A Medicinal Stroll in Chilton

I’m sitting here staring at a book about the ‘Wrekin Giant’ wondering when I will finally get around to creating my own version of the Salopian folk tale.

No point sitting here just thinking about it. If I’m not going to get on with it here and now, it’s time to get out. Not out and up the Wrekin, but out and along the flatlands of Chilton. Can I call Chilton flat, when it frames the top of the valley that is Sudbury?

Time to get out there. Time to do the wall-walk and peruse the common folk in my bailey!

Entering Church Field Road, I take in the view of the very new and modern Medical Centre – a controversial development, as the building was originally destined for a site much closer to the town centre of Sudbury. Instead Babergh Council ignored popular opinion, and the people who demanded a service within walking distance for elderly residents, and perched the medical centre on cheaper industrial land up a steep hill – a bus ride away for the townsfolk! Needless to say, the land left in a local man’s will (in Waldingfield Road) for use as a people’s hospital, has now been commandeered for a very lucrative housing development. Democracy is dead. Hardly headline news. Democracy is so dead that the people have given up on even bothering to express an opinion, as demonstrated by Sudbury’s low turnout, for the European Elections, at the Waldingfield Road polling station! If their views mean nothing to Babergh, why will Europe give a jot?

My intention is just to keep on walking along Church Field Road, as far as the old parish church – my little bit of heaven!

But as I pass the Medical Centre, I notice a pathway through an adjacent piece of wasteland. I venture off the pavement and take my chances. Immediately, I become engrossed in my surroundings and out comes the Nokia!

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So much for a piece of wasteland. This is a haven of tranquillity!

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And on either side, in hedgerow and field, there are treats to be found:

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Herein is everything that is worth living for, and everything well worth getting out of the day job for! So much to see outside the four walls of the organised workplace. If this is disorganised chaos and the dossing ground of the slackers amongst us, then I’m all in!

Without a doubt in my mind about the wisdom of my recent decision to go freelance, I snap onwards. Never have a felt so free of angst. Goodbye boss! Hello nature!

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And, as I venture further, I find that I’m shielded from the sounds and toxic fumes of the passing heavy duty traffic, by tall hedgerows.

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What amazing sights: blue skies, open space and a castle – my castle – lording it over the treetops?

Excited, I fall to my knees, ready to sing praises to all that rises up in splendour to greet me…

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It turns out that my new religiosity is fit for purpose. For, indeed, it’s no fairytale palace ahead; I’m walking up a church aisle to attend my second wedding – my marriage to my new self – Jay Cool, international photographer and freelance writer!

It’s a long walk, but well worth the effort, and I step into my new life:

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Granted there may well be some doubters amongst you, as I can see why you might think a graveyard setting a little unusual for a new beginning. But, take a look at the lady wearing the skull-and-crossbones t-shirt! Does she look like there’s anything usual about her?

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She’s the last and the first of the great gravediggers, so leave her be to toast in a fantasy of her own making! And, look – she’s right at home there! See how her hair is fading to match the rusty tones of the church’s red brick walls.

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She’s a chameleon – a monster – so keep your distance …!

Whatever she may be, then she has the powers of a sorceress. See how, as she steps out of the land of the dead, everything she looks at turns into gold:

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So powerful is she that even the corrugated iron walls of Chilton’s industrial unit take on a new attractiveness as she passes by on her return journey:

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All’s well that ends well. As, I, Jay Cool, step back into my cave home, my powers diminish. My kitchen’s still a mess – seems I’m no threat to anyone!

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Mary Poppins! Where are you?

Mrs Hinch?

 

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

 

Image of chameleon by Free-Photos from Pixabay

P.S. Unbelieveably, Chilton Woods is earmarked for a new housing development. 

18: Designer?

Seems I’ve written numerous blog posts today, but no book! Perhaps I won’t manage to keep my pledge to write a book in a week after all. And I haven’t even beaten my viewing record – only 114 views on my blog today – and most (probably all of them) from my one and only fan, the aged poet Ricardo Scribblero! Guess that, being retired, he’s got nothing better to do! That’s fine though, Ricardo – you’re more than welcome to keep on following, reading and liking.

Amazon Associates seem to have cottoned onto the fact that I haven’t sold a single book on their behalf; I’ve just received an email suggesting that the best way to gain a genuine following for my brand (what brand?) is to attend a food and wine networking event. Send me a wine voucher, Amazon, and I’ll be there! Sorry, Ricardo, it seems that you are not a genuine follower! But click through to Amazon, via one of my book image links, and purchase a book – and I’m sure you’ll soon qualify. I particularly recommend Mrs Hinch’s book: Hinch Yourself Happy.

Go on, Ricardo – go for it! Get that mop out. Make Mrs Scribblero’s day!

