Whimsy On A Wednesday
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From One Golden Clot To Another

June 20, 2018 2:27pm Published by Jules Smith in Whimsy On A Wednesday 15 Comments

Kane scoring against Tunisia

Satirical Snapshots Bringing You Whimsy On A Wednesday!

Basically, England have already won The World Cup.

Tunisia Got Kaned!  was my idea for the next day’s punny, sporting headline but nobody used it.  Why? I should be working for The Sun.

This young and fresh England squad have now convinced us that this will be the year that, “Football’s coming home” It’s written in the stars and after our victorious first game pub landlords across the land are rubbing their hands together in glee. 

England shirt detail

I’ve watched most of the games so far in the group stages and yet again got myself entrenched in the football euphoria!  This means shouting at the TV,  inventing new words for the biased dimwit of a referee and causing myself untold stress. I don’t know why I do it. Especially when I remember this…

How much I hate Ronaldo. 

What a tosser. 

I’m sorry but I can’t help myself.  I have an unhealthy and violent loathing for this man and it only worsened in the Rooney/ Ronaldo incident of 2006.  When he gave that arrogant little wink I very nearly punched him through my TV screen. 

And yes, I know he’s an exceptional footballer. No question. And yes, he’s a pretty boy if you like that sort of smug looking, pierced ears kinda thing. I don’t. I wouldn’t piss on him if he was on fire. 

He once said this: “People are envious of me because I’m rich, handsome and a great player.” Well, as narcissists go, he really takes the Ace card. 

The only moment of joy I have experienced connected to this arrogant man, (who I like to call Cris Ronald, takes the shine off him a bit, doesn’t it?) was when he unveiled the bust of himself that looked like he’d had a facial seizure. Boy, that must’ve stung.  Shame.  I loved it. 

Clearly, he needs a golden boot up his arse.  And I need therapy. 

Talking of Boots and Medical Aid…

I went out last night with my friend for a couple of orange flavoured gin and tonics because that sounded sophisticated and gin is in a frenzy in the UK at the moment for some reason.  And, we are sophisticated, so…

I kept poking at my leg because I’ve had this sharp, hot pain in my calf for a few days now.  I thought the gin might take it off but they put too much ice in it.  Shameful.  It just so happened I was out with someone connected to the medical profession. I’ve come to find that this is a colossal mistake because they scare you to death. 

“You want to get that looked at sharpish, it could be a blood clot.”

“Gee, thanks.”  

Well, I slept like a baby. Not.  I spent the whole night deliberately tossing and turning and doing those aeroplane exercises that they tell you to do on long-haul flights.  I’ve got pretty well-developed calves from my dancing days, (way better than Ronaldo’s) so I was able to continue this for hours until I got severe cramp. That didn’t help. 

Debbie Does Doctor

I got up early to ring the doctor and waited for 45 minutes on the phone. They have this new system in place where you can’t just make an appointment anymore.  You have to ring up on the day and if you get through quick enough you can have one.  If not, you have to ring back the next day and so on.  It’s like a free for all on Ryan Air.  

I was twelfth in the queue at 8 am. Annoying though this was, it gave me time to get my spiel on. You have to be mighty cunning to get past the receptionists because they think they’re doctors and make decisions on your life like an Emperor at a gladiatorial arena. 

I went straight in with the “I’ve been told by a medical professional that I could have a blood clot and I wouldn’t want you having that on your conscience, Debbie, if you don’t let me in.” 

Bingo. Early morning appointment, no questions.  Which only added to my fear.  Even Debbie knows I’m done for. 

Call Me Peggy

And what do my friends and family say to me when I tell them how worried I am?

“You’d be a nightmare if you have to have your leg amputated!”

Nice. Thanks for that.

“You’d make a great pirate though! Great at parties! You could throw your false leg at people!”

Hmm.. maybe I’d get a nasty parrot to peck your eyes out.

Rude. Just because I’m the sort of person that stands up for herself and doesn’t take prisoners and scored 0th percentile in the agreeableness test, doesn’t mean I’m not sensitive.

