A Word Of Not So Serious Warning

On April 1st, which is April Fool's Day here in the UK, this blog reopens for business as I rejoin the virtual world in the April A to Z blogging challenge.

So whilst you are in lockdown, gnashing your teeth on the last of your dried cream crackers and wiping your arse on the pages of Fifty Shades of Grey, you can join me here on The Witty Ways of a Wayward Woman where I shall be providing my own unique view on the world as I see it. We've got a lot to talk about.

As usual, there will be no rhyme or reason to any of the subject matters I will tackle. It will be whatever pops into my mind on the day. And if I'm bored and my brain is befuddled, I will be posting pictures of hunky men in their underpants.

So nothing to lose then by dropping by if you're a woman. If you're a man, brace yourself it could be a bumpy ride.

And if there's anyone who wants to throw a topic into the brewing pot now. Drop me a line below.

L is for Luck

Do you believe in luck?

I'm not sure. Maybe we make our own luck? In the writing world, I often hear writers say that the harder you work the more luck you create. I kinda agree with that statement as when you work hard you invariably create more chances for success or "luck" to come your way. If you sit still and wait for it, rarely does it come your way.

However, then there's just plain spooky luck or, in my case, bad luck which isn't attached to any work ethic.

For example, this true recent story of something that happened to me...

I had finished an evening shift before Christmas and left for home in my car. It was very dark and the visibility was getting poorer due to a fog descending over the countryside. About half my journey is on a fast 60mph road and about half is cross-country. So I'm driving along the 60mph zone at a relatively slow pace due to the descending fog when suddenly cars coming in the opposite direction start flashing me. I am confused for a moment or two until I realise that something is wrong my lights. I play around with various lights switching them on and off and I come to the realisation that, since the previous night when I drove home, not one but both my headlights have blown - probably within a few minutes of each other.

How unlucky can you be? I have to drive home late on a dark winter's night in a heavy fog with only my sidelights and fog lights working....

At this point, I have to toss up whether it's safer to turn off earlier onto the country lanes where it is always foggier due to pits and falls of the countryside or risk carrying on my journey on the fast road which has a lot more traffic. I decide there's a greater risk of an accident on the fast road which is very narrow and where some jerks will travel the full 60mph even in poor visibility.

So I leave the main road as I reckon I have a better chance of getting home safely.

The fog though on the country roads is much worse than I expected and I soon begin to curse that I did not stay on the fast road where at least I might have been able to follow the rear lights of the car in front. As I crawl along the fog gets thicker and the visibility poorer until I am leaning forward in my seat straining to see the curves of the country roads ahead. I am probably driving at about 15 miles an hour. 

Then, a very short distance ahead, I notice an even thicker patch of fog on my side of the road. I can't see through it at all.  Is there something there I ask myself? A ghost perhaps? 

I decide to slow down to almost a standstill and as I get closer I see...

a white cow.

I am gobsmacked. I've seen a lot of cows in my life. But you don't see many almost entirely white cows. And what, statistically, are the chances of me coming across a white cow, in a dense fog, very late at night, on the same night that my both my headlights have blown?

Hmm.

Okay, son, let's stand here a little longer while the fog comes down. Then we'll make a
a break for it. Follow my ass to the main road and then we'll leg it to freedom. Watch out for any cars though, I heard there's some crazy bitch who drives like maniac some nights. Apparently, Ferdie Fox nearly bought it the other night when she did a wheel spin on Nutter's Bend.

So anyway, I slowed down to almost a complete standstill and drove around the cow as it trundled down the road. And a long while later I got home safely.

It's a spooky story, isn't it? There a lot of bad luck in that story but - on the other hand maybe it was good luck I got home alive on what was a pretty treacherous journey.

Hmm. I'm thinking now maybe it wasn't an ordinary cow. Maybe it was a ghostly guardian cow saving me from some other hazard.

Who knows? Luck, chance, fate. They're all strange phenomena. Do you believe in them?

