Savvy Tips – Steal A Style

Keen to be a writer? But lacking in self-confidence?

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Has anything changed since your schooldays. Think back! Were you scared in case the teacher thought your work was rubbish? Did you hedge your bets and borrow your ideas from the teacher’s pet – the one seated next to you?

Time to dip your toes in, and to steal a style from a bestselling author. (No, David Walliams! I love you, but I’m not going to steal your style – at least, not in this post!)

Today, I’m taking my follower(s) on a trip to China, courtesy of a memoir in Everyman’s Travel and Topography series; a memoir detailing the journeys of my late friend, Marco Polo. It’s always best, in my humble opinion, to consort with the dead – it minimises the risk of being haunted by the odd plagiarism lawsuit (the Ed Sheeran case being the exception to this rule!).

Method:

  1. Select a book and pick out a random section of text. Use the close-your-eyes-and-open-said-book-on-whatever-page-happens-to-offer-itself-up method, if you really have to!
  2. Use this sample text as a model on which to base your own writing, i.e. use the same sentence structures, but change the theme, setting, characters and references, etc.
  3. Don’t stop there – keep on going! Go with the flow and write down whatever else comes into your head.
  4. Read back through your work of wonder. It will sound brilliant and no-one will know that started off by a little theft of the late author’s style.
  5. Remember, that you don’t have to steal from the dead – you could steal from David Walliams if you really want to – but, if you have plans to publish the piece, a little bit of grave-digging is probably a safer bet! (Why do you think that I spend so much of my precious free time tramping around graveyards?)

Example:

This is a sample of the original text:

As soon as the son attains the age of thirteen years, they set him at liberty, and no longer suffer him to be an inmate in his father’s house; giving him the amount, in their money, of twenty to twenty-four groats. Thus provided, they consider him as capable of gaining his own livelihood, by engaging in some kind of trade and thence deriving a profit. These boys never cease to run about in all directions during the whole course of the day, buying an article in one place, and selling it in another. (p.361)

 

And here is Jay Cool’s transformation:

 

So, what would it be like to be one of the privileged few chosen to work for the prestigious and reputable company, Trustworld, pplc.?

On the very day that ageing employees reach an annual salary of £37,000, or thereabouts, give or take five pounds either way, they are marked-up in red ink, as they are no longer required by the company.

Some might think it only right, at this point in their lives, that these has-beens* be given golden handshakes in the form of big-fat payoffs; and that, thus provided, they be let loose.

Unfortunately, past experience has shown that, once let loose, these rejects have a compulsion to flit around everywhere, like butterflies trying to pack all of the rest of their lives into twenty-four hours of chaos and anarchy.

For this reason, the company prefers to set its new and hungry employees upon anyone displaying the tell-tale-red branding. Whichever employee eats the biggest portion of flesh receives the highest of recommendations and is fast-tracked into the management team.  To date, this practice has proven to be extremely popular with the company’s young.

Sometimes, it is rumoured, the cleaners (if squeamish), after tackling the aftermath, may have a tendency to develop symptoms commonly associated with trauma; this is not, however, of any concern to the primary company, as all of the Maintenance Sub-Contractors have responsibility for the health and safety of their own staff. In reality, thanks to the ingenuity of zero-hour contracts and a high-staff turnover, no claims relating to PTSD,  have ever got as far as to be heard by Judge Romesh, let alone by any Criminal Court. 

The company does not provide insurance to cover the funeral costs, on behalf of the families of deceased staff. This is unnecessary, as all staff are expected, from the outset, to work around the clock, 24/7, out of love for their vocation and for the benefit of the team. To this end, each employee is contracted in marriage to the company, and agrees to cut off all ties to their biological family before commencing their post.

To the best of our knowledge, no reports of Missing Persons have ever been filed.

For this reason, the University’s Careers Advisory Bureau, would be confident in putting forward the names and CV’s of any students looking for a life-long career in which hard work and dedication will lead to fast progression.

Please note that the company has expressed a preference for candidates due to graduate with BA degrees in either Business Studies, Law or Catering.

Should any students be interesting in applying for a role with Trustworld, pplc., please book an appointment with one of our career’s advisors A.S.A.P. (by 12.01 am, on Monday June 2nd, 2019)!