 I drove off to the doctors rather worried and begged God for mercy, “Look, I’m proper sorry for all the things I’ve done wrong and keep doing despite promising not to but, baby steps, ya know… and I really don’t want to have to have my leg amputated because I won’t be able to wear my cowboy bewwwts which will totally destroy me. How can I do the two-step with one leg? Oh, my days! Is it because I scorned Ronaldo? I’m sorry. Ok, that’s a lie. But I’ll try and be sorry about that. I won’t curse at him again. Not out loud anyway.”

Doctor, Doctor, Give Me The News…

I told the doc my worst fears.  She laughed.  Is it me?





Have you ever tried to have an acronyminal conversation with a doctor?  I can tell you that’s a first for me.  Anyway, so far so good.  I’m still here. There’s no visual evidence of a clot in my leg and she doesn’t know what it is.  If it gets worse, I go back and if it goes away? Phew, that’s what you call a golden goal. 


The Summer of 83

June 13, 2018 4:08pm Published by Jules Smith in Whimsy On A Wednesday 18 Comments

beer glasses clinking

Satirical Snapshots Bringing You Whimsy On A Wednesday!

Oh, looky do at you getting two blog posts in a week, ay, eh?!  I’m just all about the giving, me. Anyway, what I’d like to talk about today is ‘Pride before the fall’. Not that I would know anything about that sort of thing being so humble. 

Moving on…

Where’s the best place to find a bit of whimsy?  At a pub. Naturally.

A Braggart With Beer

Is always gonna fetch. 

Let’s take Billy, for example. Now Billy rolls up at the pub last weekend full of high spirits with his brother in tow. The sun was shining which means, in England, that beer is needed in plentiful supply. One has to keep up with the glory of the day by the force-feeding of liquid hops to maintain a cheery disposition.  We’re not used to it over here and it’s been sun-shining for nearly two months now.  Some people have been hospitalised with severe shock. It might be beer related too, I don’t know, but suffice it to say, England is aglow. 

The pair of them arrived having just been to a summer fete held at one of our many Stately Homes that were given up by those with olde money cos they couldn’t afford them. Now we hold fetes in their magnificent gardens in order to pay for upkeep, cos, nobody can afford them.  Still, what would be England without our Downton Abbey’s? So we conform and pay through the nose to enter these estates and behave like pretentious oiks.  Unfortunately, what with it being a proper nice day, again, the local food vans are starting to run out of pasties because everyone keeps going out.  I’m telling ya, if this nice weather carries on you’re going to end up with beer laden, hungry Brits going on a meltdown. Nobody has predicted it yet but this could be the start of the next revolution. 

Raffling Feathers

At this summer event, there was a raffle to win a wheelbarrow stocked with 30 bottles of spirits. Good call by the marketing team on that one! Boaters off, feet up and light a cigar, old chap. 

“Roll up, Roll up, buy too much beer then chuck it all up! Tickets 50 pence each or three for £2.00!”

 Yes, we do still gloat about our education system being one of the best because we are deluded like that.

Billy had bought himself a ticket and began to tell everyone in the pub what the outcome would be.

“Number 83, yep, number 83, that’s the winner. I’m tellin’ ya. I’m so lucky it’s ridiculous.  I’ve won all sorts me,” he told the fellow punters. 

He began to list the all the things he’d won in his lifetime.  Everybody stopped listening after the first three but let him keep talking because someone had to drown out the puke-inducing tone of Justin Bieber on the jukebox. Rock and a hard place. Thankfully, nobody found out who dared to put “that Canadian twat” (commonplace term of endearment over here) on which is a relief because they would have been made into next weeks pasties. 

“I’m not joking. I bet you any money I win that raffle. Give it an hour and they’ll be ringing up saying it’s mine,” Billy repeated. 

It doesn’t take very long for people to get irritated by others in this country. Just in case you were ever thinking of coming here on holiday it’s worth making note of that. 

Bragging Billy crossed the patience threshold. 

Winner Takes It All

Turns out that the phone number Billy put on the back of his ticket was his brother’s number cos he’d lost his phone when chucking it at some little skank trying to nick his car tyres the week before and it dropped down a drain.  But that doesn’t matter, cos Billy is lucky.  He’d mentioned it a few times now. 

The pub landlord, who’d about had his fill with Billy and his raffle ticket, takes his brother to one side and reveals his cunning plan.  

“Give me your phone number and I’ll ring up and pretend that he’s won the raffle. You go along with it and tell the others.” 

