Jane Jago's Blog, page 33

January

January explodes upon the world
With fireworks and cheers
And auld lang syne.
Then creeps she neath her soft blankets
Of snow and mist
Within her house walled with ice
And roofed with frost
And on the casement panes
She prints star patterns,
Draws icicles on eave and gable,
Paints the lawn from green to white
And with bony fingers reaches
Like the leafless trees
To caress the greyness of the sky.

Eleanor Swift-Hook

Maybe – Part 1: Jessica

Sometimes we walk the edges of realty…

CHAPTER ONE: JESSICA

           “Well, you know what they say, don’t you pet? What don’t kill you, will make you stronger.”
            Jessica felt her teeth dig into her tongue with the effort of not snapping back. It was one of those glib sayings people trotted out every time they realised there was harm done they couldn’t heal. She wanted to snarl that what didn’t kill you could just as easily leave you broken and bloody, weakened and vulnerable an...

Granny’s A-Z – I is also for Invented Languages

Things that make us go poop…

Granny and the ‘ladies’ darts team of The Dog and Trumpet alphabetically collate their collective contempt for the inhabitants of the twenty-first century.

I is for Invented Languages.

Before anyone gets all hypercritical on me, yes, all language is invented.

But.

We have quite a few world languages already. Roughly 6,500 according to Mister Google. So why do people keep on trying to add more?

This is certainly not a new phenomenon, my researches ha...

100 Acre Wood Revisited – Big Red Book

Things are not quite how you might remember them in the 100 Acre Wood for Christopher Robin, Pooh Bear and their friends…

***** ***** *****

Jane Jago

Lucida’s ‘New Year New You’: Names

Namaste you wonderful, desirable and aspiring individual! This bijou blog is here to help you achieve your best ever ‘you’ in this new year. Here, I offer my help and assistance in reshaping your shape and doctoring your decor internally and externally, to bring your lifestyle into line with your aspirations.

Names

When you think about it your name is more than just the specific noise that someone makes to attract your attention. It is also the most intimate aspect of your public self. The...

Granny’s A-Z – I is for Intentions

Things that make us go poop…

Granny and the ‘ladies’ darts team of The Dog and Trumpet alphabetically collate their collective contempt for the inhabitants of the twenty-first century.

I is for Intentions, and why the very best ones usually go wrong…

I know, even as I sit here with a large glass of something restorative, a new packet of ciggies, and Gyp beside my feet snoring and farting gently, that all around the world there will be people who are about to begin 2025 with their good i...

Ian Bristow Inspires – George

Writing inspired by the art of Ian Bristow

George was a gentle creature, slow moving even for one of his kind and deliberate of thought and speech.
When Mabel was introduced to the group, all the males hustled around her puffing out their cheeks and making their most macho grunting noises.
She ignored them, choosing instead to come and munch some fresh greens at George’s side.
When Alfred attempted to mount her she flipped him over onto his back and continued munching.
“A girl likes to be asked,”...

Hale and Hearty Cheer!

In come I, December, with hale and hearty cheer!
With mulled wine and with wassails
With claret, port and beer.
With winter winds and woollen scarves
My breath in air a-misting
I’ve chocolate treats and holly wreaths
And presents all a-gifting
I’ve hot mince pies and sweet plum pud
And bulbs on wires a-hanging
See my pine trees in tinsel gowns
And children on drums a-banging
My carollers sing the ancient songs
That frame this time of cheer,
I bring you joy and laughter in
And leave with the new year.

Elean...

Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV Reviews: ‘A Christmas Carol’ by Charles John Huffam Dickens

This, for some obscure reason beyond one’s not inconsiderable intellect, is one of Mummy’s all-time favourites. She starts reading it on the first of December each year, carefully husbanding it so that she reads the last few pages on Christmas Eve – inevitably drunk and crying snottily. I have been a party to this inexplicable ritual for most of my life, and, until I reached adulthood, Mumsie was in the habit of sitting on the side of my bed and reading this to me in instalments. In retrospect, ...

The Night Librarian at Christmas

You can listen to this being read on YouTube.

It was Christmas Eve and the darkness of the library was alive with twinkling lights as children, and small creatures carrying glow worm lanterns, climbed the stacks to the floor and joined an ever-growing procession to where a noble Norway Spruce speared the darkness with its scented branches. As the crowd around its feet grew thicker, the Christmas tree seemed to grow ever taller and more majestic, then, one by one, the candles on its branches t...