A Mixed Bag of British

February 22, 2017 12:27pm Published by Jules Smith in Satirical Snapshots 19 Comments

Satirical Snapshots Bringing You Whimsy On A Wednesday

Four weeks late, dreadfully tardy and woefully lacking in whimsical tales. WELL I WAS BUSY. I thought about you all but I had lots of things to do. It’s very difficult being a superhero come spy come entrepreneur and sometimes I have to sacrifice my whimsy to save the world. You’re welcome.

Mixed Media

Today I bring you a fuddle of delight from the past few weeks. Things that have caught my attention as I stand back and take a hard look at the world around me.

Go green

I went to the village pub to find the Christmas tree still up. I found Cockney Al and had a word.

“Hey, Al, you know it’s bad luck to still have your tree up, right?”
“Jules my little anthrax truffle. See, that ‘aint a Christmas tree, it’s a Valentines tree. And after that it becomes an Easter tree. See where I’m comin’ from petal?”
I have to admit I liked his style. Waste not. However, I think Al will concede to my superstitious point since after that conversation I won twice at ‘Sticky 13’s’ and walked off with fifty, glorious pounds. Nice.

The American Prophecy

I saw it with my own eyes. There, carved in Mansfield stone amongst many other grotesques, green men and gargoyles, a recognisable face standing proud in one of the arches of my favourite 14th century cathedral. A simple stonemason predicted the future some 700 years ago; blinded by the truth and light that shone down through the church spires, he was compelled to reveal the figure that would change the modern world through his simple craft. Oh yes. The truth is stranger than fiction, my friends. See for yourself.

President Donald Trump.

London Calling To The Faraway Towns

I took a little trip to the capital. You can never tire of London. Here’s what I found amusing on my junket.

Telephone boxes are now being used as advertising kiosks for dominatrix girls looking for sex slaves and offering lessons in sissy training. Pffft… pass me a whip… Some of these boxes even host defibrillators. I’m wondering if there’s a connection.

Make your own quilted jacket and avoid designer “rip -off” prices. Smart. London swag.

Or not… Instead become the notorious Vaporiser.

Amusing stickers pasted on windows from Brexiters.

And…the pub never lies. The truth will always out from drunken mouths.

Can someone please explain this to me?

Can I only park here if I’m a disabled tennis player?


The Art Philosopher poses a question.

Despite my skill and authority as the worlds leading Art Philosopher, I found myself befuddled by the following sculptures:

What is this thing? What is it supposed to be saying? It’s a giant orange pretzel turd and I don’t get it. Maybe it’s a misshaped fruit loop that appeals to fruit loops.

But then there’s this. Sat in the foyer of a four star hotel. I analysed it for a while, trying to find its meaning.

Conclusion: We are caged in a world of shit. Think on.

Say It With Forget-Me-Nots

January 25, 2017 9:39pm Published by Jules Smith in Satirical Snapshots 26 Comments

Satirical Snapshots Bringing You Whimsy On A Wednesday

Four double vodkas and a funeral

Sadly, I attended a funeral last week and after the service a wake was held at the pub. This is where groups of people celebrate the life that has passed by eating triangular sandwiches, sausage rolls and downing as much ale as possible. Well, that’s what we do here anyway. You meet up with folk you haven’t seen for donkeys and reminisce about your debaucherous past and… sometimes present… by regaling stories that we all hoped had been forgotten. Amazing how alcohol can open the darkened and dusty corners of the mind, innit?

The man with the beef

I met “The Butcher” at the pub who I hadn’t seen for a while. He’s called that because he is one and is not quite as sinister as you might be led to believe. Ok, he is. I ordered lots of fine cuts of meat from him which after a few double shots I thought was an excellent idea. Turned out it was cos he got me some nice topside and homemade sausages. He also showed me his many rifles and side by side and promised to teach me clay pigeon shooting. Now “The Butcher” is a hardcore northerner who doesn’t take any crap. When you knock on his front door he shouts, “Fuck Off, we’re not in!” You don’t mess around with someone like that. Thankfully he’s known my family and me since I was a little girl. This kind of thing is helpful and I’ll shortly explain why.

Remember when

So this pub happened to be in an area where I once went to a notorious and hardcore comprehensive school back in the day. The school was famous for its sporting ability which is kind of funny since I skanked off PE (double lesson on a Wednesday morning) for three years. Instead I wisely spent this time at local shops with my mates where we pooled our dinner money together for contraband. This people, is what you call “Real Life Learning”. Besides, the PE teachers were very scary lesbians that used to watch you in the showers and beat you with hockey sticks. I learnt to protect myself early by being a manipulative, sneaky little sod. I believe it has served me well.

Talking of forgetting

The hours passed by and at some point, much later at the bar, I spotted a bloke with his pals who looked somewhat familiar to me. Hmmm. Every time I looked up across the bar as I waited for my ‘house doubles’ said chap caught my eye. I left with the drinks and met my best mate across the room who was chatting with two other girls. Not being the patient type I interrupted.

“Don’t look now but see that bloke over there with the white top on..”

They all turned to have a gander.


“Yeah, it’s him,” my best mate said.

“Him? Do I know him then?”

