33: Grated Orange

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…

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…

Just Time

  Just time. Just time in which to write. To write about having six minutes left. Six minutes left to write about something before midnight. Midnight or midlife, for me, the day is still young enough to take more of what I have to give to it – more of my thoughts about what it…

Tape With A Heart

Turns out that to be approaching fifty is to be backtracking to forty, taking a look at the unpaid-for mortgage, and trying to fast-forward to sixty, before being trapped somewhere in the                                                …

And God Sat Down

God got to the seventh day, but wasn’t happy – there at the end – on the fringes, so he took three and a half giant steps backwards and sat down to protect his space on a lump of sandstone rock, right there in the middle of Myddle, and he liked what he saw, so he…

Alternative Living

I live far, far away in a cold, cold cave. Curled up, warmed by a horse’s breath. Knowing that, in the morning, I will ride out on my mount and look down at passers by, feeling smug. Pitying them for their dull routines and their motorised lives, as women and men – both – drone…

Making My Way Across Counties

‘My body is a small cave door it’s a slick whale  a jubilant sea of tall grass that sways & makes its way across countries’ (lines 1-4 of ‘::Searching for My Own Body::’ by Yesenia Montilla.)   Out of a small cave door, he came forth, and a birth came forth from whence emerged another…

Poppy

  ‘Poppy on East Hill, Sudbury’ by Jay Cool Poppy is a blood-red word, No pulse, now lost No heartbeat, hampered Called out for World War’s cost. Yet poppies, red and proud, Sit high atop Linen suits in crowds Giving life to men’s non-stop Legs that march to beat of drum As sockets swing Arms,…

Cottages in the Myddle

Inspired by a trip to Myddle, home to my paternal ancestors. Composed, accompanied by a pot of tea, in a Prado Lounge Café Bar. ‘Cottages in Myddle’, photographed by Jay Cool Neglected cottages. A terrace of three, hidden from road’s view by guarded bushes. Avoiding camera’s view. My mind travels in between brickwork cracked and…

Day 6.1: The Quarry Man of Myddle

The Gods are urinating (1) this morning, and the sprogs are engrossed in YouTube. A day indoors at The Red Lion’s Lodge? This isn’t really so bad. The luxury leather sofas are more comfortable, by far, than my cheap and many-year’s old Homebase efforts back in Suffolk. I pick up some reading material, force the…