Remember that success, with regards to Trustworld, pplc.,is all about timing and confidence, i.e. slow and cautious types need not apply!

Ms Jay Cool, Careers Manager, University of Wellness, June 2019

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So, go on! What are all you writers waiting for? Pick up that pen, or your laptop, and get digging!

Copyright of text and photos owned by Jay Cool, Comedienne & Blogger Extraordinaire, June 2019

 

Please peruse the June edition of the Colchester  Scribblers’ Meetup group, THE CAMULODUNUM. New members to the group, and creative contributions to our publication, welcome! Please see website for details. You might also like to indulge in other masterpieces produced by our members by clicking through to Colchester Crazies Get Creative blog.

*Please note that the has-beens in question, are not in any way, shape or form related to the beautiful red and green sandals produced by the Swedish Hasbeen company. **

**Please also note that I am not an affiliate blogger for the Hasbeen company, but I would be more than happy were they to offer me a pair of the aforesaid shoes. I will even model them for my viewers! But, I will, it must be noted, not be signing up for a lifelong career in their service!

Jay Cool

 

Bibliography:

Marsden, William, ed.,  Travel and Topography: The Travels of Marco Polo (Everyman’s Library, 1908).

 

Savvy Diary – Bagging It

Savvy Article – Boris & Donald

Deadly and Serious: A Silly Poem

 

 

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To be a grown-up is a breeze for me,

it means I can invite my bees for tea!

 

Copyright owned by Jay Cool, June 2019

 

The Drilling: A Short Story

Norma: A Savvy Poem

A Medicinal Stroll in Chilton

The Drilling: A Short Story

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Crouching below the window-sill, I knew I couldn’t be seen. I couldn’t be seen and neither could I see out.

It was best that way.

To give into temptation and take a glance out, out at what might be lurking beyond, would have been tantamount to sending out an invitation – an invitation to come on in and wipe me out of existence.

I wasn’t, in that moment, in those moments, unhappy.

No, far from it!

You might think this odd, peculiar in such circumstances. But, to try and explain myself, then the best way to put it is that I felt very much at peace with myself – as if protected by some kind of an invisible membrane. Protected from having any of the usual fight or flight reactions associated with being mortal.

But, like anything breathable, the membrane’s powers were momentary. I could not see, but my hearing, I soon realised, was as astute as ever. A distant grating sound, metal on metal, like the serrated edge of a bread knife cutting through the rusty crust of cheap tin, reacted with my amalgam fillings; and I didn’t need my sight to hear and to feel the presence of a drill. A drill boring through my soul!

The drilling which, having hit and made a shallow inroad into its target, would – one might expect – give in at this point, becoming slower and more sluggish, and stuttering to a stop.

Wishful thinking.This drill became louder, faster – more murderous. It was as if something immortal and unstoppable sought to destroy me – piercing my enamel, my dentin, my pulp and my roots. Drilling right into the tunnels of my nerves.

The pain was immense: a sharp serrated knife, slowly twisting and turning itself out of my cheekbones, over and back through my skull and into my brain.  I could do nothing but stay put, under the window-sill – my last remnants of my existence crushed hard against the cold-brick wall.

It was best that way.

And in the knowing, in the knowing that this must be close to the end, in that moment, with my left hand clutched to a pillow, that was clutched to my head, to my face, to my existence – I started to emerge.

With my right hand, I hitched-up with a marker pen, and with my right hand, I began to write – to write straight onto the floor – to make my mark – to make things right:

‘TAKE ME TO THE DENTIST – AND TAKE ME THERE – NOW!’

 

Copyright owned by Jay Cool, June 2019

 

Inspired, or not, by a prolonged visitation of Trigeminal Neuralgia – otherwise known as the ‘suicide disease’.

 

Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

22: Bit by Bit

 

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Three months to go.

Three months before the whole of my meness can step out.

Three months before I dare glance into the mirror to see who I am.

Three months to get this blog site to do a take-off because, once I’ve stepped out, I’m not at all sure that I’ll have any desire to step back in.

Today, just having the tip of the big toe on my right foot out there feels pretty good. If I get my whole right foot out, will the stress pain in my big-toe joint vanish?

