
And there’s more! I should actively seek out accessories featuring studs, skulls and hearts. Hearts? Forget all that mushy stuff. Is Barbie a rock chick? Skulls, however, I can do. I can also do hats and sunglasses. This rock-chick stuff is all me!
Even better, for the full qualification, I need to dye my hair black or bubblegum pink! Forget that! Orange is superior by far!
‘Adopt the attitude. Rock chicks are very confident. Carry yourself and your look with confidence. A rock girl is a thrill seeker that loves to have fun, but who is also relaxed.’
I’m there! I’ve qualified!
Now what?
The music? Well, this morning, I attended my guitar and singing lesson and recorded my next chart hit! Alright, it wasn’t exactly my chart hit, it was a Suzanne Vega number – Luka! And, I’m not entirely sure that Suzanne Vega is a rock singer – more folk! But, the details aren’t important!
This is Jay Cool, and Jay Cool is – today – a rock chick. Look out for my forthcoming song release. (Working on the original words and music as we speak!)
Oh! Just read some more rock-chick advice:
‘Being rebellious and getting in trouble is stereotypical of a rocker lifestyle. Don’t take it too far. You can be an authentic rock chick, enjoy the music and lifestyle, and even have a small rebellious streak without getting into trouble and alienating friends and family.’
Hubby wasn’t too bothered about my busking effort in town earlier (he did, after all, take the photo*), but if Mother Cool reads this post .. I’m done for!
And on that note ….
Copyright of text and photographs owned by Jay Cool, June 2019
*To be fair, then I did have to take said Hubby to the local for a bit of a tipple, before coercing him into taking on the role of my photographer! But the cost of a pint, or two, or even three, was a small price to pay (especially, as my chart hit is about to make me into UK’s top earner of 2019)!
Sources: All rock-chick quotations from ‘How to Be A Rock Chick’ (see link above).
P.S. One of Jay Cool’s past, plagiarised and pulverised chart hits, can be viewed on You Tube.
What better thing to do on a windy and woefully wet Saturday, than a spot of hat modelling?
One’s cluttered cloakroom shelf makes the ideal backdrop for the shoot!
And, yes, I know it’s obvious that I’m doing my best to promote Suffolk Punch Comedy Club gigs, by wearing such a fabulous t-shirt!*
But, I am not (I promise) an affiliate blogger for whoever, or whatever, made the beautiful red rose.
However, I’m sure I could come up with something similar (I have plenty of red-tissue paper and safety pins) – if any of you readers are willing to put in an attractive offer! Come on, viewers, I’m giving up the day job!
In fact, now I come to think of it, although I picked up this bargain of a woolly hat from a charity shop, I’m sure there are plenty of ladies (and men) out there, who would be happy to knit one up for you!
Knitters, get in touch – I can do the modelling – you can do the knitting – and I can get the payment! Deal done!
Yes, I am aware that not everyone wants to see a forty-nine-year old doing the modelling but, hey, anything goes these days. Ageism is dead! And I’ll be dead one day too (in case you hadn’t realised), so I need to make the most of what’s left of me, in the here and now! Middle-aged and wonky models are all the rage!
And here’s the proof of my claim:
It’s true enough that this particular-hat model requires a few tips about how to apply mascara, but one can’t have everything – can one?
This gorgeous-pink bit of fluff (not me, silly – the hat!) can be knitted up by the same knitters, who are shortly going to be affiliated with Jay Cool!
Auntie S? You can kn,t can’t you? And Mum? Cousins? I’ve got the needles! My readers just need your skills and my style! Together, we can bring in the dosh!
Now, I’m feeling really chuffed with myself. So full of ingenius profit-making schemes am I, that I can only wonder why I didn’t give up the day job years ago! What with the writing, the ballet dancing, the artwork and now – the hat modelling, I predict for myself a golden future!
Father Christmas, do you need an affiliate blogger who can double up as an elf? And, if push comes to shove, I can even be your substitute on your day off? I do, at this point, feel the need to point out, however, that if you opt for the day off, as you only work one day a year anyway (jammy sod) you will effectively be joining me in my ‘Giving Up the Day Job’ initiative. Welcome on board, Santa!
In the meantime, whilst you take your work break, I, Jay Cool, mid-life nutter and blogger extraordinaire, will be doing the rounds for you!
What a photo-shoot opportunity:
Red carpet, here I come!
And here begins the new life of Jay Cool ….
Copyright owned by Jay Cool, The Silly-Savvy Salopian, June 2019
Image of red carpet (modified by Jay Cool) by mohamed Hassan from Pixabay.
Image of dog in Christmas hat by StockSnap from Pixabay
*The Suffolk Punch Comedy Club t-shirts cost £20 each and orders can be placed with PJ, the emcee for Suffolk Punch Comedy Club, Suffolk.
It’s even possible to have one’s nickname, or real name, printed onto the sleeve, and your own special message on the back! Here’s PJ, to vouch for it:
To find out more about the comedy club gigs, please read:
I pause, just for a nanosecond, to consider the flaw
in the word
menopause.
Isn’t it women, they such as I, that suffer from the pause?
And what is this pause anyway?