G is for Glasses

Tihs posst waaaaaaas going tto be aboooutttt "gulags  "  so i loook bra iny as I''m worrird peopke mifgt thimk I'm stipid/

Bit i can@T  finnd  my asses.

GLLASSES

('m hopping I wil l fiiiid theeeeeM by tomotoe/

TOMMORROE

Leavvvvvw ideas for H pleass/

fetting old is shhit/

F is for Fantasies

This is going to be one of my rare intimate posts. This is a post where you discover something about me and I get to, hopefully, discover something about you! So don't forget to leave me one of your fantasies in the comments.

Okay so here are my top twenty fantasies:

1. I win the ManBooker prize.

2.I win the Nobel prize for literature.

3. I win the Nobel Prize for literature and the ManBooker prize in the same year - for different books. (I've always been ambitious.)

4. I bump into Tom Cruise at Harrods and say "Oh I am so sorry.... Oh you look familiar....Now don't tell me.... you're... your'e... Justin Bieber."

5. Our Prime Minister, Mrs May, invites me to be the Minister for Literature. I decline because I am too busy on the international book circuit talking about my Nobel prize for literature and my ManBooker Prize. (Awarded in the same year.)

6. I go onto the Daily Mail Website and the headline reads:

Kim Kardashian's arse explodes.

Large crater appears on Hollywood Walk of Fame.

And underneath the headlines are 952 close-up photographs. And a video.

7. I wake up one morning and I have lost 4 stone.

8. I wake up one morning, turn on my side and there is a (youthful) man there who looks like a Roman God with a lithe body and muscular torso. I say:

"Do you have a twin brother? We could have a threesome."

9. I win 70 million on the lottery - on the same day as I win the ManBooker prize and the Nobel Prize for literature.

10. I never get caught for speeding. 

11. I never get caught for speeding and driving irresponsibly whilst eating a bar of Cadbury's fruit and nut chocolate.

12. I bump into George Clooney in Harrods. I say... " Oh you look familiar. I'm sure I know you from somewhere....you're.. you're... Donald Trump!"

13. Her Majesty makes me a Dame for services to Literature. I graciously accept.

14. I wake up one morning and discover a horse's head on my pillow. Luckily, its made of chocolate so I stay in bed all day eating it.

15. I discover a miracle cure for facial hair.

16. I write a kick-ass film script. I am asked to help audition the lead roles. Jason Statham comes into the audition room and I say "So Jason, what can you do for me?" He says "Anything you like. I love this script and I really want this role." I say "I'm in room 52 at the Ritz. No need to knock."

17. I'm in the foyer of the Ritz and bump into Gerard Butler. He says; " I've heard you've written a kick-ass film script that would be perfect for me. Is there any chance I could audition for it?" I say "Can you come to my room after 10pm? I have a late night appointment with ...my accountant."

18. I wake up one morning and go over to the Daily Mail website and the headline reads:

Kanye West airlifted to Hospital.

Enormous sinkhole appears at Kardashian's mansion. Kim Kardashian still missing.

19. God has a sense of humour.

20. I meet a very wealthy senile old man with 7 younger brothers.

*******

By the way, you can pick up my short story for children and adults called Fantasia free HERE on Amazon kindle for the next five days. If you enjoy it please write a review!

E is for Eggplant, European Union and Equestrian

So I've had a couple of suggestions from my writer friend Derrick LoRusso for today's E post. He recommended I write about the words "equestrian" or the "European Union."

Which are both better suggestions than the only word I've come up today which is "eggplant."

I have no idea why "eggplant" keeps popping into my head. Now, no offense to my lovely American friends but calling a vegetable an eggplant which looks nothing like an egg is completely nuts. When I imagine an eggplant instead of looking like this:

It looks like this:

And when I imagine a European Union eggplant it looks like this:

As for "equestrian," Derrick told me I should write about it because us Brits are obsessed with horse riding, polo and fox hunting etc etc. However, I am going to have to come clean and admit that the only horses I am interested in are the ones I might pull in the sweepstake at work and win at a 100-1 on the Grand National. I know nothing about horses except they have four legs and leave large amounts of shit on the roads around here. Now I am sure there's a European law that forbids either too much or too little horse shit on the roads but I can't be bothered to look it up as it would probably take me about 10 of my remaining 25 years to wade through the legislation and, as you know from my previous post, I need that time to find a series of senile old men to marry and fleece out of their cash.