Book aside, I decide to rope Sprog 2 in for a walk to the exciting destination of Farmfoods. He’s rather reluctant to get going – something to do with the strange assortment of clothes I’m wearing. Seems that I’m an embarrassment. But, as far as I’m concerned, this is all well and good. Never did understand what the issue was with double-denim, or even with wearing a short fleece over a long denim jacket. I think that in true Cool style, I look cool – and being cool is all that counts.

We make the journey out to Farmfoods at a rapid pace (Sprog 2 is several yards ahead of me and running!) and we proceed to purchase an extortionately-priced-bumper-sized box of Cheerios and a completely immoral amount of gammon, pork sausages and bacon. Unhappy about Sprog 2’s tastes, I balance things out with a 2 for 2 deal on vege sausages.

Time to head back to the cave.

The long walk back proceeds at a snail’s pace. Sprog 2 seems to have forgotten how embarrassing my clothes are, because he’s now preoccupied with how embarrassing my activities are. “I knew it was a mistake, coming out with you!” he declares, as a stop for the umpteenth time to take photos of the local blooms.

I disagree and I’m putting the whole issue out to my audience for tender. Please tell me whether I was wasting everyone’s time by taking these superb pics:

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Whoever would have thought that a stroll along the unsightly and very busy Northern Road of Sudbury, along the periphery of Chilton’s Industrial Estate, could offer up such jewels!

Sprog 2 informs me that I really ought to be taking photos of all the litter, which is, apparently, far more interesting than the flowers. So here goes:

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Rather like this blue balloon – the colour is a beautiful contrast with its leafy canvas!

I snap on:

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Yes, my viewers – there is plenty to see, if only you take the time to look, even in the most unlikely of locations. This is Sudbury in Bloom!

And, if you believe, you might even see the impossible. Just look at these fairy homes! What magnificent toadstools!

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You might even see the beauty in this factory signage, if you can conjure up more than a lot of imagination!

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Okay, so I’m struggling to see it myself. But, I guess that the blinds have an interesting design – don’t they?

Time for Jay Cool to take action. Time for the businesses of Sudbury to buy into the unique designs of Suffolk’s best Salopian designer. Imagine …

… if the blinds were in tune with their natural surroundings. Tomorrow, I get to work on my new project. I’m going to design the pattern for KB Kent Baxhill’s new blinds. The design will incorporate all the best specimens of the local blooms.

“Mum! Mum! Stop taking photos! My gammon needs to go in the fridge! Come on!”

Watch this space …

 

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

 

Day 7.3: Albrighton – Jay Cool’s birthplace!

The Dacia takes us from Newport to my birthplace – Signal Lane, Albrighton. I, Jay Cool, was born just over the road from here – in Cosford’s RAF hospital. I look across the lane and can still see the old dark-wooden slats of the one-storey hospital, fronted by a field of waving corn and a children’s play park. But, if you look over the lane, you will see lots and lots of red-brick RAF houses.  So much for protected green-belt land; seems that the Ministry of Defence can build wherever they like. Never mind that they’ve build a Legoland on top of the very spot in which I was born. I would take a photograph for you, in validation of my claims – but I’d very likely be arrested for suspicious behaviour and have my name added to a list of terrorist suspects (with my ginger hair, I’d likely be mistaken for a member of the IRA). So you’ll just have to make-do with my description.

Let me take you on a tour of Grandad Cool’s garden. This is the greenhouse in which Grandad escaped from my Nan, to tend his delicious tomatoes, chain smoke and entertain my Great Uncle Jed with tales of his footballing days. Outside the door was a brick stove, upon which I used to cook tasty meals for my dolls. Somewhere behind it was a deep tank holding dark waters in which goldfish lurked. Perhaps it’s still there. I don’t look. The house, currently under the ownership of my cousin, Ned, is up for sale.

And, seeing as I haven’t won the lottery or written my bestseller yet, I can’t buy it! So sad.

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This is what remains of an old pigsty and outdoor toilet. I think that what remains of it, is now used as a shed. Tragic.

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And this is (or was) a shed. At the back of it, if my memory serves me right, are the hen boxes, in which my Grandad’s hens once lay their eggs. In front of it is one of Grandad’s beehives. I’d like to look inside, but I have a feeling that the whole effort might collapse on me and, besides which, it’s not mine. Still, I wish I could take the beehive home with me to Suffolk – and a souvenir slat! But I don’t.

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This is the rear end of Grandad’s greenhouse. I’d like to imagine my Grandad in there, waving at me and telling me to come on in. But, in reality, he’d probably just be shaking his walking stick at me and shouting at me to stop nosing around and building my dens in his garden.

