Bigger Blogger Glory

April 23, 2017 6:50pm Published by Jules Smith in Off Piste Posting (Any day thoughts) 14 Comments

Bigger Blogger Glory - How to Write the Perfect Blog

What’s the best thing to do on a lazy blogging Sunday? How about reading? That’s always a good idea along with self improvement and taking up a new project like you promised yourself.

What about that blog you’ve always wanted to write but didn’t know how?

Well, look at me coming up with the goods and killing two birds with one stone! You’re welcome.

A Knickerbocker British Treat On A Sundae

Anyone who tells you that blogging is easy probably isn’t a blogger. If you’ve always wanted to write online for either business or pleasure, then there’s a successful method to follow. In this glorious ebook, I will teach you the seven deadly steps on how to write the perfect blog from start to finish and take you on the journey to Bigger Blogger Glory.

And what are those seven deadly steps?

How To Choose A Great Blog Title
Content And Post Structure
Consumer vs Personal Blogging
Understanding Your Audience And CTA
Writing Creative Content And Not Boring People To Death
Readership And Followers
Social Media marketing

New kid on the blog

Hey, newbie! You need this book! And yes, you will spend the rest of your life thanking me.  Ask anyone who knows me and they will tell you it’s not very often that I part with my wisdomous advice, but when I do, it’s usually sold for at least 3 margaritas and a packet of Quavers. Consider my guide to “Bigger Blogger Glory” an opportune gift and the bargain of the century.

Been around the blog a few times?

Obviously, the hardcore bloggers that have followed me over the years don’t need this book but since when has need got anything to do with it? You should want it! I know you’re dying to hear what I have to say and who knows, I might just teach you a thing or two. And, not to play on emotion or anything, but have you heard of loyalty?

Stick a cherry on the top

Don’t do things by halves, people. Be a leader and excel in your chosen field. Nobody trusts an amateur.

The seven deadly steps to “Bigger Blogger Glory” awaits you  RIGHT HERE.

~ Available in kindle format worldwide~ Jules Smith

Dickies Around In The Countryside

April 19, 2017 3:57pm Published by Jules Smith in Whimsy On A Wednesday 19 Comments

Dickies Butchery

Satirical Snapshots Bringing You Whimsy On A Wednesday!

Why the long face?

I went deep into that there English countryside at the weekend, I did. <—- Please say this sentence in a farmers accent if you would, because it sounds better. You’re doing it aren’t you? Oh, the power I have over you…
Anyway, I drove past a field full of horses.
“Stop the car!” I demanded of my mother. “I want to see the horses!” Yes, I am in fact 12 years old.

Chestnut horse

The thing is, horses and I have a bit of a volatile relationship. Whilst being the only English cowgirl that doesn’t get on with either cattle or bobo’s might seem quirky and befitting of yours truly, I thought it time for me to make equestrian amends. I tried to make friends with this horse. I stood my ground on t’other side of the fence and called him to me, “Come hither horsey” I said and made that funny clicking noise in my mouth like cowboys do on telly. Eventually, after much goading he came over. He even allowed me to stroke his long face. I felt victorious. Usually horses and I rub each other up the wrong way with our highly strung and sensitive natures. At last, I had mastered the art of…

Horse whispering

Grey horse

I then left him and went to the adjacent field to stroke this horse. Total confidence. I was now spreading the horse love like a pro. Well, Mr. Chestnut stallion in the other field didn’t like that and began making snorting noises and galloped over to this fine grey beast and I like a drama queen.

“Aww, he’s jealous!” I said.  So, being the kind soul I am I went back to stroke him again. What did he do? He batted my arm away with his head and basically, horse screamed.

I can’t be doing with that kind of attitude. That’s me and horses done. I’m sticking to dogs.

Let’s have a butchers

I shall resist the temptation to say “Bigeth Dicketh” at this point but that’s where I went.  Dickie’s Butchery & Cowshed. What a slice of prime cut this place is!

Not only is this place an artisan butchers shop on a farm in the middle of nowhere, but also a place where you can sit and have a coffee. That’s right, a steaming hot latte in a tin mug made by burly farm boys.  Err.. Goodbye Starbucks, we’re through.  Look at this jewel of a find!  I felt like I’d stepped into a piece of Texas in England. ‘Cept y’all don’t have butchers shops.



And not only can you have a bit of a cappuccino here, but a home reared bacon and sausage sandwich or prime farm beefburger.  Win.

They even have pop up, outdoor eating events.  *Subscribed*

Dickies Butchery

These butchers out in the countryside take their meat dead seriously.

Dickies Butchery

And their eggs.

Fresh Eggs

But when I saw this little fella playing about in his pig pen it bloody well put me off having a bacon sarnie like that film Babe did.  I should have stayed put in the cowshed coffee barn and just thought of supermarket packaging.


And then I went weeeeeeeeeeeeeeee, all the way home.

Road to Dickies

Rebranded:  The Urban Cowgirl.  Sigh….




The Little House Full Of Love

April 17, 2017 12:09pm Published by Jules Smith in The Art Philosopher 30 Comments

Satirical Snapshots Bringing You Art Philosophy On An Easter Monday!

