Monday, 30 July 2012

All Them Little Fings

All Them Little Fings
'Ave yew got friends? Oi reckon as 'ow Oi've got a few, but Oi don't always appreciate 'em loike wot Oi should, 'cos in doin' lotsa fings, Oi ferget that Oi oughtta get around ter lovin' 'em a bit better than wot Oi do. An' then Oi ferget ter thank em fer bein' moi friends an' all.

It ain't only that: Cripes, Peter's always a-tellin' me as 'ow Oi talk too much. 'Ee reckons as 'ow 'ee can't always foller wot Oi'm a-sayin', 'cos Oi keep on interruptin' mesself. Yeah, well Oi reckon as 'ow 'ee ain't always wrong, 'cos it's real noice sometimes jus' ter be quiet tergevver, loike jus' sittin' still on the steps of 'is shed. Yew c'n get sorta in tune tergevver loike that… if'n yew see wot Oi mean.

An' when yew're tergevver in tune loike that, yew c'n get up afterwards an' go away ter be on yer own roight easily. It c'n 'appen that when yew're apart, yew c'n sometimes see a bit better wot yew really appreciate in bein' friends. An' then yew c'n feel good wivvout 'avin' ter be tergevver all the toime. Ain't it so?

Oi reckon as 'ow yew shouldn't go a-lookin' fer anyfink in yer friends 'cept fer wot makes yew both feel somehow more alive. 'Cos if'n yew go ter a friend expectin' somefink fer yerself, well, it often don't work out, an' then yew go away feelin' all miffed, wot ain't good, specially if'n yew fink that it's yer friend's fault, wot really it ain't.

If'n yew can, yew gotta give the very best yew've got inside yew of the real yew. That way, yer friend c'n properly unnerstand yer ups and yer downs. If'n yew don't, it's loike givin' yer friend a sorta empty shell wot don't do no more good than jus' passin' the toime.

Naw, wot yew gotta do when yer wiv yer friend, is ter be a bit lively, 'cos a real friend makes yew feel loike yew're kinda overflowin' wiv life, instead o' jus' fillin' up some o' them empty spaces wot're inside yew. D'yew get the idea?

An' if'n yew c'n be loike that, then even jus' a little bit o' somefink shared wiv a friend makes yew feel real 'appy, 'cos it's all them little fings put tergevver wot make life really worf livin'.

Oi were a bit miffed at Peter St John recently, 'cos 'ee told me ter pull moi 'ead in. Any'ow, Oi've forgotten about that now, so Oi told 'im wot Oi was a-finkin' about us bein' friends. 'Ee must've been listenin' 'cos 'ee wrote it all down; only Oi don't reckon as 'ow wot 'ee's written is 'alf so easy ter unnerstand as wot Oi said. Oi keep on a-tellin' 'im as 'ow it ain't no good writin' posh the way 'ee does, 'cos nobody in moi gang down Pepper Mill Lane is goin' ter get 'is meanin'. Still an' all, 'ere it is fer wot it's worf. Oi jus' 'ope it's a bit clearer fer yew than wot it is fer me.

Luv from Jenno.

The Dew of Small Things

"A friend is sustenance and comfort.
Then sow the field of your friendship with love, and harvest it with gratitude.

And should your friend reveal a thought,
Do not refuse the nourishment of your own reflections, nor the support of your agreement.

When your friend is silent, let both your hearts continue to converse with the music of their rhythm,
For in friendship, all thoughts, all desires, all expectations, are born without words to share a silent joy.

When you part from your friend, do so lightly without anxiety,
For what you like most in your friend becomes clearer in absence.

Seek no objective in friendship other than enhancement of the spirit;
For a love that seeks anything other than the revelation of its own mystery is not love, but the casting of a net that catches little of worth.

And make sure that all your best is given for your friend,
Such that your friend understands not only the flow of your tide, but also its ebb.

For what use is a friend if your friendship serves only to kill time?
Seek rather to enliven the time that passes with your friend.

A friend's part is to supplement your needs, not to fill your emptiness.
Then the smallest shared moment in the sweetness of friendship becomes alive with pleasure shared.

For in the dew of small things the heart discovers anew its fresh dawnings."

Monday, 23 July 2012


Jennospot 74  Medallions

'Ave yew ever won a medal? Moi Mum 'as; an' so 'as Peter St John. Well, moi Mum nearly did. It were at the Widdlin'ton Village fête wot were intended ter raise some money ter buy a Spitfire fighter aircraft. The trouble was, that the fête kind of degenerated (oh, wot a great word that is!) inter a real free-fer-all barney. Yeah, ol' Mr Trundle, wot is the special constable, nearly 'ad ter call in reinforcements, only it started ter get dark an' there was a sort of a catastrophe (wow, anuvver super word!). Yew c'n read about it in "Gang Warfare" ( if'n yew loike.

Still an' all, moi Mum's chrysanthemums were in the front runnin' fer first prize in the flower show when somebody, wot shall be nameless, chucked 'em at Mrs Garman, an' after that they come out a bit crumpled, wot weren't no good fer winnin' medals. Nobody else didn't win nuffink neither.