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And the house in the background is not the house my Grandparents lived in, although it is on the same spot. Uncle and Auntie Cool built this house in the footprint of the old terrace of three cottages. But, I can still see the old house there, and remember its exact layout and interior decor, not to mention all the nick-knacks, including my Nan’s Lily of the Valley talcum powders in the spare bedroom drawer. A Gothic window looked out over a narrow concrete patio area fronting onto a small square lawn.

Today, the lawn is vast. Back then, a large part of the garden was taken up with vegetable plots, flower beds, apple trees and beehives. Things change.

It’s the last time I’ll be visiting this garden; it’ll have changed ownership by the next time I make it over from Suffolk to Shropshire.

One day. One day I’ll be buying it back for the Cools again. At the age of forty-eight, I’m surely not too old to make my fortune as a writer – am I? It’s all there in my DNA* – it’s what I was born for. Step aside J K Rowling. It’s time for the Salopian to rule again!

In the meantime, knowing that this (at least for now) will be the last time, I ask Uncle Cool whether I can have the old tin bath tub that I’m sure must be lurking around in the depths of then hen-house somewhere. He thinks that cousin Ned might have taken it to the scrap metal merchants, but I end up with something metal that’s a tub of some description in the boot of my Dacia. And I feel very proud of it. It’ll make a fantastic storage container for my books about Shropshire.

Trying not to feel weepy, I return with my family to the Dacia (Sprog 2 never got out of the Dacia – scared of Cousin Ned’s yapping dogs!). And the Dacia takes us all back to spend the last night of our week’s holiday in the lodge at Myddle. And tomorrow?

Never fear, there is a lot more of Shropshire to see before Jay Cool returns to Suffolk …

 

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

 

P.S. When I did return to Suffolk, I found a jam jar and emptied all the dirt out of the tin tub from Signal Lane into it. ‘Waste not, want not!’ my Nanna Cool always used to say. And that little bit of soil and dust is my little bit of Signal Lane to keep forever … (Oh come on! Some people keep collections of their own ear-wax in jam jars – it’s not as bad as all that!)

P.P.S. If any generous beneficiary out there feels so sorry for me that they’d like to buy Signal Lane back and donate it to me, so that I can live out the rest of my days there writing half-books – I’m not stopping you, so feel free!

*Consider the great literature, inventions, discoveries and achievements of my Salopian ancestors: Mary Webb, Joseph Addison, Charles Darwin, Thomas Telford, Richard Gough, Thomas Mytton … and the list goes on and on and …

 

Read more about my Salopian ancestors in the following posts:

Tribute to A. E. Housman

Tet celebrations in Salop?

A Purple Day with Wilfred Owen

Read about Nanna and Grandad Cool in:

Curly Toes

Bone Chin

Selfie With George Clarke

You could even try out some of Jay Cool’s poetry:

Goddessed into 2019

Or book reviews?

Nellie – A Darlaston Wench: Book Review

Go on – you know you want to!

17: Getting Onto It!

Did I say I was going to start and finish writing a whole book this week?

Was I lying?

Not sure!

It’s true that I haven’t started writing the aforesaid promised book yet but, hey, it’s only Tuesday – I’ve still got a whole week left, before I return to my day job next Tuesday! I could still do it!

And does being a prolific blogger count? I have, after all, self-published numerous posts over the last few days. Surely there’s enough of a total word count here to qualify as a whole book?

Take this post about my childhood haunt of Newport, for example:

Day 7.2: Newport – She Who Never Grew Up!

Or yesterday’s Getting Out of the ‘Kitchen’ 16: Evolution.

As you can see (and read), it’s not that I’ve exactly been lazy. I’ve done lots of writing and, thanks to Mrs Hinch, … lots of futile cleaning. Were the blog posts as futile as the cleaning? Is it really likely that an editor from some great publishing house will read my blog and turn up on my doorstep to offer me a million pound writing commission?

Is my one loyal follower, Ricardo Scribblero, not really a retired poet after all? Is he really a talent scout looking for the next J K Rowling?

Here I am, Ricardo! Here I am!

I’m getting out of the day job; now get me out of my kitchen!

Just take a look at this lot: my paintbrushes haven’t seen a canvas for some years; my hen’s doing a crap in my best ceramic pot; the sunflower’s dead; and yesterday’s vegetable steamer is still looking murky in the sink. IMG_20190528_133605-COLLAGE

The sprog’s have left dirty crocks everywhere (okay, so maybe the wine glass is mine); and the Hubby’s emptied out the contents of the cupboards and removed all the plinths, in some kind of a failed attempt to sort out the plumbing.

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And why have I got so many cookbooks, when everything I cook gets burnt to a cinder?