About half an hour later, the landlord sneaks around the back and calls Billy’s brothers mobile”

“I don’t recognise that number,” says bro, looking at the screen. “I wonder who that is?”

“Quick. Answer it! I bet it’s the raffle people!”

“Hello? … Yes, that’s right…..Yes, we did attend the fair.  Yes, I have our tickets, hold on…..Number 80…..say again…..what? 83?”

“YES-YES-YAAAAAAAAS!” screams Billy holding up his fawn coloured number 83 ticket. 

“Yes. That’s my brother’s ticket. Yeah, we’ll be round to fetch it in the morning. Thanks!”

Billy was now upstanding doing his sexy pants dance. Hips gyrating, flies undone – the cage may be open but the beast is asleep- pints going everywhere on the table and his ticket waving in the air. 

“What did I tell ya! Who’s the daddy, who’s the daddy, number 83! Yeah! Who’s the daddy, who’s the daddy…HAHAHAHARRRRRRRRR!”

Normally he might have got a belting but people were too busy stifling their laughter with pints of Pedigree.

“Well, why have we got to wait until the morning?’ Billy suddenly asks. “The fair will still be open.  Let’s go and collect that barrow now! Come on you beauuuuuuty!“

“Nah, mate. We’ve both had too many to drive now. There’ll be loads of cops out with the event and all, let’s just fetch it in the morning.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re right.”

Cue the landlord…

“I tell you what, Billy. If you want I’ll give you a tenner each for those spirits you’ve won.”

“A tenner?  They’re worth way more than that!”

“Yes but that way you’ll have £300 instead of a load of spirits you likely won’t drink. I’ll be getting it cheaper than I can at the wholesalers and you’ll have a heap of cash that might see you better off!”

“Do you know what, yeah.  I’ll do that. Nice one!  I’m getting  300 quid and a new barrow! Woo-Hoo!  Drinks on me!”


No.  Nobody spoke up. They all collected their drinks and raised a toast to Billy who was now over £40 light and still none the wiser that he hadn’t won the raffle. 

The next day’s fall must have been quite something. Cheers!

What A Carry On!

June 6, 2018 9:29pm Published by Jules Smith in Whimsy On A Wednesday 20 Comments

Girl playing with necklace

Satirical Snapshots Bringing You Whimsy On A Wednesday!

Which, as it happens will mostly be in picture format.  This is also known as cheating the written word but I’ve been doing so much digital talking that I’ve run out of slick chat. I know, I never thought that day would come either but there we have it. 

Find Your Shine

sky at dusk

I honestly think mine has shone and gone.  Even when I went outside to look for it, there it was cowering behind a cloud.  However, still wanting to be a shining example to the world, I decided to try and organise my time better by cutting out the unnecessary stuff. Like food shopping.

 For a start, I can’t be doing with it at the best of times because it’s such a lengthy ordeal. I get sidetracked by offers, wound up by people, and usually end up coming back with a lot of things that don’t go together like tuna fish and hot chocolate.

Fail to plan – Plan to fail.  There’s always some numpty that comes up with that saying when you tell my kind of life stories.  Sorry, pal, but I’m only anally retentive about how my margarita is made. 

As it happens, I was about to send a friend some food from England to America. Yes, you read that right, no need to rub your eyes or make a call to Specsavers.  Some people recognise the nuance in Fine British Fodder. 

What A Load of Bull

Bull in field with nose ring

I had to walk past this beast today and let me tell you I was quaking in my bewwwts. That fence did not look anything like strong enough to hold this fella back. I’ve been to the rodeo and even qualified clowns get their arses butted behind the bars.  BARS. Not thin pieces of wire!  And when the flash went off on my camera because my bloody shine had gone, he was none too happy. I’m not a fan of cattle unless it’s in a brioche roll. 

Anyway, back to food and no bull. I’m seriously not kidding about an American wanting British cuisine.  However, this particular lady requested a couple of things that were quite difficult to locate.  So much so that I went to every supermarket I know of including one called Tesco EXTRA which is basically so big it’s actually a country.  FAIL.