When I ate the green jelly babies, my favourite ones (always felt sorry for the ones who lived in the shadows of the red), did they feel pain? When I started on their feet, eating the heads last, did I just prolong their agony? Or, did they feel that – bit by bit – I was eating them into themselves?

Once eaten, were they able to see, perhaps for the first time, what or even who, or even which bit of themselves they really wanted to be?

Or were they just happy to be – me?

 

Copyright owned by Jay Cool, June 2018

 

P.S. I’m seriously, here,  tempted to put in an Amazon-affiliate link to a Vanish product. But, because I haven’t put the whole of my right foot out there yet, I will, on this occasion, leave such matters to Mrs Hinch.

P.P.S. Will my readers forgive me if I put in a like to a bumper pack of Jelly Babies instead? No?

All Three of Me

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Time is limited. 

There isn’t much left of it, he said.

Why then, at forty-nine has my life as myself only just started?

And will the first year of my new beginning last until the end of time?

Or, in the stretching, will it thin out – in the middle – with neither of the mes,

at either of

the ends, letting                                                                           go

until time …………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..,

the self-limiting time that is me ————————->     <——————————- snaps?

Copyright owned by Jay Cool, June 2019

 

Written in response to Hamed M Dehongi’s post about getting older.

 

Image by Lothar Dieterich from Pixabay

Norma: A Savvy Poem

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I prefer not to be called Norma,

in that I am not, to you, normal.

My normalities, it’s true, are your abnormalities,

which means that I am not, in truth, normal – to you!

To me, though, to be abnormal – to you – is to be my kind of normal.

And my kind of normal, as you well know, is more than worth getting up for.

Because your normal is – well and truly – abnormal to me.

My norm, my dearest Norma, is – in all its honesty and truthfulness – a complete and total aberration.

An anomaly.

An anomaly that is the normality that is the truth that is

me.

 

Copyright owned by Jay Cool, June 2019

 

 

 

 

Image by Lolame from Pixabay

21: Daredevil Dinah

Yesterday was wasted. Today, therefore, is going to be The Day!

Action required.

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!

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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).

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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.

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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:

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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!

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Image from Pixabay.com (modified by Jay Cool)

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.

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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).

Monks Eleigh collage 1

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!

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Image from Pixabay.com

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 ..

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The extensive views across my dominions will be, and are, spectacular:

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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!

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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).Monks Eleigh collage 3

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).

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Image from Pixabay.com

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).

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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!)

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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.

The end?

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:

Little Waldingfield 1 collage

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!)

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Image from Pixabay.com

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:

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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!

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Image from Pixabay.com

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.

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Image from Pixabay.com

 

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!

 

Sources:

Image of greenhouse by Free-Photos from Pixabay

Image of frogs by Alexas_Fotos from Pixabay

Image of ginger cat by Alexas_Fotos from Pixabay

Image of feeder by monicore from Pixabay
Image by Capri23auto from Pixabay

20: Dead Day

Not so motivated today. Haven’t started that book and the week’s almost up. Very few views on my blog.

In a feeble attempt to push back the voice in my head telling me that I’m just a pie-in-the-sky dreamer, I abandon the grumbling tones of my cave, park my bum upon the awaiting magic carpet – and take off.

It’s more-than-a-little muggy today but the descent into Sudbury is still, nonetheless, exhilarating; I even manage to squeeze in a quick birds-eye view of a pink stunner

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And, by the time I’ve manoeuvred myself through the door of Prado Lounge and ordered a pot of tea, I’m feeling pretty on it!I delve into my Mary Poppins’ holdall and fish out a drawing book and watercolour pencils. Today, I shall knock all my followers dead with a colourful version of my Sudbury-in-Bloom fabric design.

Fearful of ruining yesterday’s less-colourful version, I copy the best of my flowers onto a fresh sheet of paper and set to work on it with a shade of powerful pink.

The nib, without a moment of hesitation, snaps off!

I change colours. Purposeful Purple will have to do instead! Onwards and upwards …

Snap!

Yawn!

Yodelling Yellow?

Snap …

My plans for the day thwarted by the aptly renamed, Poundland Pink, Pointless Purple and Yuckpot Yellow, I give in …

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz………..