I can’t even make a start on getting everything back into order – the pipework under the sink is still leaking, as is the washing machine! So I can’t wash up (what a shame) and I can’t escape (it’s chucking it down cats and dogs outside). Guess I’ll just have to carry on blogging …

The book? Oh, okay – I’ll think about it. I might even make a start on that opening paragraph. Look out for my next update!

In the meantime, does anyone know of a reliable plumber (not my hubby), and where’s that Mrs Hinch?

 

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

Links to associated posts;

Hinch an Inch: A Silly Poem

Getting Out of the Day Job 15: Why Hinch?

Loving the Loos at Leestock

Day 7.2: Newport – She Who Never Grew Up!

Disclaimer: If you click through to Amazon and choose thereof to make a purchase of any recommended books, I will receive a commission at no extra cost to yourself (surely that’s an incentive?).

End up at a pub and start up at a pub. This policy is a favourite of mine and has always worked with me – it’s a real mood booster!

Hence, after joining Hubby and the sprogs in Wem’s finest tavern, we moved on. Moved on to the next pub and the next location. I mean, just what could we do when my dear beloved Dacia decided to park itself up in the car park of The Swan in Newport?

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I’m sure that what the experts say about not replacing fresh air and exercise with alcohol is all very well and good but, if you can do the three things together, why not? A half of Aspall’s cider, is not something to be missed, if either 1) you have a hubby-come-chauffeur to do the next stint of driving for you, or 2) you are going to follow-up the half with a few hours of exploration, and lots of food! Alternatively, like my good self, you could just order a pint of Coca Cola!

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Really love these distinctive red and well-worn bricks – rather like the colour of my ageing ginger hair. It’s amazing what one sees in the everyday and ordinary, especially when stumbling out of the pub after a pint of Coke!

Take that round window over the road, for example. Reminds of the window in one of my fave films.* Some kind of electric current shoots through the centre of the circular window and kills their parents – and the sprogs are taken away to live with their evil Uncle. Fortunately, Uncle Cool, who we will be visiting later in my birth village of Albrighton, is not that evil and, in any case, I’m too old now to be forcibly dragged away by anyone. Plus, I have no inheritance to speak of, so am not worth very much. Sorry, dad, but as a man of the cloth, you didn’t acquire much in the way of accumulated wealth; and I rather suspect that any surplus dosh was spent on theological books -shame on you! Fancy being a book addict!

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I nip over the road to investigate, abandoning my own sprogs to Hubby. What else are Hubby’s for? Turns out the window belongs to a Catholic church. There’s a man hanging there on a cross, bleeding! He looks to be in pain, but I indulge in a bit of bystander* behaviour, and snap away with my Motorola. I can’t help but note that the gentleman has very fine thighs – muscular – like a ballet dancer’s. I have similarly shapely thighs (no, they are not wrapped up in cellulite!). Could this man be another one of my ancestors?

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I’m wondering whether it’s sacrilegious to jest about such things in the grounds of a Catholic church, but realise that, as I’m deadly serious, then this is probably acceptable.

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Love the double doors. The stain of the wood would match my kitchen table and chairs perfectly. Might have to commandeer them to replace the front door of my drafty cave back in Suffolk. Would that be theft? Did my man-of-the-cloth father teach me anything? Am I completely immoral and past redemption? Yes, probably!

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Something hints at me that this superb frontage would make a very fine abode for a quirky residence. Time for a conversion? Where’s that guy from Grand Designs, Kevin McCloud?

A rare pang on conscience informs my good self that I really ought to get back to my family, so I hurtle back over the wall (was always good at that high jump thing), and stop to take one last look! Can’t help but think it would make a good setting for a ghost story. Must get to work on writing that Gothic novel …

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Before you say anything, then yes I do know that Gothic windows have pointed arches at the top – and are not round! That module I did on architecture, back in the day at Uni. in Lampeter, was not completely lost on me.

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I can’t locate the Hubby and sprogs. Guess they got fed up waiting for me! So, I drift on into the heart of Newport. Will undoubtedly find the sprogs in a shop somewhere. Not sure why all the traffic is heading on out of Newport, rather than into it, but that’s their loss.

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Being a big fan of houses (I fancy myself living in all of them) I snap away at these interesting specimens. I see a promising pair of concrete pillars; promising, in that I surmise they might just be signifiers of an after-life beyond, i.e.potential for a touch of gravestone research!

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Then I spot something even more interesting. A faded church notice board? Okay, whereas I acknowledge that it may not be interesting to you, one of the surnames on display is a dominant-recurring feature of my family tree.

I’m home!

I’m in Shropshire – my birthland!

What’s more, before I lived in Wem, the location of my last post, I was a resident of Newport. I don’t remember a great deal, as I was, after all, just a tiny toddler, but – live here I did! And, if (and even if you don’t) want to read all about my childhood encounters with Newport’s frogs and droppings, go to Dirty Monkey!

