It has nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that I haven’t had an alcoholic drink for FIVE WHOLE DAYS. No. Although the days seem so much longer with no toxins. Bored already.
Spring is starting to poke her lovely head round the corner but with about as much courage as a sheep in a wolf pen. COME ON LADY! Put your bewwwts on, your best lippy and kick this dreariness into oblivion! NB: I was talking to Spring there and not myself. I happen to do that daily. And yesterday, in a fit of despair, I went to the farm shop.
You can always tell a farmer – but not much….
There’s nothing like getting yourself out into the beautiful English countryside and finding something to eat. Besides, it’s important to support our local farmers now that we’re Brexiting. And, I find that farmers fodder is much more interesting than the usual stuff at Asda.
So, allow me to take you shopping. Just look at this colourful array of groceries in this humble, rustic barn!
But wait! What is this I spy. A big green egg! I WANT one. I only want one because it’s £1250 and therefore must be amazing. That’s more expensive than the oven in my kitchen. Maybe all I need is a big green egg and a shed.
Life without cheese is meaningless. If you don’t eat cheese we can’t be friends.
Look at this cheese counter! Zut Alors, France! We don’t need your Camembert! OK, maybe we do. I kinda love it. BUT know this: Cheddar is KING.
Sex, drugs and sausage rolls. A British staple. Bought a few of those, I did.
Don’t want our bangers? YOUR loss. Just sayin’. If there’s one thing this country does well, it’s sausages.
And yes, we too can do hot sauce.
Rather fancied this cooking sauce until I saw the rather scary face on the packaging. Maybe that’s what you turn into after eating it… Somebody fire the marketing guy – I don’t get it.
Now Having spent lots of time in America and Texas, I understand a good cut of beef at fantastic prices. Ours is a tad more expensive, but then we have butchers dressed in hats and aprons wielding big knives.
“Why you taking pictures of my meat, bird?”
£20 for a kg of T bone.
Maybe it’s cheaper if it’s older…?
Moving swiftly on to ….oh no…I’m distracted by temptation…
*Clenches teeth* Works out maths in head. Five days from forty equals….Oh good, ONLY 35 days to go before this avenue of pleasure is allowed. Unless I cheat. Which is likely. I’m only human.
God didn’t put apples on trees for nothing…
Anyway, after spending a months wages at the farm shop, I wandered lonely as a cloud outside.
A sign of Spring. TOTAL LIE.
I finished my day in a lovely little tea shop where they serve tea PROPERLY.
And where they make proper puddings. Another thing the Brits do best in the world.
Sticky date pudding and hot custard. Nice. All’s well in the ‘Jules’world.
Satirical Snapshots bringing you frivolity on a Friday cos…well.. Whimsy on a Wednesday got blown away by this….
WET WET WET
Remember them? I used to call them crap crap crap but that’s just me.
Rain. Relentless, thrashing down rain from morning to night for two days solid. That’s what New York had to offer on my final two days in America. Nice. Take me from the heady, high temperatures of Texas and throw me into a waterlogged city with angry people.
I feel it in my fingers I feel it in my toes
Not kidding. The first thing I bought in the Big Apple? A brolly. The first and only thing. Not that it worked. Sideways rain has a way of finding its way through your jeans and plastering them to your legs and making you feel not very Marti Pellow mellow.
This, people, is a real thing. Oh yes. At first my British politeness kicked in and I started to apologise to every passing umbrellist. “Sorry, oops. Oh, dear. Don’t mind me.”
That didn’t last too long. Even Mary Poppins can be a bitch.
YOU WANT A BROLLY WAR? BRING IT. How do you like that river of water tipping down the back of your neck you ignoramus? What? You nearly lost an eye? NOBODY CARES.
Have you ever tried to get through a swarm of people all holding brollies on 5th Avenue while the Rockefeller Christmas tree lights are about to come on? INSANITY.
My Mother and I took refuge in Macy’s. There’s nine floors in this store. I know this because I did ALL of them just to get dry.
Posh department stores in America think about rain. They don’t want it dripping across their polished floors. No. Having the the Chanel bird in high heels skedaddling across the floor in her high heels as she tries to spray you with ‘musk a la moment’ doesn’t look good. So what do they do? They give someone a job at the door handing out umbrella condoms. I’m serious.
“You got one of those for my body, pal?”
“Hmmm. Can’t promise not to drip on your haute couture. Just sayin’”
My mother bought loads of stuff. I followed her around with essence of severe petulance.
