A stinging satire on the everyday life of British author Jules Smith

Hair, There, And Somewhere

January 17, 2019 9:12pm Published by Jules Smith in Whimsy On A Wednesday 8 Comments

Satirical Snapshots Bringing You Whimsy On A Wednesday On A Thursday!

Because…

Yesterday I was in the hair salon for five hours.

FIVE. HOURS.

I could be halfway to America in that time.

I know I’ve got a fair amount of hair but that’s just ridiculous.

There was a point where I seemed to be laying at the basin for hours. I don’t remember how many times they washed my hair but it seemed somewhat excessive and they had to put the massage chair on 4 times because it ran through its cycle. Now, this might sound nice but not when laying down with all the pressure on your neck. It cuts off the blood supply. There were times when I nearly passed out. I don’t know, maybe I did and that’s why it took so bloody long.

“Have you booked a summer holiday?” This is hairdresser speak for I’ve got sod all else to chat about.

“No. But maybe I should because by the time I get out of here I’ll have missed the boat.!”

“I know. You’ve been here for ages!”

“You noticed! Those 5 inches of my tresses that have been cut off might have grown back by the time we’re done here and it’ll all have to be done again!”

“Ha ha ha!”

By the time I stood up I nearly had a seizure.

“I’ve forgotten how to walk.”

“It’s OK, I’m just going to take you over to this chair here…”

Please. NO. JUST. LET. ME. GO.

“I’ve just got to put this treatment on. It’s in two stages.”

Kill me.

“Can I please sit up.”

“No. It might sting your eyes.”

“So this fandabidozi treatment you’re putting on will make my hair like a curtain of golden glory but can also make me blind?”

“It’s very potent. It stays in your hair for up to 13 shampoos.”

“Good. Because I won’t be washing it again until June. Wait…It IS June…”

Extra- Tressestrial

I began to wonder if I was in a different part of space-time and had been captured by aliens. Maybe I thought I was at a hair salon, but in fact, had been taken away in one of the Chariots of the Gods. They say that when you think of something it happens, and lately I’ve spent far too much time listening to Erich Von Dëniken and waiting for aliens to return in a swanky spaceship to take me to Planet Party.

But this is no party.

And time does not speed here.

AT. ALL

Game of Thrones

Sat on one long enough so I should be the ruler of something.

Maybe I’m still caught in that programme I took part in on Netflix.

Bandersnatch. Where you choose your own adventure.

See, some bright spark thought I’d like this so off I went to see. It’s a short film where you can pick what happens next. This is so utterly stressful because I need to know what happens in every possible scenario. Ergo, the short film lasts for hours and hours if you’re me. Especially if, like me, you try and trick it by picking the same answers in case something different happens.

Perhaps I missed this part where the kid ends up in an alien salon fighting for his life to get out of the chair and out of the door to freedom.

Shave head – OR – stay in the salon

Shave it! PLEASE! I don’t care anymore.

And then…

“I’ve just got to leave that on for ten minutes…” Which is hairdresser speak for we’re not ready for you yet because you missed your blow-dry time slot. It was 3 hours ago. Now you have to wait until the other client is done.

“You know that sitting down kills you?” I said.

Purgatory?

Am I dead? Is this Hell’s Hairdressers?

It’s funny because just the other day someone told me it takes 20-30 seconds for your brain to cut off after you’ve died. So, that means you can still hear people for that long once you’ve been pronounced a gonner.

What a horrible thing to tell me. Which, I made quite clear to the teller.

Imagine that, though. There you are, dead, and all you can hear is crying (if you’re lucky) and wailing or, other things:

“Never liked her anyway…”

“Never mind, she’s gone now. Shall we have a pizza?”

I was very upset about this information. I have since informed many people that if they are at my side when I slip off the dish they must converse with me in a normal manner for at least 40 seconds so I ease out gently and don’t panic.

Otherwise, I’m coming back in my spaceship with guns.