Then come back to read the rest of this epic post!

I’m enamoured by the Tudor black and white style of this property:

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But what I really love about it is the name in the woodwork!

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Further family tree research required! Where is my best lover, Ancestry.com, when I need him? Is William Gregari of 1615 one of my own? Am I the rightful heir of this property? Or might Father Spike Cool have something to say about that?

Seeing as it turns out that the property is a Guildhall and an ‘ancient site of justice’, I decide I’d better get going …

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It’s not long before I spot another design wonder, i.e. a bright-red wheelie bin.

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Why aren’t the wheelie bins of Suffolk this colour? As a royal-blooded descendant of William the Conqueror, I’m pretty sure I qualify for all things red and purple. (Hence, my connection with the man with fine thighs; aren’t all the royals descended from the family on high?)

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Next, I check out this pub. But I’m out of luck (or in luck), as I see no Hubby – and no sprogs in here – no need to touch base with them yet!

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And … then, I find it! No, not the hubby – a bookshop! Somewhere over the road there I have the good fortune of finding myself in the best secondhand bookshop in Shropshire, and possibly in the whole of the UK! Like the Tardis, and like Ron Weasley’s home, the rooms in this haven go on and on, and the books pile up likewise – mountains and mountains of them! I’m in paradise.

And amazingly enough, this is also where I finally catch up with Hubby and the sprogs. Guess they knew where they’d find me. And I catch Hubby, engrossed in a conversation with the shop owner about the imminent sale of his Tardis. He offers us the whole building, complete with four bedrooms upstairs, a humungous lounge, and all of the stock, for £300,000. It’s a bargain and I want to do the deal there and then. I want to return to Newport, to live once more in toddler world, but there’s a minor problem.

Hubby’s not having any of it, and neither are the sprogs. They drag me out of the bookshop, my bad a tad heavier than it was before I entered, i.e. don’t worry readers – I managed to purchase a few souvenirs before losing my dream forever …

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Goodbye Newport – the Dacia awaits …

Next stop? Uncle Cool’s house in Albrighton!

Copyright owned by Jay Cool

P.S. If you have been inspired to find out more about the serious history of Newport, rather than Jay Cool’s version of it, then I would highly recommend making friends with the following book.

Disclaimer: If you click through to Amazon and choose thereof to make a purchase, I will receive a commission at no extra cost to yourself (surely that’s an incentive?).

And, should you want to indulge in a little interior design to live up to the high standards of the Weasley family, try reading this collection (i.e. buy it, so I can have a commission!):

Even better, read all about the memorable round window in this book;

What’s that? You don’t want to read children’s books? Get a life! Consider these words of wisdom from Aldous Huxley: ‘ The Secret of the Genius is to carry the spirit of the child into old age’, as quoted in another of my favourite reads:

And here’s another grand quote, courtesy of J A West,  from the same book: ‘Don’t act your age. Act like the inner young person you have always been.’

On that thought,  will leave you …

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Jay Cool (the littlest one!) and Simon Cool outside their childhood home in Newport, Shropshire

16: Getting Out of the Kitchen

Disclaimer: I will receive a commission from Amazon if you choose to purchase a garden-storage container via the image link.

Okay, so this post should really be titled ‘Getting Out of The Kitchen 1’ but, it’s really a continuation of my ‘Getting Out of The Day Job’ series – it’s just that the original blog is evolving and changing, as I realise that Mrs Hinch, helped by my family, is doing her best to thwart my writing ambitions by tying me to the kitchen sink!

At the point I left you in the last post, I was just in the process of fleeing from my kitchen and out of my front door. And, unlike Mrs Hinch, whose idea of Narnia is wardrobe in her garage full of cleaning products and adorned with fairy lights, my Narnia is in the world beyond and inbetween.

With my life about to begin again, i.e. minus the day job, I’m not quite ready, yet, for the world beyond bit; but I can share with you the wonders of the world inbetween. So please, my one and only follower (i.e. Richardo Scribblero) step out and into my Narnia.

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Starting with the image on the bottom left, you will understand why I am making a quick exit …

And you will absolutely get why I am now kneeling down on the pavement of a very ordinary housing estate, looking up in awe at these tangerine beauties. Their colour tone is reminiscent of the shade of my hair a few weeks ago, when I stood at the peak of Roseberry Topping – and before my roots started to grow out!

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I am sure that you can see the obvious resemblance with just the minor difference that I, Jay Cool, full of my own self-importance, had planted myself upon a mountain top in Cleveland, whereas the floral numbers have planted themselves in far more humble and lowly locations around the housing estates of a small town in Suffolk.