Those who know me well are aware that I don’t like to lose a challenge. Especially when I’ve been asked by a lovely Merrrican to deliver the goods.  I have street cred to maintain. Even one of my friends bought me a gift the other day delivered with the words, “I saw this and just had to buy it for you! Aromatic, spicy and devilishly tantalising.” 

a tasty sauce

That’s right.  They’ve even named a SAUCE after me. This is the kind of constant pressure I’m under.  I was explaining this to a guy from the British Army the other day and how I couldn’t possibly join up because I’d turn the whole military thing into a ridiculous competition and probably kill myself trying. Until I saw this ammo…

Big ammunition and JuJu boots

I have to say, I had second thoughts. Obviously, I couldn’t hang that from my boots but I did ask if I could take it home as a garden ornament.  Along with a tank.  Maybe even one of those little helicopters as that’d make travelling to supermarkets much easier.

And that’s when I had the time-saving epiphany.

If Muhammad Won’t Go To The Mountain…

Why am I going shopping when La shop can come to me?!  There’s this thing called Ocado that will find whatever you want (allegedly) and bring it to your door.  Brilliant.  They can find the missing goods whilst I carry on with other important tasks.  I went home and got online.  Thirty percent off your first order!  Cracking! Starting to like this.  Type in the first missing item….Hey Presto!  

Four hours later when I’d eventually reached the must spend of £40 and doubled it by buying too much tuna and hot chocolate, I chose a time for my groceries to be delivered.  

The next day I received a rather startling email.  Your delivery driver “Lewis” will arrive in ten minutes in a raspberry van.  Oh yeah?  Pfffft! Whats that all about then? 

True to word, a raspberry van pulled onto my drive and a little chap knocked on my door. I put my pen in my mouth, grabbed my list and went to greet the deliverer.  Bless him, he was only about twelve. 

“Nice raspberry van you got there, kiddo,” I smiled.

“Oh, uh, yes.  Um, I’m Lewis and I’ve brought your shopping.  I’m pleased to say that there are no missing items.”

“Bloody good job, Lewis, because I can’t tell you how long I’ve been looking for that Balymole sauce. I wouldn’t want you letting me down on my first go at this malarkey.”

“Oh, is this your first time shopping with Ocado?”

“Yes, Lewis. I’m a complete virgin,” I said as I sucked on my plastic biro. 

Look, don’t blame me.  If someone’s going to fall right into the trap of a real-life ‘Carry On’ movie then who am I to stop them? 

Lewis tried in vain not to stutter as he explained how the produce had been packed lest I got confused about what went in the fridge, pantry or freezer and then made a swift exit.  I must say, he had a lovely flush to his cheeks. 

But so did I.

The frikkin’ pen I’d been sucking had leaked all down one side of my face. 

Personally, I think I did Lewis a favour cos he’ll either man up or go and get a better job in accounting. 

Everything always works out alright in the end.  I know this as I saw it on the steps to the cocktail bar. 

steps with words



May 30, 2018 4:45pm Published by Jules Smith in Whimsy On A Wednesday 20 Comments

Frothy latte in mug

Satirical Snapshots Bringing You Whimsy On Wednesday!

As you can see above, I made myself a proper latte from the resident coffee machine and look what I got.  What do you see?  I know what I saw and promptly told everyone, “That looks like a great big pair of hanging…”  Anyway, maybe it’s just the way I look at things but that just about sums it up on a wet, Wednesday morning.

Talking of wet….

Water Difference a Drink Makes

I hate water.  I’m just not one of these people that can drink 8 pints of water a day when I can have vanilla flavoured coffee or a nice cup of tea.  To me, it’s just as alien as those kind of people that get up at 6 am every day of the week and go on a 5-mile run.  No.  

However,  what with my recent study on water (thanks to Gaia TV) and it frightening the crap out of me, I decided to give it another shot.  I figured that if I livened it up a bit I might be able to manage a couple of glasses and then there will be no stopping me with my boundless, water fuelled energy.  Just what everyone wants!

The Magic Wand

There’s a lot you can do with a cucumber and a bit of imagination.


Once, when grocery shopping with a friend, I noticed an unusually large and oddly shaped cucumber. I picked it up and wielding it ferociously in my hand, turned and yelled loudly,  “A- HAAAAAAA!” to my pal behind me. Unfortunately,  my friend had moved on and instead stood a trembling old lady clasping her chest.  I had to apologise for ages and try not to get barred from the Co-Op.

