Fade To Grey

November 4, 2020 11:00am Published by Jules Smith in Whimsy On A Wednesday 12 Comments

Satirical Snapshots Bringing You Whimsy On A Wednesday!

It’s the last day before yet another national lockdown and tomorrow all avenues of pleasure will be closed. People are worried about how this might affect everyone in terms of work, money and business; many debate at length of the mental effect this will have on those being curtailed and imprisoned in their homes. Well, it just so happens I can answer that one. 

It appears I have gone stark raving mad. 

At some point during the first lockdown I decided that since I couldn’t travel I’d get all the things sorted in my house that desperately needed attention. 

I got the roof repaired so it would stop raining in my bedroom. 

I’m currently having the kitchen re-done.

And the bathroom.

I had beautiful new wardrobes fitted to hold all the party dresses that I can no longer wear. They are a shrine to good-times past. 

Pandemic Pile-Up

I don’t know what it is with me and stress but when I have a dose of it, I want to add more.  

“Come on, break you bitch!”

I believe that it is a result of some deep psychological imbalance. Which, is very surprising for someone as balanced as me…

Perhaps, the thought of endless chaos, workmen, plaster dust, rubble and no eating, sleeping or bathing facilities is preferable to sitting with my own thoughts on how to deal with Covid gaol.

Besides, if I have to stay in prison I may as well make it look sodding pretty.

There’s Something Wrong With the Grey Matter

For some reason, everything I have chosen for my abode sits within the greyscale.  My new kitchen is called “Cashmere” which is basically a creamy grey. The new floors are ash; in the bathroom they are slate. When the wardrobe man came round for a billion hours I chose Shaker wardrobes in a beautiful tone called “Dove”.  AKA – grey.

I reside in shades of grey with no colour.

Not so good when you’re moving into winter in England. 

I even re-homed a second wolfit to add to the drama. His name is Halo and guess what colour he is…

Night-time Terrors

Since the transformation of my decor, I’ve started to have a fear about going to bed. Completely irrational and like a 5-year-old with a sense of lurking monsters.  This went on for quite a few weeks. I tried to drug myself with Benadryl or read until my eyes nearly bled but the feeling still lingered.

And then, one evening, I realised the cause. 

In the daytime, my new bedroom looks like an elegant boudoir straight out of the Homes and Gardens Magazine:  Floor to ceiling oyster closets; a pale grey/lavender hue to the walls and a dark grey carpet. All tones melting subtly into one another like a greyscale Rothko painting. 

The bed, inviting and pure with crisp white bedding. A neutral haven for the weary and heavy-headed. 

But at night, with the dimmed over the bed reading lights…

It looks like a hospital room. A dreary room where one lies in wait to die.

“Look at it,” I said to one of my friends. “I feel like I should have DNR put up on the back wall.”

And when I’m in the bed, reading to stop the inner voices of doom, my room resembles an aircraft cabin – lights down for night-time flying. 

Radiance for Recovery

Clearly, I recognised the need for vivid accents of brilliant colour to swing the scale back to happy days. I called in my trusted decorators and insisted on a kaleidoscopic transformation.

“Dolphin Blue in the kitchen, mint green in this room, timeless classic here, and for the love of God, some dusky pink depth in this hospital bedroom before I lose my spirit completely!”

Yesterday they painted my bedroom. I didn’t look at it until I went to bed and I nearly cried. This morning when I analysed it in the dawn sunlight, I came to this conclusion:  My bedroom now looks like someone has thrown up candy-floss all over my walls…

 

Marvel at This

September 30, 2020 5:25pm Published by Jules Smith in Whimsy On A Wednesday 12 Comments

Satirical Snapshots Bringing You Whimsy On A Wednesday!

So, I met my mum at the garden centre. This is a Great British thing to do because in Blighty we all love our gardens and having cake and tea.  Garden centres are the new going out.

There’s not much else to do because the pubs shut at 10 pm now, if you can get in, and there’s no point shopping for a new frock if you’ve got nowhere to go. 

