Flippin’ Eccles! Let’s Calm Down!

October 31, 2018 12:05am Published by Jules Smith in Whimsy On A Wednesday 18 Comments

Satirical Snapshots Bringing You Whimsy On A Wednesday!

We Need To Talk About Kevin

Not the book.

The Lizard.

A uromastyx in vivarium

The future saviour of humankind.  My God, he’s got his work cut out.  No wonder he’s trying to hibernate. I might join him.

I told him what’s been going on in detail…

uromastyx Moroccan lizard

I don’t know if it’s because I’m half asleep in the morning when I wander downstairs to get a nice cup of tea but things around me seem a little bit odd.  Like why did I take my shoes off halfway up the stairs? Is this a subliminal attempt at trying to kill myself in the morning when I trip over them? 

I boil the kettle.  It takes ages in the morning when my mouth is stuck together and I’m desperate for liquid.  I’m sure this is deliberate.  I am convinced that inanimate objects are possessed. 

I eventually make tea.

I don’t make it properly because I’m in too much of a rush and it looks like gnats piss. It’s irritating but I’m too impatient to re-do it.  I then spill it all over my fluffy white dressing gown which I just washed yesterday because I’ve filled it too close to the top of the mug.  

My mouth is too dry to compose a two syllable curse word so I think it instead. Viciously. I direct it towards the kettle and wait for it to blow up. 

There is nothing elegant about me in the morning, whatsoever.

British Currant-cy Threatened

I turn on BBC news.  There’s something very comforting about the presenters on the red couch. Right up until they say something about Brexit affecting the sales of Eccles cakes.


Did I just hear that?

Have you ever eaten an Eccles cake?  Don’t. Any food invented in the 1800’s has deep evil within it ’Well we did what we could with the ingredients available at the time’ written all over it.  A ton of currants squished into a flat, dry, flaky pastry type cake better used as a disc weapon or to stop unwanted guests coming round. 


I make some random gesture at the TV and my arm catches an empty bottle that I’m sterilising ready to make a Christmas oil. It smashes all over the floor into so many pieces I have to analyse it for a moment in wonderment.  The first rule is “Don’t move” lest you slice your skin open on invisible chards because you’ve got nothing on your feet because you stupidly left your bloody shoes on the stairs and your slippers…errr… I think they were discarded some summer’s day in the garden, aprés gin and tonicking, and got rained on.

Total chaos. 

JP Saved Me Then Deepak Took The Slack

Fortuitously, I’m reading the 12 Rules For Life by Jordan.B.Peterson who is teaching me how to get the yin to my yang with his professional wisdom.  I’m already performing like a top lobster and learning how to take control of situations in a more orderly fashion.

JP fully understands loving one’s lizard. The man is a genius.

 But, my impetuous self, (it’s been said)  also needs more yin input by the way of other sensory forms. 

Ask and you shall receive. Unless it’s money – that never bloody happens.

Cue Deepak Chokra

I’m not making that name up.  He’s a proper famous Indian medicine man that I’ve heard things about. 

Anyway, I got wind of him doing a 21-day free meditation experience and I took it as a sign. 

I’m crap at meditating. Awful. If anyone can get me calming down it’s gonna be Deepak. So I signed up, downloaded the app, and got ready for my express train to Zen.

What Did He Say?

Day 1 was a meditation on extra energy.  Hmmm.  Actually trying to calm down rather than add extra caffeine, but, let’s see. Supposed to do it in the day but not got time for that, so, did it in bed at midnight. 

First off, his accent annoyed me. He said UTEful instead of youthful. It shouldn’t matter, but it did. How am I supposed to feel youthful if he doesn’t say it properly? He reminded me of the muppet at the Amex call centre who couldn’t explain to me why my credit card wasn’t working. 

I know. I’m going to Hell.

And then he gave me a “Mantra”. In gobbledegook.  Despite him repeating it several times, I couldn’t remember it. Crucial is the mantra as it must be repeated silently in your head in order to concentrate. Swearing silently is not an alternative.

“Poodna yay?” Is that what it was?

He introduced the ring of a Tibetan bell signifying the start of the exercise. 