Do women just stop, rest awhile, and take the time to consider,
as I – am doing – now –
the flaw?
The flaw that is the man who stuck the flawed-plural form of himself in front of the pause that was supposed to mine!
The man who couldn’t resist butting in and muscling in on the inaction!
Well, this is just fine, my man – my flaw!
This is just fine with me!
Sit yourself down, rest awhile, and take your time ….
Because, if you can ever get your lazy ar*e off that line and stand up again, you’ll find that your feet will be stuck!
Your feet will be stuck down in the crooked and flawed groundwork of a line of your own making – and the rest of us – the women – still intact – and still speeding – will have
moved on!
Copyright owned by Jay Cool, June 2019
Image by Ryan McGuire from Pixabay
P.S. Pause there, just awhile, take your time, and click through to the whole collection of Jay Cool’s perfectionism:
It’s that time of the month again!
And, no I’m not talking about my menstrual flow. I’m a middle-aged woman – give me a well-deserved break!
It’s that time – first Wednesday of the month! Brewery Tap time! Time for a laugh with another of many hilarious Suffolk Punch Comedy Club gigs.
I say, it’s time, but in reality I, Jay Cool, am completely out of time. Not only has my £10 watch from QD Stores conked out, but I’m also twenty-five minutes late for the gig. PJ, why didn’t you tell me about the change to the start time?
You did? Well, that’s news to me, but then I have been a little pre-occupied with my Day Job of late.
I am, at least, in time to catch the last five minutes of the first act. He’s got big-brown puppy dog eyes and looks like every granny’s dream.
But, from what I, Jay Cool, can gleam from a few abbreviated minutes, then this comedian – this innocent-looking piece of manhood, is only every granny’s dream because he comes cheap! Cheap because he has no conscience whatsoever about manipulating homeless people into giving up their daily bread to him. No danger of this grandson trying to muscle in on the lion’s share of granny’s inheritance. This one’s quite able to fend for himself!
As cute as Comedian 1 is (no, I don’t know his name – I told you, I arrived late!), I find him hard to recall, once I’ve clapped eyes upon the next sexy number (see, he’s already fading away). I say sexy, because Comedian 2, is my doppelganger.
Not in looks (because, obviously, no-one can compete with my mango orangeness!), but in spirit (my grandmother was in training for a mediumship and, I too, have the gift!).
Being serious, because seriousness is my speciality (my hobby between seances), then Comedian 2 is sexy, just like me, due to her all-consuming obsessions with 1) cystitis 2) symptoms of the menopause and 3) having a good old rant about gagging orders! I laugh a lot when she starts on about being the ‘oldest person in the room’, mostly out of relief, rather than because of her joke (although that was, of course, hilarious!) – relief because, this statement is for the first time in a long time, correct! At forty-nine, I, Jay Cool, have been pipped to the post for the oldest punter, by a fifty-year old! This is fabulous! Comedian 2 is wonderfully old, I’m young and, as long as I can convince our emcee, PJ, to keep on inviting this lady back and back and back again, I will remain – forever young.
Welcome to my immortality!
Comedian 2’s jokes are now all ceiling-lifting funny, even the one about Vladimir Putin being a ‘bit of a hotty’!
Although, it has to be said that I do wonder, why our funny lady – faced with a choice between hunky Vladimir and a stylophone-playing loon, opts for the latter.
Yes, the latter turns out to be Comedian 3, Dan Rubinstein!
He’s Hubby to Comedian 2, and he sings on and on and on – and even some more on – about Rolf Harris, Jimmy Hendrix and anti-gravity pubs – ending with a pledge to make the stylophone the UK’s national instrument! Hold on there, matey, my playground whistle is definitely the biggest contender for that title! Move over!
The stylophone freak’s kind of funny in a funnyish sort of a way, but my mind’s still full of muscle – Vladimir’s muscle! Strangely, but not so strangely, when you consider my skills of mediumship and all of its various lines of communication, I did once, produce a most-artistic representation of Vladmir’s muscle. At some point, in a future (or perhaps a past post), I will have to share it with you (I know you all want to see it!), but for now, here’s something really hot!
Nigel Lovell!
Nigel’s middle-aged and right on it! Literally! (Had to put the word ‘literally’ in, because it’s every young person’s in-word at the mo, and if I keep carrying on about fellow-comedian’s suffering from midlife hilarities, I’m going to be accused of alienating any punter under the age of about forty-five from contributing to the statistics on Google’s keyterm ratings!) But, whatever! (An incredibly popular term with today’s twenty-and-thirty-still-living-with-mum-and-dad folks!) However (popular with young forty-somethings), I must refocus! Must get back to our Nigel!
‘Hello, Nigel!
Nigel, just wondering, but have you ever considered swapping that tweed jacket for ….?’
Time to do a leapfrog manoeuvre over the bar!
Nigel’s brandishing around the microphone and, judging by his expression, it’s with murderous intent. The title of his Edinburgh Preview is ‘Mocking a Murderer!’ So, I guess that really, I should have come prepared for anything. But, as I related to you earlier, I arrived late – I didn’t know that Nigel was going to be on, and I didn’t know either that this evening’s gig was scheduled to begin at 7.30!