What did the shop pack her clothes in? Brown paper bags. How long do you think they hold up in torrential rain, eh? About half an hour. What happened next? Oh, they split and and empty their contents all over the pavement which is being tromped along by angry, east coast people. Great. REAL forward thinking Macy’s. Get carrier bags like everyone else before I come back and strangle someone with your brolly bag.
My temper was very, very frayed. Then I saw this man and nearly joined him.
I couldn’t help but give him all my loose change because I appreciated his honesty.
I’m calling Trumps
“We’re going to Trump tower,” I declared. “President Elect is bound to have something to cheer me up in his golden tower.”
I managed to get past machine guns, coppers, The News Crew and The Secret Service despite looking like a drenched vagabond. I ate a Trump burger and had a lovely glass of red wine. #MakeJulesGreatAgain.
Bit of a stretch
It came time to leave and I sat in the hotel foyer emptying my case in order to find something dry to wear on the plane. I might have been a bit stroppy and atrocious which made the doorman come and try to appease me.
“Can I order you a cab, Ma’am?”
“No. I’m getting an Uber. That’s how I roll. “
“Let me get you a nice car for the airport journey to make you feel better. “
“Fine. Knock yourself out.”
This turned up..
Finally, someone gets it! However, as fabulous as this was have you ever tried to negotiate rush hour traffic, holiday lights and gold robberies in a LONG car? The forty minute journey to the airport took two hours.
My mother and I were flying back on different airlines. Each of us had twenty minutes before our flights boarded. Impossible. She got dropped off first, being Queen and all, and me after.
The queue to drop luggage off was very long. I looked for my prey. I spotted him in seconds in his BA uniform. Slight of build, hunched shoulders signifying lack of confidence, slightly balding and no eye contact. Perfect.
“For goodness sake you have to help me I’m so terribly late! My limousine has been two hours on the road getting here. My flight leaves in a minute and I simply MUST get home to London or there’s going to be a world crisis!”
“The desk is closed for that flight, Madam.”
“Then re- open it!”
Of course, they re-opened it.
“Now you have to rush me to the head of the security line, Sir. I have no time to waste!’
I was marched to the front and arrived at my gate as my plane boarded. Seven minutes from limo to plane. Maybe this is what I should do in future?
And all of that would have been so worth it if my bloody mother hadn’t missed her flight. Not only missed it but ended up being delayed and thus resulting in me waiting round in the minus 3 LHR temperature for an hour and a half for her arrival.
Karma. Thought I’d left her back in Texas…
In the meantime, here’s a Rodeo video from Dallas Fort Worth. Enjoy that whilst I recover from my jet lag.
Im going off piste posting already and posting on random days because random things are happening to me that need to be written. Lets call this one “FFS Friday”
Leaving the Big Apple like a fruit loop
I managed to lock myself out of my friends house for three hours dressed only in my pyjamas. When I say pyjamas what I mean is a vest top t-shirt. It could have been worse…I was supposed to be packing to leave but went outside because I saw an unfamiliar animal in the garden and wanted to investigate. The door locked shut behind me. I hate that animal (which I later found was a groundhog) for distracting me. My friend was at work, an hour away and so I couldn’t call for them to let me back in and had to wait on the porch steps until they came home to a British vagabond making the neighbourhood look untidy. I tried to pick the locks with the only tool I had available which was an iPhone sim card remover. I need to practise the art of lock picking because all I did was get the bloody thing jammed in the lock. Yeah…I know, how to keep friends.
You got a plane to catch or something?
Yes, yes I do.
“Well, we have the wrong middle name on your ticket so you need to sort that out at the ticket desk before you can check in.”
“OH MY DAYS!” At this point, I’m already late due to an hours ride to the airport taking one hour, forty five minutes because traffic in New York DOES NOT MOVE.
The ticket desk people are in ‘mañana’ mode. Eventually we get my name changed. But then…
“Your bag is thirteen pounds over, you wanna take some stuff out?”
“And put it where? No. It needs to stay in and I really need to get going…”
“That’ll be $75.”
I managed to get to my plane as it boarded. Phew.