A tale about the little house full of love.

“Lovebug adults are attracted to light-colored surfaces, especially if they are freshly painted, but adults congregate almost anywhere apparently reacting to the effects of sunlight. Lovebugs help the environment when they are in their immature stage as they are attracted to flowers and are good pollinators.”

I only went out of curiosity more than anything. I didn’t go expecting; I never do. Besides, there couldn’t be much in a field stretching out to further than my eye could see. In fact, I couldn’t even tell you what else happened in that part of town or if there even was a town at all. All I recall is a gas station about half a mile before I got there. And the car journey on the way. I remember that because it was beautiful. Speeding through nature, past buffalo ranches and endless foliage. What I remember most of all is driving through a swarm of bugs. They hit the car front like a million bullets. Love bugs they called them. Hundreds and thousands of love bullets banging into the car like they were trying to get inside. They say you should always pay attention to your journey.

I stopped at the gas station which is why I remember it. I got out the car to straighten myself up. I don’t know why but I felt it necessary. I remember hoiking up my jeans and tightening my belt. Palming my summer top to iron out the driving creases and adjusting my hat. Showing the best you have to whatever is about to greet you on the other side. I needn’t have bothered; judgment didn’t reside in that house.

It wasn’t anything special as houses go. You could pass it by without giving it a second glance. Not like some of the building’s I’d frequented in my time that made a point of their grandiosity: Painted in gold with fresco ceilings; mahogany woods and old stone carvings and windows bigger than doors telling timeless stories. Like I said, looking right seemed to be what people paid attention to.

I knocked on the front door but nothing happened. Thing is, it didn’t look like a door you should open and go into. Not that it was foreboding in any way, just a normal door. I suppose that’s why I knocked first. I waited and looked down at the scuffed toes of my boots pondering on how I would introduce myself and at the same time wondering how it was that I could scratch a new pair of boots within seconds of wearing them. When nobody came I turned the handle and pulled the door slowly. Opening a door like that makes you look more like a burglar than not and is likely to have you facing a side by side quicker than anything, yet it’s still how we open something when filled with trepidation. It’s funny how we act as humans. A lot of things we do make no sense.

The hour was early which made me feel like I shouldn’t be going inside yet but a few people were milling around a long table and chatting. I put my friendly smile in place as I approached and fiddled with the cotton tassels that edged my pretty tunic. I should’ve made sure they knew I was coming, I thought. It might pay me to be less impulsive. Turning up unannounced in places all the time without consideration to how others might feel. I always did things like that and thought about them afterward despite always berating myself for doing so. But this time it didn’t matter because I got greeted with friendly hugs and doughnuts for breakfast. Not just any buns but an array of all different kinds from plain to jam filled and those with icing and sprinkles on top. Each cake of a different sweetness but just as yummy. And that sweetness didn’t dissipate but sprinkled itself all through that room and the next. This house that you might well drive past without a notion contained more love inside than I ‘d ever witnessed. Not loaded with the sugar coated pretense  we often come across but something more akin to warm honey. The kind that mends you from the inside out.

That’s the best I can explain the feeling. I’ve known love and I’ve lost love like we all have the same. But this kind was different. I considered myself impervious to this sort but somehow it found the cracks where the mortar had fallen out and seeped in. I’ve gotta tell you that this scared me half to death. I find myself wary of anything too good to be true. Surely it would find a way to trip me up or turn sour. Losing something wholesome like that only goes to blacken another piece of your heart and leave you tutting at the world with folded arms. Best to stay protected.

But that honey love, well, it stands alone. It neither forces or betrays. It lets you have a taste and leaves the spoon in front of you should you wish to take some more. It doesn’t run out or turn bad and it has no agenda. I think that’s what unnerves me the most of all: I can’t find a way to prove its unreliability or insincerity because it doesn’t give up on you.

Well, that doesn’t fit my script.

And that makes me laugh inside a little and shake my head. In my experience, all that any one of us is looking for is that warm honeyed love. We try and seek it out in everything we do.

Folks tend to substitute other things to make that feeling come about. They buy themselves trinkets or convince themselves that this next thing will be the answer. Now don’t get me wrong, there ‘aint nothing better than a fine pair of new boots to make me go giddy with excitement but in the end it’s just a passing treat. Like most treat’s they are quickly digested leaving you hungry again. The good stuff isn’t found in the pretty toys or the grand facades, it’s found inside. Like I found inside that house that you wouldn’t likely pay heed to as you passed it by.

I’ve only ever been to that building in that field a few times but I think about it often and what I might’ve missed had I kept on driving.  I visit when I can, probably only twice a year because the house I live in is thousands of miles away.  But that doesn’t stop the honey coming or being available like I thought it might. It’s still there for my taking and given freely. Given with the purest of hearts connected together stronger than a chain linked fence.

The love still finds a way to reach me from that little house 4,798 miles away faster and more furious than a swarm of a million lovebugs.

Dedicated to the people of Int’l Texas Cowboy Church, Orchard, Texas ~ The little house full of love.

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