All that said, I managed to escape the salon before midnight with very lovely hair despite terrible whiplash caused by basin brutality.

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Kakorrhaphiophobia

January 9, 2019 1:15pm Published by Jules Smith in Whimsy On A Wednesday 19 Comments

An American Street Sign

Satirical Snapshots Bringing You Whimsy On A Wednesday!

I’m in that New Year’s grip of fear of failure. I’ve only just ventured up the mountain but the summit is a long way off. It would be easier to turn around and sack it off but I’ve been good for a whole 8 days. Laughable to some, miraculous for me. I’m a creature of habit; bad ones. They’re way more fun. The meagre baby steps I’ve taken up the steep and waring peak of perfection are a great measure of success to me and fuelling the Jules Drive onward.

Talking of Steps…

steps made from wine bottlesles

These wine steps are my favourite and once I’ve mastered my SAS life challenge, I might install some in my abode. I met them at a wine tasting experience bought for me before Christmas when days were fun and I became a wine snob. However, I found out yesterday morning that I’m a long way off sommelier status.

I arrived promptly at the coffee house at 8 am. Getting out and into the big wide world on a crisp and chilly morning does wonders for the spirit. And way nicer when it’s not a gym day and you can sit pleasantly amongst the early risers without having to cycle around a digital version of Lake Tahoe trying desperately to keep your cucumber water down.

The warm, inviting aroma of extortionately priced coffee wafted through the air and the grinding from the coffee machines gave a sense that all was well; ready to fuel an industrious people before they set about their painstaking paper-pushing. I ordered a non-pretentious latte because healthy people ~~are stupid and drink chai~~ keep it simple and I sat down and noticed a spare newspaper available. What better than to exercise my brain with an early morning crossword before getting to the task of writing. I managed to complete the puzzle bar one four letter word for wine sediment where I couldn’t make dregs fit. Annoyingly, I had to look this up and found that it is known as “lees”.

Obviously, I never knew this because my wine snobbery is in its infancy and I don’t drink straight from the aged oak barrel.

On the drive back I tuned into BBC Radio 4 where they were discussing tomatoes. Apparently, one should not keep these juicy little reds in the fridge as I do because it stops the enzyme that gives them their delicious, off-the-vine taste.

I looked at the time on my car dash and realised that in the space of 49 minutes I’d learnt two highly important things and I still had another 14 hours to go before it was bedtime and I could sleep off the monotony.

Happiness and joy de vivre. When it’s gone, it’s gone.

Filled with all this astounding knowledge it might have been the perfect night to attend a pub quiz but I don’t think my resolve is yet strong enough to avoid in-your-face temptation. I’m easily led astray. They say it takes 21 days to get into new habits even though I feel as though I’ve already done a lifetime of poverty and obedience.

But Let’s Face Facts…

There are many other ways to spend time whilst waiting for your next bowl of homemade, life-giving, Jewish chicken soup.

Face masks. They come in many varieties: scrub, peel, boiling hot and mud. They are also highly effective at stopping you from opening your mouth to put something in it because you have to keep still. Also, opening the door to people like this scares the crap out of them, leaving me in peace, of an evening, to binge on Netflix, read my books and find interesting things to do with fruit.

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Arse Into Gear And Hands Full

January 2, 2019 6:41pm Published by Jules Smith in Whimsy On A Wednesday 14 Comments

Satirical Snapshots Bringing You Whimsy On A Wednesday!

Happy New Year to all my fabulous readers!

National Park And Pride

In the true spirit of change and resolution, I took myself off to the gym this morning and figured it must have been a while since I went because everything had changed: new-fangled machinery, high tech TV’s, everything in a different place, and so on. I halted on the spot like a deer in the headlights looking like one of those new people who roll up with their posh water bottle, shiny lycra clothes, and blinding-white trainers, even though I’ve been a member of this gym for years.