 

Copyright owned by Jay Cool, May 2019

 

Getting Out of The Day Job 19: Spectacular Blinds!

Getting Out of The Day Job 18: Designer?

Getting Out of The Day Job 17: Getting Onto It!

 

 

 

19: A Blind Spectacular

Disclaimer: This post contains affiliate links to items available at Amazon. If you make a purchase, I will receive a commission at no extra cost to yourself.

Today, I embark upon my new career as a freelance everything. Not only have I set my heart on becoming a published writer – today I am also going to be a ballet dancer, an artist and a comedic singer.

To be fair, then none of these ambitions are new; it’s just that when I was seventeen I was level-headed enough (just about) to acknowledge that due to being too tall, completely uncoordinated, wonky and having the memory of a goldfish, I was never going to make it to the Royal Ballet Company.

At around the same time, it occurred to me that there was an awful lot of competition in the art world, and that it was not a career that would earn me a living, especially not when Edgar Degas had already done the whole thing with pastel drawings of ballet dancers and ladies with long ginger hair.

And, as for the comedic singing, then I tried this out a couple of years ago at a Suffolk Punch Comedy Club gig – and, forgive me for stating the obvious, but none of the punters laughed (except with embarrassment) and the compere, PJ, kept on gesticulating wildly at me to get off the stage. This may have been something to do with the fact that I was doing a very riveting interpretation of the song ‘Tomorrow!’ in Annie, and I rather suspect that the thin-topped PJ was jealous of my curls!

Today, though – today, I believe that I could still achieve all of my ambitions. I just need to approach things from a new angle.

On TV last night, the prima ballerina Darcey Russell extolled the virtues of dance for those suffering with anxiety-related issues. Luckily, I’ve come up with an innovative way in which I can help. But, perhaps luckily for you, I’m saving this idea for a later post.

But having put the pastel ginger dancers on the back-burner, at least for time being, I’m now seeing a gap in the market for locally-influenced designs. Inspired by a recent walk in Chilton, I’m predicting a high demand for colourful florals to adorn the windows of industrial units.

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And where better to steal my designs from – than the local hedgerows? Time for a walk.
Jay Cool steps out …

I head off down Acton Lane in the company of my old Motorola. I also have my Nokia phone, but the Motorola takes better close-up shots, so I’ve nabbed it back off my sprogs. It seems to have a lot of new features, i.e. a number of gaming apps! In the hope that it still has enough memory left for my purpose, I start snapping:

Acton Lane 1

Never knock a walk down Acton Lane – just look at all this colour!

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I’d love to have as much expertise about flowers, as my fellow-eccentric Gerald Durrell had about animals, but – I don’t! Whereas it’s true that I did once have a fad on botany, I can’t remember the first thing about it, and I haven’t got the foggiest clue what any of these flowers are called. Fortunately, my designs require no labels – just my name, Jay Cool.

Absolutely love this blue flower – just look at all the little wriggly-wormy bits in its centre!

Acton Lane 3

And the white flower appears to have lots of mini lollipop ladies in the middle of it, on the roundabout there, waving their sticks around and helping the wee mites to cross the busy road. It’s friend, the bold pink number speaks for itself, i.e. it’s a little middle-aged and worn around the edges, which is why its so forward.

What’s more, in my opinion, there can be as much shine and wonder in abandoned rubbish, as in the rest of the hedgerow, particularly if it is captured on camera by Jay Cool:

Acton Lane 4

Remember the killjoys from your childhood? You know, the mums and aunties who told you to stop slouching and stick your chin up and smile (sorry, that was a line in Annie’s ‘Tomorrow’ song)? Well, they were talking a load of crap! It was all just a conspiracy to stop you seeing the small things in life, the things on the pavement – the things that matter:

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I leave Acton Lane, intending to head in the direction of the Kingfisher Leisure Centre, and to take the path alongside it that leads to the River Stour and the footpath that follows the route of the old railway line, adjacent to the water meadows.

But somehow my feet have other ideas. They take me via the town centre shops and into a number of charity shops. I’m not going to buy any books, because I’ve given up on that addiction. So I come out of the first shop with a wooden box. It’s a bargain – only £10, and it’s got little apartments in it, with a tiny-writing platform, complete with leather inlay, and even a cute-little-cut-glass inkwell.

