Off My Trolley!

December 6, 2018 4:39pm Published by Jules Smith in Whimsy On A Wednesday 20 Comments

Satirical Snapshots Bringing You Whimsy On A Wednesday!

A little later than usual…

I don’t know what’s going on but I think karma is toying with me.

I’m experiencing a bout of normality.  It happened right after being forced to buy an old biddy trolley.

I made a trip to the NEC in Birmingham with my friend to visit the BBC Good Food Show. This is an exhibition of gargantuan proportions and it very nearly killed me.  

Tartan Trolley in a hallway

My friend insisted that I purchase one of those trolleys that old women take shopping with them because that’s what hardened, show going professionals do. You need somewhere to stuff your swag. 

I have to admit I was slightly alarmed by this but eventually went to Argos (undercover) and bought a tartan (because it has to be tartan) biddy buggy. 

I aged drastically in one afternoon. 

A Liquid Lunch Be -GINS

It took two train rides to get there.  All carriages were packed with the great unwashed public raring to get their hands on some of the finest drinks and food that Blighty and its European enemies had to offer. It took miles to walk from the train to the exhibition hall; longer than it took me to climb the highest mountain in Vail, Colorado. I was knackered before I even got there.  

Fortuitously, we descended upon the many gin bars that were giving out samples of the latest GINious flavours: mince pie, moonshine, and pomegranate popper, all of which I found rather pretentious but took for medicinal purposes.  

This was followed by sample after sample of food being handed out by the many fodder stations.  There seemed to be rather a lot of cheese going on. Cheese and gin.  Or maybe it was cheese flavoured gin? I don’t remember.

The tight-fisted exhibitors managed to cut their samples into the smallest of pieces.  I even saw a man slice a single sausage into 16 bits before laying it out with a bunch of cocktail sticks.  

“Steady on there, mate. I’m on a diet “ 

I’m very particular about who I share my snacks with and am somewhat fearful of buffet style food and the greedy public that attends such a place dive right on in before it’s all gone. Cocktail sticks totally ignored because time is of the essence as they snatch at the goodies with their grubby little mitts. 

“Do you want a piece?” my friend asked.

“No, I bloody do not. That chatty little swine just put his filthy fingers all over it. Did you see the state of his nails? Gross.”

It comes to something when you have to say that the most generous sample givers were the Scots at the whisky bar.  Who’d have thought?  I had to stop them from giving me any more single malts because I was in danger of running people over with my swag carrying vehicle. 

I arrived back home at 9 pm beaten by public exhaustion to within an inch of my life. 

Possessed by Jinn and Tonic

I woke up the next day mysteriously semi-crippled like an old codger.  I glanced at my tartan trolley suspiciously.  Hmmm….

Christmas tree in a sitting room

No time for sitting down with a nice cup of tea because it was Christmas tree day.  Two of them in my house – east wing and west.  This took all day long and I was so tired that I started to hallucinate a little as I could hear angels singing in the distance. I then realised I’d left the ‘Choir of Kings College, Cambridge’ on a repetitive loop. 

Feeling staggeringly exhausted and aging by the minute, I checked in the mirror for grey hairs and missing teeth in case I’d been possessed by something nasty. My eyes were too tired to see anything which was probably a blessing in disguise.  I took myself off to bed and had a horrible dream about being stuck in a sanitarium with gin flavoured cheese.

The Dawning of A New Chapter

Has happened. Since buying a tartan biddy trolley I have accomplished so many things that one might suggest I have been blessed with the wisdom of the elders. My usual chaos management has been replaced with organised madness.  Trees are up.  All Christmas gifts are bought and wrapped including the creation of organic homemade side gifts.  International parcels have been parcelled and posted. I’ve even made my Christmas dinner butters, fed a homeless man and attended social festive events with the charm and grace of a royal princess. I feel so mature and normal I nearly considered a tweed skirt,  Barbour jacket, and sensible haircut. 

Curiously, since arriving into adulthood, I have been rewarded with external gratitude. This is a very new experience for me.

The first being a text from my phone provider offering to pay off the final 3 months of my mobile contract so I could have a pre-Christmas upgrade.  Visions of an iPhone XS danced in the remaining part of my childlike head. 

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch. Just rewarding you for your loyalty.”

Well, bloody hell! 

Nice.  Not gonna argue.  The very next day my beautiful gadget arrived.

iPhone XS on table

The most fun thing about this phone, which is not really a phone but a state of the art masterpiece, is that I can turn myself into a talking emoji.  I’ve already had so much fun responding to texts to friends with my digital talking head that I’m becoming a horrible nuisance. 

Oh how rapidly one reverts to type!

And then, another nice message arrived on my new gadget from the bank.  Yes, you read that right, 

“A Nice Message From The Bank” 

It said:

“Please go and collect your free bottle of Prosecco Rivamonte NV DOC from the wine merchants for being such an adorable customer.” 

To be honest, at this point, I thought I’d been hacked.  I took to my trusty car with my ready to fight attitude and grown-upness and sped off to the winery.  True to word my FREE bottle of fizz was waiting.  Oh, and a tenner off any further £30 spend – yeah,  that’s where they got me.  Weakness located. 