But, I digress. Join me as I proceed further into Narnia …

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More shades beauty to match my own subtle nuances! I’m thinking now that, perhaps, I should go for some pale pink hair dye with which to cover up my greying roots. Good idea? subtle pink I have to say that I did look rather fetching when I last tried out the pink look!

I can see by your reaction that you totally agree!

And, not only do I look great in pink, my feet look fantastic in poppy red and blossoming purple:

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For anyone who has fallen in love with my foot, you can purchase your own stunning pair of purple shoes from Clark’s!

Wow! Don’t all rush out to your local Clark’s shoe shop at once – you’re supposed to be following me!

Let us proceed further along Melford Road ….

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… and make our way over to the water meadows, via the path alongside Melford Hotel (what’s left of it!). Now for those of you who are interested, and those who are not, this is the part of the meadows that our lovely-local MP James Cartlidge, campaigned to build a by-pass over:

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Can you believe it? How could any person in their right (or wrong) mind think it moral to paste grey concrete all over Sudbury’s pride and joy? What was (and probably still is) going on inside that man’s head? Doesn’t he ever step out of his own house and go for walks? Does he look at the natural beauty all around him? Does he read the letters of objection sent to him from the great and wise unnatural beauty, Jay Cool? Possibly not!

And the beauty doesn’t stop with me:

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So glad that James’ campaign fell on deaf ears, but such a shame that so much money was wasted in the doomed proceedings! It’s beyond credulity that a previous report into the feasibility of the said bypass cost £375,000! And, the local council doesn’t even learn from it’s past mistakes. The latest research cost them between £300,000 and £1 million, depending on whose estimates one chooses to believe (i.e. the lower figure having been put forward to the press from our friend James)!

And such a shame that our local Labour spokesperson, Jack Owen, also lost his marbles over the whole affair.

How tragic, Jack, that ‘the residents and visitors to our great town will be left with another 40 years of traffic misery’ and that, instead, we will be able to continue to enjoy these truly uplifting scenes:

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Just where else did you think I would go, Jack and James, do the research necessary for my forthcoming novel ‘Fractured Faeces’?

No wonder the Green Party has been so successful in today’s European Election results! I, for one, once an avid Labour Party supporter, have gone over to Green! Granted, if anyone started up a Ginger Party, I would join that, but beggars can’t be choosers! But, who knows, now that I’m getting out of the day job, perhaps there’s a future for Jay Cool in political party leadership.

Watch this space for further news on the three Js of politics!

In the meantime, take a look at this ginger-haired* wonder!

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This follower is welcome to become the second member of my newly formed Ginger Party, especially as this particular beast has a sample of its faeces hanging on by a thread under its bits and pieces.

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If dandelions really make one wet the bed, then it’s a small price to pay for such an endearing blossom. And I’m going to steal the colour and design of that pink leaf for my new range of wallpaper.

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Poppies speak for themselves. Every time I see one, it takes me back on a journey back through time to when my something-many-times-removed cousin from Oswestry in Shropshire, Wilfred Owen, and his contemporaries, John McCrae and Siegfried Sassoon, wrote about the tragedy that was World War One.

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As for the further appearance of cattle, I am in two minds. On the one hand, I’m proud to be a vegetarian. Why eat such stunners? On the other, I’m aware that if some undesirable others weren’t quite so carnivorous and non-discerning, these fine specimens would very likely not be here for the viewing!

Continuing on to a second appearances by myself, then I do wonder what this world is coming to! Why is this woman (if that’s what she is) allowed to freely graze upon Sudbury’s common lands? Why isn’t she locked up? Have the authorities wasted so much money on middle-school closures and bypass plans that they’ve forefeited the obvious? Where is Sudbury’s lock-me-up?

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No, Hubby! This does not give you carte blanche to shop around for our own lock-her-up trunk from Amazon:

In any case, I’d soon break out of there …

Walking on, I find myself riveted by the base of a lopped-off tree. Makes me think of my ancestor, Anne Boleyn’s tender neck, when her head was sliced off. Could this happen to me, if I step out of my womanly role as a seen-and-not-heard Cool, to make a stand against all issues related to the ruling elite, i.e. Brexit and Bypass?

 

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Should I build a shack and hide myself amidst the purple foliage that surrounds me?

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Or should stay out in the open and follow in the footsteps of Thomas Gainsborough, making use of my creative talents by producing and selling (for extortionate prices) a few one-off landscape paintings?

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I’m jumping too quickly from one project to another? Yes, you could be right. Before I start on the landscape painting, I need to make my mark as a photographer. I’ll start by upgrading this awful Nokia mobile phone I obtained from Tesco. It’s **** for taking close-up shots – I’ve had to leave loads of my efforts out of this post. Any recommendations for a mobile phone that takes decent close-up shots? A phone that is sure to gain this blogger in excess of a million followers?