Any'ow, Peter St John 'as jus' been awarded a medallion by the Book Readers Appreciation Group, fer 'is first book about the Widdlin'ton gangs. No kiddin'; yew c'n read about it, if'n yew want at Wot's more, 'ee didn't 'ave no problem loike wot moi Mum did, wiv chrysanthemums bein' chucked around, though Oi wouldn't moind bettin' as 'ow there's some, loike "The Slug" f'instance, wot wouldn't mind chuckin' a few plant pots at 'is 'ead.

Yeah, well, Oi ain't goin' ter go chuckin' any flowers at 'im mesself, even though "Gang Territory" ain't moi favourite, 'cos moi favourite is "Gang Loyalty". It's mostly about me, whereas there ain't a real lot about me in "Gang Territory" 'cept fer moi chicken shed an' me doin' ‘andstands. O' corse, that ain't got nuffink ter do wiv it. Oi jus' tell yew that, so's yew don't get the wrong idea, if'n yew see wot Oi mean.

Any'ow (an' don't go a-finkin' as 'ow Oi'm trying ter force yew, 'cos it ain't that at all) if yew'd loike ter see "Gang Territory", wot Peter St John got a medallion for, all yew gotta do is ter go ter (USA) or (UK), an' there it is.

There's an e-book version an' all on Amazon wot's got pictures in it. That's got the ASIN number B004UNFYCW.

That's all fer now about medallions an' chuckin' flowers around. Even so, Oi'm a-chuckin' yew a few roses.

Wiv luv from Jenno.

Oi don't reckon as 'ow moi Widdlin'ton books'll win any medals, 'cos they ain't that kind o' book. Any'ow, at least they're free: an'

Peter St John's website 'as got problems at the moment, so Oi don't reckon as 'ow it's goin' ter win any medallions. Any'ow, it's still more or less workin', so if'n yew'd loike ter learn more about moi favourite "Gang Loyalty" yew c'd take a look ( but don't go a-sayin' afterwards as 'ow Oi didn't warn yew.

Sunday, 15 July 2012

Jimmy Jim's Locker

Jennospot 73  Jimmy Jim's Locker

War is bloody awful, an' Oi do mean bloody! It jus' keep on an' on somewhere in the world, an' it don't stop, but it's about toime it did. An' most o' the toime, it's about somefink so bloody stupid (pardon moi adjective) that them wot starts it oughta 'ave their 'eads examined, partic'ly when they bring in the word "God". Cripes, it jus' shows as 'ow they don't understand nuffink about wot that word really means…

Any'ow, Oi'm so fed up wiv it, Oi wrote a poem; or rather Oi "adapted" one from P. St. J. It ain't very noice, so Oi 'ope as 'ow yew don't loike it. 'Ere it is:

The Label on Jimmy Jim's Locker

'Ee's real bright an' keen,
Soldier Jimmy, nineteen;
In 'is uniform new,
All derrin'-do,
And ready ter foight
Take up arms fer the roight.
Esprit de corps
"War ter end every war".
The label wot 'ee sticks on 'is locker.

Wiv barrack square drill,
They teach Jim 'ow ter kill.
Discipline please
"Shoulder arms. Stan' at ease".
When Jim swears the oath
Country first nuffink loath
'Ee underscores
War ter end all the wars
The label wot 'ee's stuck on 'is locker.

In battlefield 'ell
All is shot, shit and shell.
There Jimmy stands:
Is that blood on 'is 'ands?
As bombshells mushroom
Deadly blossoms in bloom
Can we be sure
This is war ter end war:
Loike the label wot's stuck on Jim's locker?

But where's Jimmy now?
'Ee ain't come fer 'is chow.
'Ee ain't in the mess
Or the barracks we guess.
Our Jim can't be found.
Jimmy's life is unwound.
All given for
Final warter end war
The label wot's on brave Jimmy's locker.

Our Jim seeks no shroud;
Jimmy, soldier so proud.
Jim underground
Goes ahead, onward bound.
Far better fer us
Ter discuss wivvout fuss
'Ow ter end war
No more war ter end war
The label wot's on Jimmy Jim's locker.

Luv from Jenno.

There ain't nuffink loike this in moi e-books, "Jenno's Widdlin'ton", an' "Jenno's Widdlin'ton II", 'cos there jus' ain't. Any'ow, they're free: an'

Peter St John don't mention it on 'is website neither ( 'cept in "Gang Warfare", but that's a diff'rent kind o' war any'ow.

Sunday, 8 July 2012


Jennospot 72  Handstands

Oi ain't really got nuffink (much) against boys not doin' 'andstands, but if'n they don't wanna get the advantages from doin' 'em, well, all Oi c'n say is that it's their stupid lookout.

Us girls, we're sensible, 'cos we do 'andstands most ev'ry day when it's foine wevver, 'cos when it rains, there's ain't much room in the schoolyard shelter. Besides, it ain't got no wall ter rest yer 'eels against when yer upside-down, if'n yew see wot Oi mean.