Anyway, as it happens, I recently read a piece on the benefits of cucumus satisvus which was quite enlightening.

They contain every vitamin you need for the day.

They can stop your bathroom mirror fogging up.

They can stop slugs and snails coming into your garden but not drones. 

If you rub them on wrinkles and cellulite it’s like an instant photoshop fix.

Eat it before bed? Wake up like Snow White.

Shiny shoes? Cucumber.

The list is endless.

It’s All Thanks To Godzilla

Uromastyx dinner

Because I make Kevin such tantalising dinners, it just so happened that I had a cucumber or two in stock and a readily available, recently planted, herb garden.


I know that it is quite astonishing that I am actually coming off as a sensible, well-meaning and practical person here.  I have my moments. 

How fortuitous that I was in the position to turn my water into life-giving, living liquid salad! I chucked a bit of cumber in and a bit of mint cos, well, I had some. 

cucumber water in glass jar

It’s Not All About the Length 

I recently found the oddest spoon in one of my kitchen drawers.  I don’t know how it got there or what it’s for but when I found out what it did I started taking it out with me to restaurants to annoy people.  In fact, now I think about it, this is probably why I bought it in the first place.

spoon on chopping board

Right now this looks like a normal spoon but you’d be severely mistaken.

This cunning little cutlerian is  SPOONUS TELESCOPICUS!

Very long handled spoon

Whip it out, steal the adjacent table’s pudding, whip it back in like Inspector Gadget and carry on like nothing ever happened!

Or, use it to stir your mighty jar of elixir. I knew it had its uses.

Water With Words

Not only should you filter, freeze and add vitality to your water but you might remember me saying that VSWS (very special water scientists) have proven that the structure of water changes if you write certain words on its container. 

Oh, how the written word has power!

I have subconsciously been aware of this for many years.  Once upon a time, during a trip to Valencia to visit my friend who taught English out there, we got hideously sidetracked, spent all night at a discotheca Española and were subject to far too many cut-price Sangria’s.  The very next day I lay on a sunbed waiting to die. A couple of Belgian guys we’d made friends with walked past and asked me if I was OK.

“Ughhhh…mmm.” This was all I could manage without vomiting.

“You would like some water?,” one said in his sing-songy Belgian accent.


“You want it plain or you want water with music?”

Who knew Belgians could be so verbally romantic.  Water with music?  What is this? you may ask. Fizzy water, that’s what. But ever since that frightful day I have always referred to sparkling as “Water With Music” because I thought that was fabulous!  And look what happened?  I lived to tell the tale. Like I said, words have power.

So, I got a Sharpie and wrote key words on my container full of water with salady notes in order to enhance its structure.

words on container of water for health

I even went a step further and found a nearby trinket which I put on top.

happy stone

And then I drank the magic within.

I waited all day to write my Whimsy on a wet Wednesday so I could bring you the results and am delighted to tell you that I have been uncharacteristically pleasant all day long. 

I know.


You couldn’t make it up.


Party Smarty Pants

May 16, 2018 1:07pm Published by Jules Smith in Whimsy On A Wednesday 29 Comments

Satirical Snapshots bringing You Whimsy On A Wednesday!

Whimsy?  What is this?  Where did it go? 

I’ve been stuck inside from dawn to dusk working FOR-EV-ER.  All work and no play makes Jules a dull girl.  

This needs to be rectified with haste.

Lippy and Loose

However, I did get invited to a party last Saturday night.  It could be said that I was a little hyperactive because I hadn’t been out for ages and it was a revelation to blow dry my hair, fall in love with the art of perfect lipstick application and wear high heels again. 

I was met at the door with a glass of bubbly that never, ever seemed to empty as the night wore on. Meeting new people is always fun and fascinating for me if not a little terrifying for them. 


I was asked to bring food to the event so being an honorary Texan I decided to enlighten the British partygoers by making Cowboy Beans and Seven Layer Dip.  

British people don’t seem to understand these things.  If it’s not a trifle, a sarnie or a beetroot salad, they get a bit anxious.

“Is anyone eating these cowboy beans or what?”  I demanded in my ‘loaded with bubbly’ personality. 

“Oh, I wondered what they were!  What are cowboy beans?”