I arrived home with an assortment of lovely, top class fine wines (one free) at a marvelous discounted price and that’s when I went right off my tartan trolley, lost my sensibility and put my bewwwts back on!  

Phew…that was a close call.



The Wicker Deer

November 28, 2018 11:23am Published by Jules Smith in Whimsy On A Wednesday 17 Comments

Satirical Snapshots Bringing You Whimsy On A Wednesday!


Evil is waiting.



A Wicker reindeer

Right next door to me, cunningly disguised as a Wicker Man Reindeer.  As Pagan Celtic gods go, this is as ridiculous as it gets.

Fortunately, I have a solution.

BB Gun

However, I don’t think my BB’s are strong enough to take it down.  Not that I’m going to quit trying, but it might be a long haul.

However, that said, it’s my aim to have  it end up as some kind of version of this:

unicorn gin bottle is shop

Because you should never look a gift deer in the mouth.  How’s that for sacrifice?

That is all. 


Oh My God It’s Got A Vagina!

November 21, 2018 1:24pm Published by Jules Smith in Whimsy On A Wednesday 28 Comments

Satirical Snapshots Bringing You Whimsy On A Wednesday!

And, as openings go (excuse the pun) that’s the kind of headline that makes you want to read a post!  I’m not trying to be deliberately obtuse; not this time.  I actually heard a very interesting story with that line in it this weekend when I went on a trip to the right Royal Leamington Spa.  

But, before I tell you about that, let’s talk about food.

Eccles Cakes in a packet

These are the horrible cakes I forewarned you of in my last blog post.  I have since been inundated with them because my friends find it amusing to give me things I don’t like.  On that note, I would like to declare that I absolutely loathe Aston Martin’s, luxurious sunny holidays and handmade leather cowboy boots. And, if you’re wondering what I want for Christmas, please see below.

Fortunately, I have been suffering from a nasty stomach ache which left me eating nothing but soup for 5 days along with water and tea.  My God, the days were so loooong in my house that week. I don’t know how these health nuts do it but no solids or alcohol for that long sucks the personality right out of you.  However, I have been notified of a new kind of therapy that knocks meditation right out of the park…

Moo-ve Over Deepak Chopra

Cow Cuddling experience Advert

You’ve gotta take your hat off to the Americans for thinking of any which way in the world to make money out of idiots.  Over here you can walk into a field and hug one for free.  Or tip them up and try not to get a pellet in your arse if the farmer catches sight of you.  

Why on earth would anyone want to pay to hug a cow?  Get married or get a dog. 

Anyway, Talking of Numpties…

I caught myself some bait.  

Many years ago I used to play an online scrabble game. One of my dearest friends asked why I didn’t play it anymore and mentioned that it would be nice if I played with her.  Not wanting to disappoint my pal, I agreed.  

A few days later along came a rogue challenger requesting a game.  My instinct was to decline because we all know this is the reason I stopped playing chess with strangers.   However, having found a sense of calm from recent meditations and too much bloody soup, I decided to take a look.  The person had played a seven letter word that I’d never heard of which piqued my interest and inspired me to take up the challenge.  

NB:  Don’t get a stomach ache as it affects your logic.

Even though my guts were off I should have trusted them because Chatty McChatty started with the tosspot talk and re-lit the fuse within me that had been dampened by the soup.

And this is what he had to say…

It’s was so nice that how could I possibly refuse?

You guest it – my instincts were right on point!

Real engineers who play staggeringly good words in a scrabble game have never heard of a procrastinator.


San Fernado is like the Brigadoon to San Fernando.


Really?  They have unicorns at San Fernado zoo.  Men of America, take to your rifles and distinguish the beasts!

Whilst I am sorely tempted to reply with, “Does it have a big horn,” I don’t want to encourage anything that might cause me to regurgitate my soup, but, it’s going to be interesting to see where this goes.

These kind of manipulating, cheating, half-witted reprobates really piss me off and I feel it is my duty to torment them.  

Oh My God It’s Got A Vagina” is probably exactly what he’s thinking when he stalks female players online from his kindergarten in India/Nigeria/some dodgy flat in Peckham  cunningly disguised as the fictional San Fernado [sic]- and he’s probably never had a real girlfriend in his life despite being a real engineer with a fake name and a stolen FB profile.  Bell end. 

Anyway, now I’m back on form, I will get back to my initial point in reference to this blog post title. 

The story is about a young girl who decided to roast a chicken for the very first time.  Having never done this before she sought the help of an older, wiser woman on the telephone.  Once they were through the process of unwrapping it from its cellophane and getting it resting on a trivet of vegetables on a baking tray, she asked the woman what to do next. 

“Do you want to stuff it?’ the woman asked.

“I’ve heard that putting a lemon inside makes it tastes nice and I have a lemon!”  the girl enthused.

“OK, well, are it’s legs tied together?”


“Untie the string, open the legs of the bird and place the lemon just inside in the crevice,” said the woman.

A lot of noise was heard from the other end of the phone as the young girl faffed about with the string. Then there was a moment of shocked silence… followed by a shriek as she parted its legs and cried, “Oh My God It’s Got A Vagina!”

You’ve gotta be thankful for one-liners like that. 

And, on that note, please enjoy your Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow and put that sentence right out of your mind. 

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