‘PJ! Why don’t you ever tell me anything? (I know you say that you did, but I’m in mid-throe of the menopause; this means that my three-second memory is now official, and that you should, therefore (a fave word with the over fifties, i.e. PJ!*), have covered this in your staff policy for Mental Health and Wellbeing, and made adequate provision for my needs!’
I’m suing!
Please note that Suffolk Punch Comedy Club gigs are on the first Wednesday of every month, at The Brewery Tap in East Street, Sudbury, Suffolk, and that they start – not at 8pm – but at 7.30am!
*Sorry, Comedian 2, at fifty you were not, after all, the oldest punter at The Tap that night! Here he is!
Feeling hapless on his Birthday, he was
reluctant to eat the chocolate cakes that, courtesy of his colleagues,
spelt out the Happy occasion. So instead, stalling for time,
he sought to create an anagram, to rearrange the inevitable, before it’s consumption.
But, Google being unable to deliver,
all that he could come up with was the four-letter word, DIRT:
Dedicated Improvement and Reflection Time
This was, he realised, a sign!
Things were getting serious; this was his Birthday message!
Looking down, and reflecting, he saw his belly – hanging in folds;
it was clear to him that he did need improving and that now, indeed, was the time.
Dedicated, as always, and with renewed dedication to the cause, he ate four cakes and
waited.
In the morning, he felt the usual pangs of interior pain, and dedicated, still, he
parked up his posterior, and preparing himself for the impact, let it all go!
DIRT
d
e
p
o
s
i
t
e
d
On reflection, he had to acknowledge, that he did, indeed, feel most improved –
more real, more relaxed – more present and
more HAPPY …
almost.
Copyright owned by Jay Cool, June 2019
Image by engin akyurt from Pixabay
Please, make yourself HAPPY! Read more of the silly:
Deadly and Serious: A Silly Poem
Can’t believe it! Kept in by the wind and rain, I just picked up a random book from a random shelf in my kitchen. Yes, there are books galore in every room in my house, and it is a rare moment in which I regret the purchase of any of them.
Except today!
The book in question – the book soon-to-be-the-only book ever to be burnt in my garden burner thingy (you know – the big fat things that look like clones of Henry VIII with his head chopped off!), has the endearing title (why did I pick this one up?) of ‘Rules at Work’. I can’t really name the author because he is clearly a member of the wa**erhood that I ranted about in my last post! And, if I did name him, I would be calling said name a wa**er. I guess this means, if I don’t name him, that I can’t quote him. This is fine, as I reckon I’m equipped with the ability to paraphrase, summarise, abbreviate and synonymise.
Anyway, according to Author, to get the most out of my job, I have to get a thrill out of disposing of my fellow workers and lowlies. And if I don’t find such things entertaining, I should go and claim my entitlement to dole money. But, if I take that option, it is highly likely that I will die within a year. Work, it seems, is a crucial part of our very being. And, the fact that in the workplace, one never knows what is in store for us, or what new crisis is just around the corner, all adds to the adrenaline uptake that keeps us going.
Well, Mr Author, there is something seriously flawed about a person who enjoys stamping upon others, and who can still go home, indulge in a bit of chit chat with his wife, and then, still all charged up by his day’s achievements, go and get a good night of conscience-free sleep.
There is also something seriously something-or-other about an author who thinks it cool to give off an aloof and distant demeanour, just in case you might become your work-non-mate’s boss one day. Have you considered this, Mr Author, this – the serious flaw in your logic? How am I, your once-was-devoted reader, supposed to become someone’s boss, when I have, at your instruction, just fired all of my colleagues?
Can’t believe that, once upon a time, in my dark and distant and seriously deluded youth, I picked up your book – liked what I read – and bought it! Bought it? Paid money for this trash?
Don’t get me wrong – I too enjoy work! Writing posts about the nonsense ideas of other writers, brings me immense pleasure. This is work; no-one’s paying me for it; and I’m high on adrenaline, without any necessity to crawl up the piled-up remains of the wounded.
What’s that? You can feel my hiking boots stamping over your skin? The footsteps are becoming louder and louder by the second? You’re in the wrong job! Time to retrain as a medium. I am, after all, about to get out of the day job … and have, according to you, just about a year left to live …..
What you forgot to mention in your book, is that, after that year, when the last haunting voices from the day job have faded into nothingness, the ones who opt to go it on their own, start to live again – to live the life that nature intended.
A life sustained by one’s efforts to suck up to the boss’s best buddies, is a non-life.
A life in which one has room in which to create and grow into their own future, rather than be customised into a future created for them by the in-crowd of boss buddies, will, at least, be it short or long, be a life worth living!
For once, my Hubby is right (sorry, Hubby – you are, of course, right all of the time (when you always agree with me)), I have too many books.
Time to hit the burner!
Copyright owned by Jay Cool, June 2019
P.S. Sorry, I let all of you readers (i.e. Ricardo Scribblero!) down by not getting out and about in my pink tutu today. But, give me some slack – it’s pretty wet out there!
The Silly-Savvy Salopian in Suffolk: read, believe and write ... 