Anyway, we Brits are on our way out of the EU so we can do what we like with our horse shit in about 18 months. In the meantime, in honor of this upcoming momentous event, I've written one of my thought-provoking haikus. It goes like this:

Britian is gone. France is left
With Germany.
Grins

D is for...Divorce.

The only word beginning with D that has been cropping in my mind all day in order to write about tonight is "Divorce"- even though I'd already decided I wasn't going to write about it. So I'd been putting off writing all day, hoping some other word would come into my mind, so a few minutes ago, as it's almost the UK 12pm deadline, I decided to go to one of those random word generators for some much-needed inspiration. I requested ten words, beginning with D...and the second word that came up was... divorce.

Spooky.

The first word was directory.

Anybody want me to write about "directory"? I doubt it. Maybe some weird techy geek with a telephone directory fetish, but that's about it.

Okay, so I'm going to write about divorce, as that kind of spooky stuff is fate's way of telling me it's okay to let loose.

But I now only have...12 minutes before the deadline! Crap. I better make this quick.

So this is what I know about divorce:

Elizabeth Taylor got divorced 7 times.

Zsa Zsa Gabor got divorced 7 times

Mickey Rooney got divorced... 6 times, I think

Lana Turner got divorced 8 times.

So...you know I ain't doing so bad - only 1 in over thirty years!

Now let me see - I'm 52. I have approximately 25 years left in me. So, if I want to beat Lana Turner's record, I need to marry and divorce 8 more times in the next 25 years, assuming I don't peg it early. This means I need a new husband every... 25 divided by 8 = um um um..... nearly every three years.

Cripes. I better get a move on.

Okay, any of you folks out there who know any willing victims (preferably with large wallets), email me at Jane@easylay.com.

Okay, that's it. I've got 4 minutes to spellcheck.

Ps -  I'd prefer a toy boy, but if you know a rich oldie, make sure he's senile so I can line the next one up whilst he's kipping.

C is for Cream Crackered.

I was contemplating a few words over the course of the day for tonight's post including castration, conception and carol singers but it's already 10.30pm, I've done three hours of housework, two hours of commuting and a nine-hour working day so my brain is fried. I finally got home at 9.30pm, cooked tea for my youngest son and will be leaving the house at 11pm to pick up another from a nearby town so I think I'm just going to go for "cream crackered" instead.

If you've not heard of the expression"Cream crackered" it is a slang phrase here in the UK which means "knackered"- or to put it politely - very, very tired. Cockney rhyming slang is particularly prevalent in the East End of London although some expressions like Cream crackered have filtered into wider usage. Essentially, Cockney rhyming slang is a group of phrases used by Cockneys as expressions instead of using the correct word. 

Cockney rhyming slang is pretty simple to undertsand. Here are some simple famous examples:

Rosie lee means tea

Apples and pears means stairs

Trouble and strife means wife

Adam and Eve means believe

So you'll understand that now when I write I am cream crackered you know what I mean! 

Anyway, time to go and finish my parental duties for the day. And when I get home I'm going straight to bed!

B is for Brighton Cock

To fully appreciate this post it is best to read my A is for Anno Domini post. (Scroll down.)

Julie knew, before she had been in Brighton three hours, that he meant to corrupt her. With his smooth fingers, and manicured nails, his manner charming and sophisticated, anyone could tell he didn't belong -  belong to the early summer sun, the cool Whitsun wind off the sea, the normal crowd of dental hygienists who worked in Sunny Smiles Dental Practice. They came in by the front door every five minutes, swaying down Queen's Road after closing, teetering on their high heels. But he was different - for a start he was a man in a female-dominated role and, secondly, for a man of his obvious attractions, he'd slipped discreetly through the side door whereas other handsome men of his demeanor might come through the main entrance reveling in the attention of female admirers. Julie's pulse began to race a little as he took a seat not far from where she'd been sipping a vodka observing her co-workers with their fake teeth and false smiles.