It’s not that I’m greedy; it’s just that I need the resulting revenue to pay for the house I’ve just set my sights upon. Take a look! It’s almost akin to the witch’s house in Hansel and Gretel, except that it’s in the beautiful setting of Sudbury’s water meadows, and that I’m more of a good fairy, albeit an eccentric one, than a witch (no comments allowed!).

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And the beauty of my surroundings (and of myself) knows no bounds. But a little voice inside my head is nagging at me, telling me it’s time to return to Hubby and the sprogs. Time to tackle that kitchen again head on (i.e. perhaps the elves have cleaned it all up again by now!).

But, brushing the pangs of my conscience aside, I manage to find time for a few more shots, before I abandon Gainsborough, the meadows, and all hope …

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Even as I leave the meadows and venture back through the local housing estates, I continue to be dazzled by the full spectrum of rainbow colours at every corner, nook and cranny.

And if, as I suspect, you are questioning my choice of image, when selecting the following pic of Sudbury’s B & Q store, then just take a look at that wondrous shade of bright-sunshine orange, and – stop right there!

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I descend into the underworld of the underpass and re-emerge close to a Tesco store. And it seems fitting to end on the ‘Stop Bullying’ image that greets me!

Why?

Why indeed! This mural was painted by the students of Sudbury’s historic middle schools. Historic because, in another money-wasting scheme, Suffolk’s local  authority made an undemocratic decision to close down our much-loved middle schools, i.e. the middle-school staff and students were all bullied out, against their objections, as the schools were unnecessarily shut-down and demolished.

Please Suffolk! Please, don’t do the same to our water meadows! Don’t ever, ever, ever re-open the proposals for an unnecessary bypass!

James and Jack! Go for a walk together! Look around you and see …

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Oh, I’m back, and Hubby’s still in the process of declogging the pipes under the kitchen sink.

Time to retreat …

 

Copyright owned by Jay Cool, May 2019

 

*To learn more about the cattle on Sudbury’s water meadows, see this link.

Please also read Jay Cool’s other great works:

Getting Out of the Day Job 15: Why Hinch?

Getting Out of The Day Job 14: Microwave

Restlessness: A Savvy Poem

Chilled in Chilton

 

15: Why Hinch?

Why on this planet did I  bother with all that hinching over the weekend. I spent hours shifting the congealed layers of grease from my oven and microwave, not to mention all the washing-up, hoovering and mopping.

I was rewarded with a flooded kitchen and an angry hubby, after bits if disintegrated Brillo pad somehow got trapped in the u-bend of the sink’s drainage system, and in the gubbings of our washing-machine. And, no I didn’t try to wash the Brillo pads – I really don’t know how they ended up with the micro-fibre cloths in the wash! These thing happen; and then, this morning, this happened (prepare yourself):

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Not sure which particular elf decided to crack eggs, grate cheese and raid the medical supplies in the middle of night – but someone did!

And, even worse:

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Seems that our resident pumpkin decided to have an early-morning feast!

And Hubby’s definitely to blame for this mess:

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Appears he emptied the cupboards out, following the flood from the sink and dishwasher!

And all of the cleaning supplies I bought on recommendation from Mrs Hinch?

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And can I even start all over again with putting the mess right? No! Nothing can be moved until Hubby has got to the bottom of the washing machine flood. Personally, then I think that all the little midnight elves and angry goblin hubbies* can go swimming in the floodwaters. I’m abandoning ship.

The day job was never intended to be replaced with the role of perpetual housewife! Mrs Hinch, take back all those bottles of Zoflora!

Time to get out of this place!

Copyright owned by Jay Cool, May 2019

P.S. Just received an update from the angry goblin – the washing machine is still churning out floodwaters! I’m going …!

Please also read: Getting Out of The Day Job 14: Microwave, Getting Out of the Day Job 13: 1000 likes!, and Getting Out of The Day Job 12: Clean Oven.

And, if you really insist, read my review of Mrs Hinch’s book: Hinch Yourself Happy.

The following post by one of my followers is also well-worth a read: Autism as a Superpower.

Really quite something!

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It’s really quite something

that we want to Remain.

If only old Farrage,

would get sucked down my drain!

 

Copyright owned by Jay Cool, May 2019

 

Image by Semevent from Pixabay

 

Please follow Jay Cool’s and like more of her poems:

Chocolate: A Silly Poem

Purple Berry

Augmentation: A Silly Poem Inspired by Mel B

14: Microwave

Disclaimer: This post contains image links to associates products. If you choose to click through to Amazon and make a purchase, I will receive a commission at no extra cost to yourself.

Not only do I have a clean oven, today I’ve added a clean microwave to my list of achievements.

When I write my bestseller, I will forget the cleaning (it took ages) and purchase this shiny new microwave instead!