Bell never stopped.  Oh, wait…My bloody neighbours!  Their alarm is going off again!  Should I get up and go and shoot it with my BB gun?  Maybe if I back my car into their front door it might turn off and they’ll get the message. 

Focus, Focus….“Hoo-Hah,HEY!” that was what he said, right?

“Hoo -hah-hey – let’s all play – No thank you, not today -do ya wanna walk this way…” 

Some tosser is now setting fireworks off.  Why?  It’s not bonfire night for a week yet.  “Penny for the guy”, cos when I find out who is doing this he’s gonna roast on a bonfire.  Oh no, it’s Halloween tomorrow.  Great. Another night of shutting all the lights off and pretending I’m not in because I ate all the bloody sweets.  Maybe I should adopt my step-father’s strategy and go to the door in a WW11 tin helmet with a rifle and say, “TRICK”  

That should fetch a posse of torch burning villagers round. I could set booby traps on my drive and make my own entertainment show. 

Uh-oh…. con-cen-traaaate…  Ummm…errr…“Have a nice day!” Was that the mantra?  Sounds the same.


Meditation over.  Analysis: I just can’t do this malarkey.

Peace? In pieces.

Mood? Violent.

Energy?  Like that firework outside, whizzing into oblivion with no sodding direction.

Conclusion:  Be like Kevin. 

What’s Not To Like About This?

October 24, 2018 8:30am Published by Jules Smith in Whimsy On A Wednesday 20 Comments

Bull rider in Texas

Satirical Snapshots Bringing You Whimsy On a Wednesday!

Yeah, well, pffft….not before time, I know.

Shockingly tardy.

I’ve been a very busy Brit and despite what you may think, it’s not been all about enjoying myself.  However, I’ll spare you the humdrum side and get back to the whimsy of the last few weeks.

Flying High

view of Chicago from airplane

I took a trip to Chicago and Indiana to see an awesome band.  What’s not to like about that?  I had a fabulous time and here is my view of The Windy City from my aeroplane window where I sat sipping a Margarita and pondering on how they can call that mass of water a lake.  Lakes don’t have waves, just sayin’

I’m not a fan of other passengers as they tend to spread germs, put their arms on my armrest or smell funny.  Worst of all, some of them talk to you.  There’s nothing more terrifying than being trapped in a tube with a nobby no mates.   Had I have sat next to the chap who stood up in front of me as we disembarked I might have been more receptive.

American slogan t-shirt

Talking of T-Shirts…

You know how I am about my bewwwts. Right. I am the Boot JuJu Queen.

As if I didn’t just find my perfect T-Shirt! Ha!

boots t shirt

What’s not to like about that?

And then, I went and found the best place to wear it! The horniest dance hall in Texas!

Horniest Dance Hall In Texas

Unfortunately, it was all shut up and Henry really was on a hideout.  But, when one door closes another one opens, and it just so happened that I found an even better venue that I could not possibly pass up what with me being a Brit in America…

Country club and bar in Texas

And as soon as I reached the bar I knew I was in the right place…

Best Margarita

A little bit steep on the old prices there, pal!  I’m all for giving the ultimate margarita a tasting session but I ain’t paying $199 for it!  I tried to steal the lonely pint that seemed to have been discarded at the side of me until I realised why it was there.

What’s not to like about that?

Talking of Pride Before a Fall…

It’s a rodeo thing.  Fortunately, I got some proper nice seats at the Fort Bend County Fair to watch the rodeo. It’s all about who you know.  People don’t mess about with me now I’ve been to a Redneck Club.

roping a calf

I admire ropers. I do.  There’s such a skill and poetry to swinging a rope. I know this as I’m currently practicing and it’s way harder than it looks.  Problem is, I get all stressed about the poor little calf who comes a cropper as the victim of the show.  I have been assured that these animals are well looked after and being able to do this to a calf is highly important when moving cattle.


Riding bulls though, that’s a whole other level of madness.  You really do have to be tougher than the rest to dare to do this.