The soundtrack to the local six o'clock news played on the large screen television in the corner of the bar, distracting Julie from the uncomfortable feeling that the male hygienist aroused in her. She swivelled her stool around to watch the news, ruing the fact that her secondment to Sunny Smiles was a total disaster. It was obvious from the gleeful glances of the other hygienists that they were still bitching about the fact she had tripped over in her new heels and inadvertently injured the left ear of a local celebrity with a dentists drill. Julie watched the television for a moment and then swivelled back to face the bar, draining the last of her vodka and sucking an enormous ice cube into her mouth.

"Wive me a wubble," said Julie despondnetly, her cheeks puffed out like a hamster.

"Pardon?"

"A Wubble!"

"Oh you mean "A double,"" grinned the barman.

"I've wad a shwit way," said Julie regretting sucking up the ice cube but not wanting to spit it out in front of the barman and the male hygienist who, worryingly, was now perched even closer.

"A shit day?"

"Wes...shwit, shwit, shwit!"

"That bad eh?"

Julie nodded and attempted to ignore the hygienist as the barman prepared her drink with two generous shots of vodka. However, ignoring her co-worker was very difficult when his smooth tanned skin, chocolate eyes and raven hair were attracting the attention of all the nearby women. Normally, Julie would be flattered by the attention of a man who could have his pick of any women in a bar but she sensed his interested in her was not romantic but something else - but she didn't quite know what and somehow she wasn't sure if she wanted to find out.

"You'll be out of a job tomorrow."

Julie's heart began to beat a little faster as the hygentist pushed a copy of the local paper in front of her.

"Fuck!" cried Julie, spurting her ice cube out all over the headline news which read Hygienist From Hell.

"I reckon it's an inside job," replied her co-worker with a rueful smile.

Julie took a swig of her replacementtt vodka and read the opening paragraph.

Julie Watson, 24, a hygienist on secondment to Sunny Smiles, the largest Dental Practice in Sussex, caused a drama at the Brighton branch today when she fell and injured the ear of local TV presenter Matt Coleridge, 54. According to an eye witness, Mr Coleridge left the practice with a bloody ear, his teeth uncapped and declaring he would sue the practice "for every fucking penny".

"Oh God, I don't want to lose my job," wailed Julie, forgetting her earlier apprehension. "All my life I wanted to be a dental hygienist. I wouldn't know what else to do!"

"You're either mad or drunk," said the male hygienist. "Nobody plans to be a dental hygenist."

Julie took another gulp of her vodka.

"She's drunk," said the barman. "That's her fourth double."

"I'm not shrunk!"

"You are," said the hygenist and the barman in unison.

Julie looked from the barman to the hygenist and back again.

"Did I just say I was shrunk?"

"Yes," they replied.

"Oh God I am shrunk. I'm shrunk AND wobless."

"She means "jobless"" said the barman, grinning again before sauntering off to serve a customer at the other end of the bar.

"You don't have to be jobless," said the hygienist. "You have a great body. There's lots of other things you can do."

"But I've always wanted to wook after weople's weeth," blubbed Julie.

"You're never going to work on teeth again, Julie. But I know something you could do," said the hygenist with a sly grin.

"Wot?" said Julie, tears running down her cheeks.

"The same as me."

"But wor a wental wygenist!" wailed Julie.

"But that's not all I am."

"Wot do you mean?" said Julie pulling a face of drunken confusion.

The hygenist smoothed Julie's hair back over her ear and leant in close to her.

"I'm also a porn star," he whispered. "And my stage name is The Brighton Cock."

********

To be continued at a later date.

With thanks to Graham Greene (who is probably turning in his grave right now!)

