Whimsy On A Wednesday
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Walking in a Whiskey Wonderland

December 12, 2018 8:02am Published by Jules Smith in Whimsy On A Wednesday 1 Comment


Satirical Snapshots Bringing You Whimsy On A Wednesday!

And this week I have been challenged by my friend, Anniesu of Runswick, to get all of the obsolete words pictured above into my next few blog posts.  I have decided to go one better and put them all into one post in my Christmas story below. How Obsoletely Fabulous!  Enjoy!

Walking in a Whiskey Wonderland


Some festive advice for the revellers that be,
Take care of imbibing when the hours are wee,
For what tends to happen when you get merry pissed,
Is to find you’re an insufferable aeolist.

Yestreen as I sat near the fire and the tree,
A Christmassy fever came right over me,
Perhaps ‘twas the whiskey being rather first rate,
That put me in such a potvaliant state.

Oh, what a marvellous idea came a knocking,
That I thought t’would be fun to go out late night shopping,
Whilst the Great British public lay far and asleep,
I’d get me some pressies and food nice to eat.

Awhile and a bit I arrived at the store,
And ungraciously slid ‘tween automatic doors,
And all and at once was aware of my folly,
I’d forgotten to bring a pound for the trolley.

I looked round about for some friendly assistance,
To find not a human soul in existence,
Instead pranced some elves and toys on the floor,
And unicorns trotting down aisle 24

Before I could turn and make my escape,
A proper set- to began to take shape,
I found myself witness to hollers and cries,
And a food fight involving some flying mince pies!

I ran down the shoppe past the dairy and spuds,
And tried to take cover near great suet puds,
When all of a sudden I had quite a fright,
For a bounder appeared in smugglers so tight! 

Oh! What a bawcock! So dandy and slick,
Who went by the name of Sir Spotted Dick,
But before I could give him a right Yuletide snog,
The witch stacking shelves turned him into a frog!

The amphibian through the air did spanghew,
And he ended up squished on a Tiramisu,
I looked at the witchety-witch quite askance,
And cried, “Why did you kill my hero in pants?!”

“That blatteroon and despicable cad?
He’s the worst flipping boyfriend that I’ve ever had!,
You should be thankful I’ve done you a favour,
And saved you from a terrible known poodlefaker!”

“Everyone knows when you go late night shopping,
You only end up with tat in your stocking,
So my gift to you is to send you back home”,
And with a lift of her wand cracked it right on my dome.

The next I remember I woke rather late,
And to my surprise when I checked the date,
It was overmorrow and I’d missed a day,
I leapt from my bed to downstairs right away.

And then in my head and most uncontrolled,
Visions of a story began to unfold,
A shopping experience quite mad and surreal,
Was it all just a dream or something quite real?

But once in the kitchen I spied my old mate,
Sat proud on the counter in full apricate,
As the low winter sun shone through on his form, 
I regarded my menacing playmate with scorn.

My Achilles heel and anagapesis,
Who plays on my lips with sweet golden kisses,
You satanic fiend, I won’t be your whore!
Jack Daniels I do not love you anymore!

So please let this tale be a serious reminder,
Think twice before going on a one- to-one blinder,
Or you could be stuck somewhere ‘tween true fact and fiction,
Which brings this here ode to full satisdiction.

~Jules~ 2018

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. 

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.




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