Bull rider

Bull rider

Bonkers. And if that wasn’t enough, cue the flying motorbikes.

flying motorcycles

Talking of Flying…

Sup, birds.

starling on a wire

Flocking hell!  I’ve never seen so many birds in all my life.

birds all lined up on electrical wires

How are there so many bugs in Texas when there are this many birds?  And, not that you could ever starve to death in America, but, Sing A Song of Sixpence, and all that.

And what a bloody racket.

If this is any evidence of what’s to come then I can see why I’ve been invited to go Snipe hunting.

Talking of Birdsong Peace and Quiet

I borrowed somebody’s bicycle and decided to go on a bit of a jaunt.  Been quite a few years since I rode a bike but they say you never forget.

Very close to me is a beautiful reservoir/lake – whatever you call your big ponds.  I decided I would ride all the way around it because it didn’t look too big.

Texan country view


The path weaved around the place like a Grand Prix track and I even got lost at one point.  I don’t know how I did this but I managed it in true Jules style.  And nobody told me about this highly relevant piece of information…

American signs

An hour later, dehydrated, sunburnt and still not home, I realised the error in my judgment.  Having pedalled like a lunatic in case I got eaten by swamp dinosaurs, I noticed I could no longer feel the bottom half of my body.   Not kidding.  I jumped off my bike and fell immediately to the floor like a lush on a happy hour bender.  Too much too soon.  I had to walk and hold my bike for the remaining 15 minutes back in fear of permanent paralysis.  The vagina monologues petered out into a whimper.

Once home, and after a bit of a rest and some ibuprofen gel applied liberally to my arse, I decided to stop being a baby and cycle to the supermarket for much-needed provisions.  Can’t hurt me anymore if I can’t feel it, right?

I took my rucksack and bike lock and off I cycled. Again. Because I’m an idiot.

They say never to shop when you’re hungry.  They should also tell you to take a bloody car because all my groceries wouldn’t fit in my backpack.  It was rammed solid and made me struggle with vertical hold once on my back. I had to hold a loaf of bread in one hand, a carton of milk in the other and the bike lock around my neck cos they would not fit in no matter how hard I tried.

Cycling like this when you haven’t ridden for a while takes a bit of skill and we’ve already established I’m as stupid as they come.  It’s even worse when your backside is numb and you can’t feel your balance.  I weaved precariously around the road and very nearly toppled over right in front of the yellow school bus full of children who probably can’t wait to grow up to be just like me.

It’s funny how madness strikes right at the time when it really shouldn’t.

In order to get to the nearest gate back into my pad, you have to go down a little bank, cross a little stream and back up the bank.  In my utter wisdom and whilst loaded like a pack mule with heatstroke, I decided I’d be able to jump this on my bike rather than go round the long way.


Dirty hand

You gotta hand it to me, I’m not afraid of making mistakes and still believe I can jump my bike like a 15-year-old.  Bread everywhere. Milk spilt.  I didn’t cry though. Not until I nearly choked on the bike lock around my neck but that was only because I didn’t want to die yet.

Ride Baby, Ride!

Amusing wall signs

Like the bike incident wasn’t enough, I got taken to a professional horse riding lesson.

I was forewarned that the instructor was a grumpy old cowboy who takes no prisoners.

Princess stature holds no truck in this environment.  Hahahaha…yeah, heard that before…bring it…

“I hear you ain’t rode a horse so I got yer an ‘orse what ain’t been rode, let’s see how that goes,” he said. “It’s called ‘Killer'”

It’s a very interesting experience when you meet your snarky match and somebody has to give…

“You ain’t a quitter are ya?  I don’t like quitters!” and “I ain’t carrying your saddle, princess!”

“Well excuuuuuse me!”

It ended well and nobody got hurt. Miraculous.  I had a marvellous time and I got to ride the best I’ve ever ridden in my short horse time.  However – Talk about saddle sore!  I could barely sit on the loo without crying like a baby.  Never ride a bike and then a horse on consecutive days.  There’s not enough tequila in Texas to cure that pain.

The All American Horse Power

Pick up

Yeah, baby! Now we’re talkin’!  What’s not to like about that?