There are queues everywhere, and despite people thinking that the British are fond of forming an orderly line, there are some of us who do not. 

Grievous Bottled Harm 

A few days ago a woman kicked off in the Co-op because it was pointed out to her that she was walking the wrong way around the shop.  

She proper lost it. In Surrey!  People don’t behave like that down there. This is where I was brought up; it’s suburban and refined and not Essex. Clearly people are getting post-traumatic-pandemic disorder.

At first, I found this slightly amusing and could empathise a tad with her rage because it’s very annoying having to walk around following bloody arrows.

All Hail the Ikea method!

No.

However, when she started to smash all the wine bottles on the floor of the shop I lost all sympathy. What an absolute sinful waste of quality merchandise.  The chick is clearly off her rocker. 

Talking of Harpies…

I have come across the most sinister bird on the planet. No, not me, a real bird…

Can you imagine meeting this thing on a jolly jaunt out?

I am ambivalent towards the Harpy Eagle but I think it should replace Big Bird on Sesame Street so kids can develop a bit of character. I should get one as a pet and tie it to my front railings where it can peer menacingly at passers-by from the bushes.

Talking of Greenery…

I have a plant that is trying to escape. No matter how I try and reposition it, the thing wants to get out of its pot.  Is this just a simple case of social distancing or should I be calling this plant Audrey the 3rd?  It is 2020… anything could happen.

And on the subject of sentient plants (and me being at the garden centre with my mum), I happened to notice something remarkable as I was leaving.  

Maybe I am the only person to spot this because plants are trying to tell me something, like it’s time for me to be ready to guard the Galaxy?  

Because people, I found Groot…

 

Start Whining and Then Wining!

September 9, 2020 4:39pm Published by Jules Smith in Whimsy On A Wednesday 14 Comments

 

Satirical Snapshots Bringing You Whimsy On A Wednesday!

Don’t you get sick to death of things not running smoothly?  Oh looky-do, here we go again with me having to follow up / sort out / get some control back of a situation or service that you paid good money for so you don’t have to worry.  And then you find yourself in the midst of the chaos caused by the incompetent ones wondering how they even got out of bed that morning let alone have a bloody job.

I’ve had a lot of that recently. 

What a colossal pain in the arse.

Uh-Oh – It Looks Like Complain!

But, here’s what happens when you keep doing the same thing over and over again – you get good at it. I have now made complaining an art form. OK, so it’s made my blood pressure go up; it’s made me a snarkier and more impatient individual and it has given me further trust issues, but I am finally good at something.

It all came to a head with the bank. 

Bankers. The lot of ‘em

I have a particular issue with banks because they are vicious control freaks that make money from your money and are very sociopathic when it comes to relationships. Add that to the COVID mix and you get all that plus passive-aggressive dismissal. 

During the global virus, I needed two pieces of paperwork from the bank, one for my accountant and one for my solicitor. This paperwork should be readily available to me but never is. Hours I’ve spent being pushed from one department to the other because nobody knows their arse from their elbow.  

Add a pandemic and nobody in the bank can:

  1. *talk to you
  2. *answer the phone
  3. *respond to emails

Total ineptitude. 

If At First You Don’t Succeed…Kick Off

So, off I went with mask and temper to confront someone.

I got girls on desks telling me to:

  1. *find someone to talk to
  2. *try calling
  3. *try emailing

I well and truly properly kicked off until someone gave me the Head Honcho’s e-mail. 

I wrote to him and his superiors and the Ombudsman. I penned the most beautifully obnoxious rant. I should have won a Nobel Prize for trashing bankers

In Vino Veritas

All of a sudden and straight away I had a business advisor all of my own bending like a pretzel to my every whim. 

And then I got a little note that said, “Moving forward we’d like to send you a hamper of wine for your inconvenience.”

And they did!

I got so drunk I forgot to get my paperwork! 

 

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