My friend gave me that ‘Are you serious’ look and folded her arms.

“NOOOOOO..Oh my giddy aunt are you kidding me?” I said in my best actress voice.

The other two women started to pry. “Why who is it? Something we should know? Spill the beans.”

“It’s her first ever school crush,” my mate kindly offered.

Now she wasn’t lying. Here, in the bar stood Peter H who I fell in love with at age 14. When I say “love”  it was more like an instant rush of pubescent teenage hormones but same thing. I once wrote about Peter H here under First Kiss  incase you missed it the first time round.

“I see him in here all the time,” said my mate. “Shall we go over and say hello to him?”

“Errrr.. NO and NO,” I replied with haste.

“What are you, 15?” she replied

“No. I’m actually about 14 right now and I’m not going. I don’t have my strawberry lipgloss.”

“C’mon,” she insisted, rudely and dragged me over to the bar.

What’s in a name?

She and Peter said hello like they were old mates and then my friend said, “Remember my partner in crime?”

He looked at me for many seconds as he tried to recall. I folded my arms as I waited.

“I definitely remember you but I can’t remember your name,” he said.

If I’d have had any vodka left I would have choked on it. Errr, really? I fell in love with this lad and He. Can’t. Remember.My. Name. Bellend. I felt the onset of utter atrociousness but remembered I was at a funeral party. Instead I reverted to teen queen, did a massive hair flick, delivered a killer dirty look and said, “Well, I’m not gonna help you out here, sweetheart.”

He still didn’t remember and had to be told. Talk about stamping on the rose tinted glasses. My friend disappeared and left me standing in front of Peter H like a muppet.

Pull yourself together, Jules. This is ridiculous. You’re a grown up now, I thought.

“So, what are you doing in here?” he asked.

“At a funeral.”

“Oh, sorry”

“Yeah. You should be.”


“Nothing. Anyway, so… it’s been a while. How long have you had amnesia?” I asked.

“Funny. You’ve not changed a bit.”

“Ha. You have. Barely recognised you. So what do you do these days?”

“I’m a carpenter.”

Oh, like Jesus.” What in the world possessed me to say such a stupid thing, I don’t know. But I did.

“Yeah.. if that’s your thing.”

We passed some small talk and I excused myself. I marched back to my mate and hissed in her ear. “Well THANKS for leaving me. Can you believe he didn’t remember my name. The audacity!”

A moment of flowered clarity

About 15 minutes later I felt an arm slink around my waist. Guess who?

“Can you remember when we were snogging outside the old science block after school?” he whispered in my ear. “I was just thinking about that.”

“Oh. All coming back to you now is it?”

He sidled off with a smile on his stupid face.

About a half an hour after that he came back again.

“I’ve just remembered something else,” he said.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?”

“Haha! “

“Oh yeah, Jesus.”

“Remember that night you came down to the youth club and we met up? I recall we tried to climb over that fence and we both fell over down that muddy bank. You had a skirt on with little blue flowers.”

I looked at him with utter disbelief. “Seriously? You couldn’t remember my name but you remember exactly what I was wearing to the detail of what colour flowers were on my skirt?! Unbelievable.”

I’ve since had a word with “The Butcher” Peter H’s card has been marked.

D’ya Wanna Be In My Gang?

January 18, 2017 12:13pm Published by Jules Smith in Satirical Snapshots 30 Comments

Satirical Snapshots Bringing You Whimsy On A Wednesday

Hello from the other side

So, we’ve had Blue Monday, Tits Up Tuesday and here we all are at Whimsical Wednesday. As author of this capricious weekly post it is my job to deliver amusement in some form and take you out of your malaise.

There’s a place downtown, where the freaks all come around

And it’s called My Blog.

There seems to be a sense of despair around; everybody’s talking at me: Deaths, illness, anxiety, judgment, self analysis, diets, no drinking alcohol, indifference, anger and so on. Pretty much everyone I’ve spoken to of late seem to have some discontent and I find that humans find it very easy to jump on the wagon of despair rather than hop on the positivity train. Negativity breeds like germs in a sick box. Well this town ain’t big enough for the both of us!

Naughty, naughty, very naughty

Oh no, chef! I will not swim in a soup of discontent! Pass me the Cumin, the Cayenne and a sprig of absolute ridiculousness. Time for a spicy kick up the arse, people. In a nice way.

Look, not to totally ruin your self esteem or anything but you are just a mere speck. A tiny little life on a tiny little planet amongst many in a galaxy of galaxies. Go take a look at Vy Canis Majoris and tell me how big you feel now.
Sometimes you have to step out of the mire, release the chains and stop getting bent out of shape about the small stuff.

D’ya wanna be in my gang?

Course you do. It’s fun there. You can be an absolute child. You may laugh at yourself with ease and not give a care in the world. You can have FUN instead of ANGST! Whoa!
So, being the all giving delight that I am I decided to become a pop star for a day and cheer everyone up.

You may MAMAMAMA– MARVEL at my production below, realise you’re ALL SUPERSTARS and X GONNA GIVE IT TO YA if you don’t get ADDICTED TO LOVE!

Yours lovingly, narcissistically, bored of the misery and back on the cocktails where I belong,

The High Clowness.


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