A is for Anno Domini

So it's the beginning of the A to Z challenge. It's going to be a challenging month for me as due to my usual lack of diligence I have not prepared anything. This will probably be exacerbated by the fact that this particular month I also intend to petition for divorce which is the reason for the change to my blog title from The Witty Ways of a Wayward Wife to The Witty Ways of a Wayward Woman and from Housewife Extraordinaire to Creative Extraordinaire. However, I'm not set on "Creative Extraordinaire" so if any you have any zany ideas feel free to fire away. In fact, my original blog title was the result of a competition I had on my blog after I discovered my original title Jane Turley, Diary of a Mad Housewife was being used by a woman to rant about her husband.

Hmm....

All things considered, we'd better not go down that avenue. Let's just say I am slightly more sympathetic to that blog writer than I was at the time! Even though some might consider me a fruitcake, I'm actually more responsible than some people think (well perhaps not whilst behind the wheel of car whilst reversing down my driveway) so I shall be reigning most of my angst in as, having read a lot of blogs over the years, its always been my thought that some things should be kept private. It's a modern day phenomenon to let everything hang-out on social media. Of course, there are good sides and bad sides to this - I've have witnessed some incredible support amongst facebook friends and in the blogging world for people in turmoil - especially for my blogging friend Marie from Nourish who very sadly indeed died from cancer and complications from MS in August 2015.  Conversely, social media can have downsides: cyber-stalking, catfishing, and bullying can have very serious consequences. So when it comes to talking about the more serious side of my private life I'm cautious about writing about it directly. That said, all my life experiences contribute to my writing so I've no doubt that some of the pain I feel right now will materialize in my writing someday. Maybe one day in the future I'll write a book called Fifty Ways You Can Stack Your Pans Without Interference.

Yeah, I've got to say that title really appeals. In fact, there's a lot of potential humour in that one - maybe I can get it in the A to Z.

So anyway, as I would have been celebrating my 26th wedding anniversary on the 20th and a 31-year relationship, I'm thinking distracting myself with the A to Z is a good idea. Let's just hope my sense of humour can see me through. Fingers crossed everyone!

Oh well moving on....

So I chose Anno Domini for my word(s) which means In the Year of Our Lord - or to simply things - the year Jesus was born. It was the beginning of a new life which changed the world. Now I'm not comparing myself with Jesus (although occasionally I have a beard) but I like the concept of a year of birth, of new beginnings.

So maybe this is my year of rebirth and new beginnings. In a sense it already is - the question is how well I cope and whether I am able to move forward. I think we all have an Anno Domini moment at some point in our lives and sometimes there's no choice in the matter. This is mine. I probably, at best, have no more than twenty-five years left on this planet so I want to make the most of them - which is somewhat tricky when you been left up shit creek financially. I shall definitely have to rule out that retirement world cruise now. Blast. Maybe I can have a weekend in Brighton instead? I've always fancied seeing the Bright Lights - admittedly I'd had the bright lights of New York and Vegas in mind but as we say in the UK "beggars can't be choosers".

Hmm... maybe Brighton will be the place I knock out some mind-boggling piece of erotic chick lit and make a stack of cash. Maybe all that Brighton rock will give me inspiration. It certainly worked for Graham Greene. I'll have to think of a good title though.

Maybe Brighton Cock? 

Okay....maybe not. That one might be a little too bold. Even for readers of EL James.

This is what happens in Brighton - in the nerd community. If I write a book
set in Brighton mine will be about a (male) dental hygienist who works undercover as a porn star.
A writer's gotta start with the ideas somewhere.......

Well if you made it this far I thank you for your patience. This blog is usually very stupid and slapstick and this has been one of my more serious posts. I don't know what the rest of the A to Z will bring but hopefully more laughter than tears.

One last thought, I did think about writing about the word "anal" but I thought that might be too daring for this year and put off a few readers. I'll probably write about that next year though when things are flowing through me a bit smoother....

My previous A posts: A is for Air Guitar
                                   A is for Arses and Aidan Turner