Any'ow, we all know about gravity. It's that stuff wot were invented by Isaac Newton, wot makes soapbox carts go down'ill, wivvout yew 'avin' ter push 'em. So it stands ter reason, that when yew're upside-down, the blood wot normally 'as ter go up ter reach yer brain, goes down, wot is more easier than goin' up.


But ter work real good, yer brain needs lotsa oxygen, an' it's the blood wot carries oxgen ter yer brain. So it's logick, ain't it? When yer upside-down, loike when yew do 'andstands, it's good fer yer brain. It don't need no genius ter work that out. That means, that doin' 'andstands makes yew cleverer than them wot don't do 'andstands.

That's why us girls are more intelligent than wot boys are. An' the proof of that is that boys fink doin' 'andstands is sissy. See wot Oi mean? 'Nuff said. Jus' try it fer yerself an' yew'll see…

Luv from Jenno.

There ain't nuffink about 'andstands in moi e-books, "Jenno's Widdlin'ton", an' "Jenno's Widdlin'ton II" That's because Oi 'adn't thought of it yet. Any'ow, they're free: an'

Peter St John don't mention it on 'is website neither ( but then 'ee don't never do 'andstands; wot explains lotsa fings about 'im…

Monday, 2 July 2012

Can You Cast Spells?

Jennospot 71  Can You Cast Spells?

D'yew know "The Little Prince" wot is a famous book written by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry? It were Peter St John wot told me about it. 'Ee' also told me that the lady wot started and wot runs a special school called "Passe murailles, l'école de l'imaginaire" in Geneva, wrote a poem inspired by the Little Prince. 'Er name is Anne-Lise Brugger Grataloup ( Any'ow, Peter St J loiked this poem so much that 'ee translated it inter English. In case yew moight loike it too, 'ere it is, wiv the original below:

Let's Leap Walls

by Anne-Lise Brugger Grataloup

Tell me...
Can you cast spells:
The Art of Wonder,
The Art of Dwelling Outside Time
And in limitless Space?

Tell me…
Can you cast spells?

Deluded friends,
Like me, condemned
To run breathless…

Know that Oedipus has guessed aright,
The riddle is solved, and man explained!
Agreed, say the myths,
But now he must prove himself.

Tell me…
Can you cast spells?

Then suppose we dream…

Of leaping walls
Of dancing with the wind,
Of flying in the arms of angels…
Let's become plants, and flowers in fields
Cradled by dewy breezes

Let's open our eyes
On moonless nights;
To recognise the star that shines for us
And laughs,
In memory of the sand,
In memory of a well…

In the bright heaven of our hopes
A little prince tends
His rose,
Lovely in its silk
Which dares
Declare a useless faith
In seeming claws,
And worries for
The caterpillar
Becoming butterfly.

Tell me…
Can you cast spells,
The Art of Wonder,
The Art of a sheep inside a box
And of a serpent hat?

Suppose we go…

To the desert's heart
Where gleams
The source!
Let's drink its limpid
Let's fill to the brim our flasks
And go on,
Magic, Art, and Wonder
As our companions.

Tell me…
Can you cast spells…?

Luv from Jenno.

If yew loike leapin' walls, there's quite a bit of it, (if''n yew get moi meanin') in Peter St John's e-book edition of "Gang Territory" wot is on free download from 4 ter 8 July. (USA) or (UK).

By the way, don't ferget moi two e-books, "Jenno's Widdlington", an' "Jenno's Widdlington II". They ain’t exactly about castin' spells, but they're free at any rate: an'

Passons murailles

Anne-Lise Brugger Grataloup

Connaissez-vous l'Enchantement,
L'Art de La Merveille,
L'Art de la Vie dans le Non-Temps
Et dans l'Espace sans limites ?
Connaissez-vous l'Enchantement ?

Amis illusionnés
Comme moi condamnés
A courir

Œdipe a vaincu pourtant
L'énigme est résolue et l'homme deviné !
Oui-dà, ce, disent les contes :
Lui reste à s'éprouver

Connaissez-vous l'Enchantement…

Alors… si nous rêvions…

Passons murailles,
Dansons le vent,
Volons aux bras des anges…
Devenons herbe et fleur de champs
A la rosée berçante.

Ouvrons les yeux
Les nuits sans lune,
Reconnaissons l'étoile,
Celle qui pour nous s'allume
Et rit,
En souvenir d'un sable,
En souvenir d'un puits…

Aux ciel joli de nos espoirs
Un petit prince soigne
Sa rose
Belle en sa soie
Qui ose
L'aveu d'une inutile défense
Et se soucie du devenir
De la chenille
En papillon.

Connaissez-vous l'Enchantement,
L'Art de la Merveille,
L'Art de la caisse et du mouton
Et du chapeau-serpent ?

Si nous allions…

Aux creux de ce désert
Où rayonne
La source !
Buvons sa claire
Remplissons bien nos outres
Et repartons,
Enchantement, Art
Et Merveille
Pour compagnons.

Connaissez-vous l'Enchantement… ?

Cripes, Oi'm enchanted…