I finally figured out where the cross trainer was and hopped onto it pretending to figure out the playlist on my phone whilst surreptitiously looking at the new equipment and wondering how the sodding hell it worked.

“Touchscreen”, it said. Easy. Like an iPhone. I got this.

However, it wasn’t like an iPhone AT. All. And it kept asking me to enter my “Wellbeing” status for motivational help and tracking. I kept pressing buttons in the vain hope it would do something and I ended up cross-training my way around Yosemite Park. Yes. Indeed.

The arty-farty new equipment allows you to be visually stimulated as though you’re running through a beautiful area and there are many to choose from. Since I’ve always fancied a gander at this National Park I went for free this morning for 30 minutes which saved me £800 in flights. Tomorrow I’m going to India.

And then, shame upon shame. “Follow TV guidance” kept popping up on the screen. I looked around to see what was going on and when I realised, the whole of the packed to the rafters gym watched my heart rate spike to heart attack level. There, on the big TV on the wall, in front of all the psycho cardiopaths, were my details: speed – heart rate- challenges, goals and DESPERATE FAILINGS. I’m surprised it didn’t have warning lights and buzzers because it may as well have done, “This is what happens when you stay away from the gym and eat shit and drink gin.” Needless to say, I just lost 700 calories via humiliation and embarrassment.

A Bird On The Hand Is Worth A Few Gone To Mush

I received lots of lovely gifts for Christmas but there are two that made the whole event much more fun.

The family tradition is to sit around and open up presents one-by-one and “Ooh” and “Aghhh” at each other’s prizes. In my pile lay a present from my mother and on the label it said, “This is to be opened last.”

The time came. Everybody had finished and all that was left was for me to unwrap the mystery gift.

“Everybody pay attention and wait until you see this,” my mother said.

“Is it going to blow up?” I asked.

“No. Not yet.”

“Do I have to be careful?” I queried, as I tore into the box.

“No.”

Somebody else muttered something sarcastic to me, I don’t remember what exactly as I’m used to smart arses in my family.

“You’re going to regret saying that!” my mother warned.

And then, before I’d even seen what my gift was another family member uttered (in a low and fearful voice ) “OH. MY. GOD. If this is what I think it is then we’ve gotta ….RUN!!!!”

People upped and sped out of the living room like their lives depended on it, screaming advice to each other as they scarpered.

“QUICK! GET OUTSIDE BEFORE SHE COMES!”

“I CAN”T FIND MY SHOES! SAVE YOURSELF!”

You don’t expect to hear these fear-fuelled words leave people’s mouths as you open up your presents on Christmas Day. Unless, of course, you belong to my tribe and have been tormented by me for years.

As soon as I unwrapped the present I shrieked with delight and ran out of the room after my traumatised victims. One was behind a chair crying and begging me not to hurt them and the other had locked themselves outside in the cold and taken the key with them so I couldn’t get out.

Meet Bobble.

Now to everyone else, this is just a harmless hand puppet. To those who know me well, this is a terrible monster that had now, in their eyes, just come to life.

“Bobble” is a bird-type character that I invented with just my hand as the tool to bring laughter and fear into many peoples lives for a long time. And then he appeared in full body via a Christmas gift ready to scare the crap out of everyone. And Oh, how well that went!

I can’t tell you of my excitement. The power of the puppet master reigns.

Talking Of Hand Held Happiness…

My other gift is a gadget I spied on an American TV advert recently and wanted immediately. They have only just come out and I am the first person in my city to have one. Even the staff at Jessops camera shop didn’t have their stock item yet and so I let them play with mine. This made me the queen of nerd heaven.

The Osmo Pocket.

I LOVE IT.

And now, with both hands occupied all I can do is run my mouth. Again. So, I’ll leave you with this piece of wisdom: 2019 is the year of the pig. I don’t know what that means exactly but I think it means you can eat as much bacon as you want.

This year is looking good already.