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The Unconventional Life of Jenna Jaghe

By Ward, Victoria, Jane

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Book Id: WPLBN0004450916
Format Type: PDF eBook:
File Size: 1.55 MB
Reproduction Date: 30/07/2012

Title: The Unconventional Life of Jenna Jaghe  
Author: Ward, Victoria, Jane
Language: English
Subject: Fiction, Drama and Literature, Satire
Collections: Authors Community, Humor and Satire
Publication Date:
Publisher: Victoria Ward
Member Page: Victoria Ward


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Victoria Jane Ward, B. M. (2012). The Unconventional Life of Jenna Jaghe. Retrieved from

What's better than a comedy about an unhinged woman, kidnapping a man with dementia, bestiality, friends, family and the tribulations of relationships? A book about all of those things set in Yorkshire of course! Jenna Jaghe, an unmarried bridal shop owner, has spent the best part of the last year attempting to conform to the 50’s good housewife guide that has been rammed down her throat by her uppity boyfriend, James Flannigan and his bourgeois mother. Her Saturday evening’s have been reduced to sitting correctly, surrounded by an ensemble of the Flannigan’s uptight dinner guests, at one of their ostentatious dinner parties, donning a Mrs Flannigan pre-approved two-piece with matching pearl accessories. Which is precisely why one night at a social convention, Jenna Jaghe comes spectacularly undone. Her life will never be quite the same again. Follow Jenna Jaghe on her quest to take her life back. The only problem is life has more than a few surprises in store for her. Will Jenna find what it takes to get her life back on track or will she end up sectioned with her best friend’s murderess mother? It is definitely hit and miss but as they say in Yorkshire; ‘It’ll be reyt!’

Yorkshire woman finds out that she is pregnant on the same day that her live-in lover dumps her for a woman with terrible helmet hair and her sanity takes flight with him.

Wine o’clock – Best night ever again until it no longer was. Sod off James – the millstone around my neck – was the general consensus amongst mi mates and it didn’t take much coercing for me to adopt their way of thinking (well deindividuation is a real problem amongst group members) and on that note I cannot really be held responsible for the catastrophe that happened next. So after telling James to simmer darn when he reprimanded me again for going OTT during happy hour, and after being urged to sup it darn by mi mates, I started to loosen up; that is I found the girl that had been stifled for the last year. I guess it’s on a par with an animal that has been locked up for way too long and is then released into the wild. My skirt hitched up to my boobs as I dared to show some leg (because even if I do say so myself I have a lovely set of pins), my sensible, scissor sharp hair ruffled into a messy doo by Sarah who had used the greying, cracked block of soap from the loo to give it ‘some oomph’, my blouse unbuttoned, again by Sarah, to reveal my pert D cups, I was getting back to me. I was having the best time. Flannigan’s attempted conditioning of my behaviour was no longer of any concern to me once the Working Men’s Club’s cheap house white started taking its unpredictable effect (it was probably watered down with wazz – either that or somebody had dropped acid in it again and trust me that is never a good idea when you have repressed issues). I was dancing around like a fairy on crack; reminiscing, back in my raving days, Old Skool style. You never quite lose the ability to dance like you’re stacking boxes on a shelf; all I needed was a whistle. I had been so caught up in my awesome moves that I even forgot to make Horrid Harriet jealous by dry humping James’s leg all night and rubbing it in her face (well not my actual leg) that I had bagged the affluent one. Me who grew up in a corporation house with council pop – quid’s in! James has money you see (well his mother has money, which was once her husband’s money, so James reaps the benefit of said money and the dollar sign impresses Horrid Harriet). I, on the other hand, neither have money nor impress HH. Don’t get me wrong I earn an honest living. I run my own wedding boutique you know but my wage is chuff all in comparison to The Flannigan’s monies. I can afford my own tiny house and I can afford to employ Sarah full-time (my radical feminist and first best mate) and I can eat (most weeks) so I am happy – rather I was until James pointed out that there are so many areas that I need to vastly improve in/on/at about life, business and everything. In other words up until meeting The Flannigan’s, I knew nowt and was bugger all. Never the less I eventually started flaggin. There are only so many boxes you can stack before you feel like you’re about to keel over. I spotted Carrie, my other bff sat, as usual, amongst the elderly looking extremely starry eyed (sure there’s some kind of deviant behaviour that she is hiding from us), pointed my inebriated bare feet towards her and danced Saturday Night Fever style across the dance floor like the classic uncle twat, (apparently my one shoe was behind the bar and the other, still hasn’t turned up) and plonked mesen, on Carrie’s knees. I flung my arms around her neck and whispered; ‘I want to do a mischief.’ I didn’t need to repeat myself. She jumped up from her chair – leaving the elderly to their conversations about refugees (they are completely clueless to the fact that they are acutely racist but dare to point that out and you’re never too old to get a clout up side a lug’ole and that bleeding kills. Sarah’s cousin got clouted that many times by his mother’s wet hand that he developed cauliflower ear) – Carrie dropped me on the floor, dragged me up by my hand and whisked me off towards the stage. I was, by this time, what we refer to round here as absolutely chuffing kaylied! What happened next is completely down to Carrie’s power of suggestion. I should have stayed on the dance floor (but you know what they say about shoulda, woulda, coulda being the last words of a fool) like the other normal party folk and enjoyed myself just the right amount of crazy, maybe then I would not have ruined the lives of others, alienated my one and only ever serious boyfriend but worst of all, chuffed Horrid Harriet to bits no end.


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