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I love it and now it’s all mine! I wrap it up in my khaki-green cagoul and hide it in my ‘healthyambitionssuffolk.nhs.uk’ bag (I’m all style!). It has to be hidden (Hubby doesn’t like tat!).

Like I said (and I’m keen on repeating myself), I’m off books. This is why, two charity shops later, I’m the proud owner of the following pets:

  • ‘The Penguin Book of Ghosts’ by Westwood & Simpson
  • ‘The Travels of Marco Polo’ ed. by Marsden & Wright
  • ‘English Country Houses’ by V. Sackville-West
  • ‘English Village’ by Edmund Blunden
  • ‘English Novelists’ by Elizabeth Bowden
  • ‘True Tales of Sail & Steam’ by Shalimar
  • ‘A History of English-Speaking Peoples’ by Winston S Churchill

Not quite sure how I’m going to afford to feed and maintain all of these pets, let alone sneak them into my house without Hubby or the sprogs noticing. But how can I abandon such sorry cases to end their lives in a skip? Far better to take them under my wing, even in my dire financial circumstances (i.e. haven’t made a penny out of my Amazon Associate links!).

All laden down, I realise I now only have twenty minutes before the time when I arranged to meet one of my sprogs for brunch. (Not entirely sure whether he still counts as a sprog, now that he has a moustache – but so be it – the label sticks!) And I haven’t yet made it to the banks of the River Stour.

But there’s still time …

I nip off, not quite running (my bags are pretty heavy), but nonetheless at a brisk pace – and take the following snaps:

River Stour

Everything’s very beautiful and wonderful, and I keep thinking of Toad in ‘Wind in the Willows’, when he goes on about ‘messing about on the river’ (probably thanks to Prunella Scales, who reminisced about Toad in her canal boat TV series) but, as you can see from the angst on my face, I’ve also got brunch on my mind – and sprog will be cross if I’m late.

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Jay Cool doing her best Michael Gove impression!

I nip back (slowly) into town …

After ordering my usual pot of tea, I settle myself down into a nice-comfy-leather seat, and check my Nokia for text messages: ‘I am still looking for my socks, so will be late!’ This means that sprog hasn’t even set off yet. Much as I love spending time with my offspring, then this is great! I get out my sketch pad and pencils, take a look at my snaps, and summon up the muse …

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It’s been a good-long while since I put pencil to paper, so I’m feeling quite chuffed with the result:

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I had intended to fill in the whole with my array of watercolour pencils, but loathe to mess it up, I play around with the background shade instead;

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To colour or not to colour?

Sprog saves the day! He’s here for his brunch. We eat and slog back up the valley wall, that is Waldingfield Road, to our cave home on the mountain top. But, with my load a little lighter, courtesy of my back-pack having found it’s way onto Sprog’s shoulder (What else does one have a son for?), I cannot help but pause to take a few more snaps en route:

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The energy-drink can is a clear favourite, but nothing beats this next scene for dramatic impact:

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Love this one too. Another bunch of dead-ringers for my ginger hair!

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Now I just need to get my career as a designer off to a flying start by selling my design to KB (Kent Blaxill) … but, first things first, as somehow I seem to have an awful lot of books to get through!

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

P.S. With regards to the comedic singing, then I’m currently working on my next little number with a view to winning Simon Cowell over at the 2020 Britain’s Got Talent auditions – it’ll take me twelve months or so to perfect it, so I’ll keep the details to myself and my mirror – for now!

P.P.S. If you insist, and if you don’t, please read:

Getting Out of The Day Job 18: Designer?

A Medicinal Stroll in Chilton

Day 7.3: Albrighton – Jay Cool’s birthplace!

Disclaimer: And if you fancy perusing any of the books (or the ‘Annie’ musical) mentioned, start by purchasing one of the titles via this link (and Amazon will reward me with a commission!):

The Naffiest of Naff Poems

 

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My views, on the whole, are beginning to shift;

I’m climbing the pole, and I’m feeling the lift!

 

Copyright of such excellency owned by Jay Cool, May 2019