Those little bastards
Mosquitoes. Last time I was in Texas I got bitten to death. At one point I had 22 bites. I lived on Benadryl, cortisone cream (that never worked until I once mistook it for toothpaste and numbed my mouth) and margaritas to relieve the itching. I’m allergic to bites and they swell up to the size of tennis balls and stay there for months. On the plane to Texas I get bitten by one of these blighters THROUGH MY JEANS. I could feel it pulsating like an alien growth under the denim and couldn’t stop scratching it. This forced me to take medicinal alcohol on the morning plane journey to ease my stress. Having a tipsy, pissed off Brit scratching like a flea ridden monkey sitting near you on a plane unnerves American passengers.
This could be Heaven or this could be Hell
I arrive in Dallas to searing, steamy heat which further aggravates my bite. Fairy Godmother arrives to collect me and takes me to see where JFK got shot, a lovely meal, cocktails and then to our hotel. I’m happy. Things are good. The hotel even bring out cookies and milk for bedtime which I had no problem taking full advantage of. Such a lovely place – (Such a lovely place)
And then, tired out of my little mind , I go to bed after reading two sinister stories to my Fairy Godmother and Godfather from my new book. Hehehehehe… Cue the karma…
My mind is Tiffany twisted
Hotel rooms do my head in. Maybe it’s me. There’s always a ton of switches and lamps and weird curtains that you have to shut in various order with a stupid pole. Like I said, I was super tired so I turned off the lights to jump in my bed and find that it’s still bright. Hmm. There’s some sort of strip light going across the top of the bed headboards causing an illumination that is not conducive to sleep. Can I find the switch to kill it? No. No I sodding well can’t. I press everything. I get out of bed and press more buttons and the only one’s working are mine. I manage to have lamps going on and off in all corners of the room. I made the telly come on, the radio, the microwave. Yep. I even had the pre-set ‘how very dare you change it’, air con abiding to my rules but turning off this strip light? Not a chance. Infuriated and tired to the point of hysteria I stood on the beds and tried to follow it along the wall. See if I can’t yank it out or something. Nope. Hours it took me, hours to locate a stupid little button the size of a Tic-Tac that shut it off.
I woke up the this morning at stupid “o’ clock. The rains were coming down like the end of the world outside which made me think of having a shower. Another thing I have a problem with in hotel rooms are showers. It takes me ages to figure out how it works. I’m pulling, pushing and twisting and nothing happens. Suddenly the thing sprung into life and water belted out. Eventually. Half way through me sudding up, the water suddenly becomes boiling hot and I mean scalding, causing me to scream as it makes to take the skin off my feet. I nearly break my neck trying to escape the porcelain which isn’t half as shiny as the third degree burns on my shins. Once out, I put my arm in to try and stop the shower, but oh no, this thing has gone into full pelt, hot tar mode. Now I have a burnt forearm. Despite my dippy behaviour I actually have the foresight to change from shower mode to bath tap and the steaming hot water starts to fill the tub at lightning speed. I can barely see due to the insane amount of steam and wonder if I’m being boiled alive by an evil hotel spirit. I can’t turn the water off; the tap is stuck. I had no choice but to wake my Fairy Godmother at dawn.
“Knock -Knock. Help! I’m being burnt alive and the shower won’t turn off. Flood any second!”
In she comes, panicked and tired but ready to save me and also cannot turn the tap off or see because of the steam. But Fairy Godmother is an American and knows how to deal with these things. She gets on the phone and tells the hotel how their equipment has burned an English princess and that they need to get maintenance upstairs pronto before the bath overflows. Seconds later a burly man arrives and turns it off.
Forget the pink Champagne on ice – I need coffee
I go downstairs for coffee. Full, red hot, caffeine. I go with my Godfather to sit on a big comfy chair in the lobby to drink it. I fall into the big, comfy armchair which, unbeknown to me, spins round 180 degrees and I spill scalding hot drink all over my legs. Cos that’s just what I needed to happen all over my third degree burns.
My Godfather takes me to breakfast to make me feel better. I get there to find there’s no bacon. WHAT THE HELL? How can there be no bacon? This is America. This is why I come here.
“There’s no flippin bacon!” I cry.
The hotel is full of Marines who are so very polite it is insane.
“Hey, try this biscuit and gravy, it’s an American delicacy,” says one of them as he hands it over.
“I. WANT. BACON.”
Afraid of a lawsuit, the kitchen went and cooked me up a whole plate of bacon (which didn’t look too dissimilar to my shins) and brought it out for me. The other guests looked on covetously. But if only they knew what I’d been through to get it.
I’ve just left and arrived in Fort Worth which is like cowboy heaven and am pretty sure this place will suit Calamity Jules(AKA Texas Redneckshins)much better.