I saw sense.  I saw it in a 5.7 litre pick up truck that roared with throaty gusto into 80 miles an hour in about 3 seconds.  So, I stole it.

No more dropped shopping, traumatising school children and no more chafed to bits, bits.  See?  I’m maturing.




The Torment of Time Travel

September 20, 2018 1:36am Published by Jules Smith in Whimsy On A Wednesday 19 Comments

Heathrow shuttle bus advert

Satirical Snapshots Bringing You Whimsy On A Wednesday! 

A terrible and wicked thing happened.

Whimsy got kidnapped. 

I know. But don’t worry, I managed to save it at the eleventh hour as is my normal policy. 

To my worthy readers – forgive me.  I know that without this humorous little piece of penmanship that life just hasn’t been the same and your Wednesdays have been utterly dreadful. 

To my other blogger friends- I will catch up with you and restore my inappropriate responses to your worthy work. 

What can I say?  You can’t miss me if I’m here all the time. 

The Time Traveller

The thing is, whimsy got stuck in a time travelling portal.  This is what happens when you cross over so many time zones that you don’t know what bloody day of the week it is, whether it’s breakfast or dinner time and what language is being spoken.  


I have been on so many aeroplanes I think I have club foot, a newly found allergy to British Airways chicken curry, a curious type of dementia caused by too many airport radioactive scanning machines and I’m quite certain I picked up someone else’s luggage because I have clothes I’ve never seen before.  

How To Combat Jet Lag

Rhodes island, Greece

Try and confuse it by over travelling and  violent nausea will way surpass the lack of sleep issue. 

Let me give you a valuable piece of advice: Consider your impetuous behaviour with care.  Whilst flying from Texas back to England for just a couple of days, ‘going on a bender every night to catch up with your friends and then immediately getting on another plane to a Greek island because, It’ll be alright – travelling around is fun’ might seem like a rather jaunty way to live, it’s actually bordering on life -threatening. 

By the time I got to Greece I didn’t know my arse from my elbow but as luck would have it, this time I’d managed to book myself into a beautiful resort with simplistic stunning scenery that would blow anyone’s mind.  Except for mine because it had already crashed and burned. 

Talking of Scenery…

Sunprime Miramare, Rhodes

Fortune shines on the brave and the, err, deranged, and not only did I have the beautiful Aegean sea to gaze at morning, noon and night but my hotel complex happened to have a team of about 30 Swedish athletes arrive on the very same week.  It was like watching a continuous movie of Thor in 30 different versions as bronzed Vikings pranced around all day and all night.  Unfortunately, because whimsy had been lost in a vortex,  I was in no fit state to make myself acquainted and despite my valiant efforts at thinking I could talk Swedish after 3.5 Ouzo’s I could barely master an Abba song.  

In hindsight it’s probably a blessing because I might now be holidaying in a Stockholm sanitarium and evidence may strongly suggest that I already have this syndrome with my British Airways captors.  As delightful as the Vikings were to look at, I got pretty irritated with the constant fitness activity when I was trying to catch up with sleep on my sun lounger.  People who exercise on holiday should be deported. 

Talking of leaving…

And after a much needed peaceful holiday, despite the Swedes running amok with their zumbathonian-water-aerobic-circuit training, the best way to totally destroy that inner zen that Thomas Cook made you pay a years wages for, is to think it’s a good idea to return back to America just three short days after returning from Greece to England. 

Because, let’s be honest, a three hour drive to Heathrow at 5 am in the morning followed by a ten and a half hour flight squished between a miserable cow with a personality disorder (didn’t have one) and a foul-smelling Frenchman( akin to garlic soaked old slippers) and a two -hour wait in Houston’s security line is just the ticket for a feel -good experience. 

Why hasn’t anybody told me how ridiculous I am?

And Just When You Thought I Might Have Matured…

I’m just three days into my overextended jet lag euphoria and I have to get on another bloody plane tomorrow to Chicago.  

I can feel your sympathy.  But when I break the time travelling phenomenon you’ll all be thankful. 

You’re welcome.

Girl from the future-past-present- once known as Jules….

Want more?

Load another!