Amazing what one can achieve with a micro-fibre cloth and a spray of Flash All Purpose Cleaner! *

 

 

 

 

Sadly, the whole Mrs Hinch cleaning thing has once again distracted me from starting my book – the book that I was going to, and still will, complete writing in a week! (I didn’t specify a start date, did I?)

Found quite a few antiquities beneath the microwave too, including a pack of food vouchers dated 2006! Have I really been living in this house for that long? Impossible!

I am the most prolific of the wandering nomads, descended as I am from the boat people of Shropshire’s canals.

Aston Lock Canal
Aston Locks, Shropshire – home of my ancestors!

How is it possible that I’ve lived in the same place since 2006? It’s not! Sprog 3 was born around then, and she was born when we lived in our last house! Must have brought the vouchers with us! Why?

How is it possible that I, Jay Cool, a being (of sorts), who cannot stay put for more than five years – due to nomadic genes -is also the greatest of the world’s hoarders? Surely my ancestors had to travel light, didn’t they? Why on this planet did I bring a pack of out-of-date Subway vouchers with me on a house move?

I blame the hubby! Must have been him! The impossible is always possible with a little mixing of the old genes.

And the book? Give me a chance – it’s only the start of my week off the day job! I’ll be getting onto it!

Tomorrow …

Right now, I’m a tad distracted by Prunella Scales and her hubby carrying on about their canal adventures. Canals? Might I be related to Prunella Scales? Is that where I get my acting talents form?

Anyone out there in need of a freelancer to do a spot of acting for them? Being a ginger descended from the Tudors, I’d make an excellent Elizabeth ! I’ve always wanted to play the role of Annie and do the most melodic interpretation of her best song ‘Tomorrow’. No? Am I too old? In which case, I can add to my repertoire an excellent impression of Ed Sheeran! Come on … You know you need me ..

Tomorrow?

Copyright owned by Jay Cool, May 2019

P.S. None of this Mrs Hinch cleaning stuff is as great as it does at first appear. Following the grand success of my shining microwave, I popped my cleaning cloths in the washing machine for a spin (following a Hinch recommendation). Twenty minutes later, Hubby started yelling as if in pain. I rushed to his side and found him floundering in a pool of water that had made its way out of the washing machine. Further investigation revealed that a food storage cupboard had also suffered from a mysterious flood. What Mr Hinch didn’t say was;

  1. Don’t pour the previous day’s dirty water down the sink, complete with disintegrated Brillo pads – it will block up the pipes – and the water has to go somewhere!
  2. Make sure there are no lumps of said Brillo pad mixed in with your micro-fibre cloths, when you pop them in the washing machine – the washing machine will object – big time!
  3. Forget the cleaning – leave it to Mrs Hinch!
  4. Hide from your Hubby!
  5. When your hiding place has been secured, stay in there for a long time and write that book!
  6. Find a publisher who will give you a large advance on your future earnings – as, now that you have given up the day job, you’ll have to be savvy when it comes to finding a way to pay your plumber!

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7. Start cleaning up the kitchen again … tomorrow!

Disclaimer: If you purchase the Brillo product above, be sure to dispose of the remains via your bin! Otherwise, blame Mrs Hinch for the outcome! In the meantime, I will be nipping away with my commission money in hand.

*IF USING FLASH ALL-PURPOSE SPRAY TO CLEAN YOUR MICROWAVE OVEN, SWITCH OFF THE POWER AND UNPLUG IT FIRST; AND ONLY USE A SLIGHTLY DAMP CLOTH – THEN DRY ALL SURFACES OF YOUR MICROWAVE TO WITHIN AN INCH OF THEIR LIVES! LEAVE THE DOOR OPEN TO GIVE THE MICROWAVE OVEN A GOOD DRY-AIRING BEFORE PUTTING THE DEVICE BACK INTO ACTION.

P.S. Please, I beg of you, read some or all of my other posts, e.g.

Getting Out of the Day Job 13: 1000 likes!

Getting Out of The Day Job 12: Clean Oven

Hinch Yourself Happy: Book Review

Displaced: A Salopian Hincher in Suffolk

Augmentation: A Silly Poem Inspired by Mel B

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Did I ever mention, I gave into temptation,

undergoing augmentation, to expand myself some more?

 

Piers, he talks of a boob job, as he thinks about his own knob.

 

Ought I to really mention, that he’s minus any tension,

and is in need of augmentation – to expand himself at all?

 

Written by Jay Cool, following Piers Morgan’s interview of Mel B

 

N.B. Sorry Piers! To be fair then, if my idol Susan Boyle likes you, then you must be a fine specimen of manhood! I’m all yours!

N. N. B. Sorry Mum! This masterpiece is a little rude!

 

Image by Denis Doukhan from Pixabay