“The future of beans. Period.  A taste sensation and you need to eat some NOW.” 

“Yes, of course.  Yum!”

“And what about this seven layer dip?  Come on! Get stuck in!”

“Oh, I thought it was cold lasagne so I didn’t try it.”

“What a bunch of Fysi- Fsyik- Fysigunkuses…Fysigunki?  Whatevs. Pass me my drink…”

It Isn’t Over Yet

Despite being introduced to lots of fun people, I am dreadful at remembering names unless you’ve made an outlandish impression on me.  Instead, I refer to people as, “That guy in the checked shirt that looks at everyone’s boobs,” or “That chick with the massive necklace on, ya know, if she falls into the river she’s gonna drown,” or “ That really pretty girl that sounds like she’s swallowed a helium balloon,” and so on. 

Some people who came to the party brought along a Swedish couple that had come to visit them. I’ve always like a bit of Swede.  I find them quite interesting because they’re always well dressed in a very plain and basic way: understated quality. This might make you pass them over for someone more flamboyant but don’t judge a book by its cover. The Swedes I’ve interacted with in the past are usually very dry and witty. 

“Ooh, foreigners!  I’ve always fancied going to Sweden.  I might ask them if it’s true that it’s the rape capital of the world.”

“You CAN”T ask them that, Jules, that is NOT party conversation?”

*? ? ?  Can someone please enlighten me as to what party conversation is? *

Anyway, the Swedish guy came over to be introduced and I stuck out my hand in that ‘Oh so British way because it’s too soon for hugs’ and told him my name.

“Juliette,” I said. 

“Yet,” he replied.

“No. Juliette,” I repeated.

“Yet,” he insisted.

I tried not to roll my eyes in frustration, I really did.

“JU – LEE- YET,”  I accentuated like I was talking to a toddler.

“Yes, I understand,” he continued. “MY name is YET!”




This made me snigger for at least 5 hours.

“So, Yet,” I replied.  “It’s obviously meant to be that we met because I’m never going to forget your name now, am I?  Now then, let’s have a chat about whether you’ve ever been abused without your consent. With that lovely cabled jumper you’re wearing, I wouldn’t be surprised….” 

And contrary to what people think about my inappropriate interaction, I’ve even been invited back to future dinner parties and all sorts.  Some people like weird. 

JS – Party Etiquette Central.

An Unfrogettable Week

May 2, 2018 3:21pm Published by Jules Smith in Whimsy On A Wednesday 33 Comments

doc martens in rain

Satirical Snapshots Bringing You Whimsy On A Wednesday!

They say that when a man talks about the weather he is bored with life.  Well, since I’m a woman it doesn’t count and when you live in England, one tends to get bored with the downpours. 

If it rains anymore I think I might cry.  I’m surprised the population of this country hasn’t halved due to depression. The only upshot of this is that I have become a master at taking photographs in the rain.  Who knows, maybe this is my life’s mission and I never realised; turning atrocious weather into an art form. 

Apparently sunshine is coming but I find myself having one-way sarcastic banter with the weather forecasters on TV.  It’s a shame because I really used to like Carol Kirkwood from the BBC.  That’s another friend gone. 

Talking of friends…

uromastyx in tank

Kevin the new Godzilla has to be kept at a nice 40 C in order to be all lizardy and healthy. On the downside, that is costing me money since it’s still winter here but on the upside I spend a fair amount of time with him as it’s the warmest room in the house. T-shirt weather in Kev’s pad.  I find it fascinating that he lives in one of the wettest countries and yet is not allowed to have any water. He can only get hydration from his leafy greens.

Talking of water…

I realised that shutting myself in a room with a spiny tail lizard, despite its exotic advantages, was making me become less socialised than usual and it was time to don the raincoat, put up the brolly and venture outside.  So, I went to the reptilian centre at the university.  I forget what for because I became utterly distracted and transfixed by Gertrude.

African clawed frog

This is she.  It doesn’t look real, does it? Gertrude is an African clawed frog. She didn’t flinch.  Not once.  I know this because I stood staring at this awkward amphibian suspended in water for a good length of time.  Long enough to forget what the bloody hell I was doing.  Gertrude has powers.  Look into her eyes and you will find that all of life’s answers will be revealed to you.

The future is froggy.

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