Ok, so thats it in all honesty for 3 whole weeks unless I find a way of posting from Florida. I will be doing my best to soak up the culture and atmosphere of America, and hopefully to feed the occasionally creative writing process.

So here's my advice. Use this as a Test Card. Sit in front of the PC with a decent Rioja, or perhaps a drop of Sauvignon Blanc for the white wine fans amongst you. Beer works as well. Enlarge the picture. Put a CD in the drive, turn the volume up and sit back and relax. Jack will be back on the 24th. Later, my friends,later, Grocerjack 

Utter Shite, Bunch of Arse and Total Bollocks.......

I can barely contain my excitement! The company has decided that it is going to adopt some pile of festering dog turd called the Six Sigma methodology. This is outlined below and just has to be the single piece of Utter Shite, Bunch of Arse and Total bollocks I have ever read.

And I've read this four fucking times.

Six sigma is a disciplined methodology for improving organizations' processes, based on rigorous data gathering and analysis. The approach focuses on helping organizations produce products and services better, faster and cheaper by improving the capability of processes to meet customer requirements. Six sigma identifies and eliminates costs, which add no value to customers. Unlike simple cost-cutting programmes, however, six sigma delivers cost cuts whilst retaining or improving value to the customer.
The term six sigma is based on a statistical rationale. Six-sigma performance is the goal and equates to 3.4 defects per million process, product or service opportunities. The focus is on reducing variability to achieve the goal.
The six sigma breakthrough strategy involves a 'Define-Measure-Analyse-Improve-Control' (DMAIC) methodology broadly based on the Shewhart plan-do-check-act cycle.
The strategy takes an organization's key business processes through five phases to deliver breakthroughs in performance:
 phase 1: Define - involves defining the scope and goals of the improvement project in terms of customer requirements and the process that delivers these requirements
 phase 2: Measure - involves measuring the current process performance -input, output and process - and calculating the sigma capability for short and longer-term process capability
 phase 3: Analyse - involves identifying the gap between the current and desired performance, prioritising problems and identifying root causes of problems. Benchmarking the process outputs, products or services, against recognized benchmark standards of performance may also be carried out
 phase 4: Improve - involves generating the improvement solutions and fixing problems to prevent them from recurring so that the required financial and other performance goals are met
 phase 5: Control - involves implementing the improved process in a way that 'holds the gains'. Standards of operation will be documented in systems such as ISO 9000. After a 'running-in' period, the process capability is calculated again to establish whether the performance gains are being sustained. The cycle is repeated, if further performance shortfalls are identified.

Whatever happened to the GrocerJack Principle called GOFPOCS - Good Old Fashioned Plain Old Common Sense? Oh and the so called "Shewhart" principle is called Plan/Do/Review at Baby's school. My question is who thinks this sort of bollocks up? Does anybody ever really take any fucking notice? Proof, if ever it was needed that we live in a society where words speak louder than actions.

The saddest thing is that I'm sure there are corporate cock sucking fuckers out there who'll get a hard on, or find the pantie area moistening just by reading this. Pornographic writing for High Flying Achievers.

Later, GrocerJack 

 

Get off your back, go into Town, don't let them down.....

Well, I don't know if its because I'm almost fully into holiday mode, or because things have happened at work and time is a bit tight (for once) but I am finding it difficult to write anything at the moment. However, I didn't want to just piss off for 3 weeks and leave this blog on the work of art posting, but I also didn't want to write anything more "absolute shite" than normal. (Note to Watski.....I reckon it was my site that bought down Google on the search for "absolute shite" but after thinking about it I realised it was a search on "total bollocks" that probably did it as Google tried to divert millions to this little corner).

So, this posting is a bit of filler really until the light bulb in my head is once again illuminated. A case of GrocerJack going into town, in order to not let them down. Anyone who knows what I'm referring to there listened to too much Junior Choice on Radio 1 in the 70's and is giving their age away!

My cunning plan to beat Teenager in our Theme Park Ride Stare Out competition is almost finalised and runs along these lines. She is a Teenager and has transmigrated from sweet natured little girl into a full on lippy girl power, boy mad, MSN addicted, shite music infatuated daughter. The upside of this is I no longer have to put up with the twee bollocks rubbish she used to like. Not for her the childlike attraction of seeing Donald Duck (who wears no trousers normally but wears a towel when seen coming out of the bath!), Mickey Mouse and Goofy et al. No, she has "grown out" of that. Now that she has a sense of adventure and wants her thrills "on the edge" I think I have found a ride ahe will not go on. One that she would not entertain in a million years.

The one ride I know that is incredibly twee and sweet is called "Its a Small World". I have been warned about this by colleagues at work. It is saccharin sweet, sickly schmaltzy, completely safe and very slow and has a loudly played repetitive theme tune that is so unbelievably annoying and cloying that its very possible that Kurt Cobain may have been listening to this sometime before he blew his brains out trying to stop the song incessantly repeating inside his head. I am sure she will not go near this, but I may just enter this "torture by sweetness" chamber and suffer the sheer hell of the tune and the sweetness and faux sincerity in order to be able to state that I found one ride that she would not go on! I may go mad of course...I may want to drill holes in my head to let the noise out, or rip my ears off with a blunt rusty Coke Can ring, but thats what being a Dad is about, taking the chances in order to prove that I am not yet ready to move over for the Usher/50 Cent/Arsebollocks ShiteMusic generation.

Smart plan huh?

What do you think?

Just a quick note on Sven Fuckwit before I leave this posting. Sack the fool because he is an incompetent, spineless and tactically inept coach. But not because he screwed some airhead secretary who was working her way through the hierarchy of the FA, presumably until she found her favourite outfield position. I don't rate him as I have documented previously, but football managers should be sacked for footballing reasons not because of a few shags or inappropriate comments. Besides that, he isn't married and was prospectively only unfaithful to his girlfriend, the lovely Nancy Dell'Olio. But as far as I am aware you do not take any vows to co-habit or date so what did he do wrong? Mind you if a balding, rather dull, bespectacled bloke like him can get so lucky, where the hell did I go wrong?

Later, GrocerJack

This Weeks Work of Art is by Wassily Kandinsky, one of my favourite "modern" artists. This takes some looking at, but eventually draws you in and in a similar way to Picasso you can start to see different impressions and images within it. This one is simply called Yellow Red and Blue. I will not try and attempt a formal critique of this..I mean where do you start? It is not a traditionalist image, but it is hauntingly beautiful and the use of vivid coulours immediately draws the eye to the left side of the picture...why would he do that...was it intentional? The sphere in the top of the picture looks to me like the Sun...but is it being eclipsed? I do have a copy on my wall and it ALWAYS attracts comment no matter how apathetic towards art the viewers are. This is the last piece until I return from my hols. For more images of Kandinsky and many other fabulous and crap artists check out the excellent Mark Hardens Artchive. Later , GrocerJack 

Scared...moi.....?
 
Each passing day now has me wondering who will blink first. Me, or Teenager. I have shown her the web sites for Florida attractions, given her my book on the whole area (which should be called Florida for British Fuckwits).
 
But.....Teenager hasn't seen a ride she isn't prepared to try. And this is the bet.....I will beat her and will go on at least one ride that she won't.
 
But she's not blinking.
She's not phased
She doesn't give a shit
She couldn't give a fucking toss!
 
I am now relying on this being teenage hormonal bravado or stupidity. Whereas me.....well I am already thinking twice about Doctor Dooms Suicidal Deathtrap Fearfall or whatever it's called. I liked the look of the Duelling Dragons ride but looking at the web video I can feel my arteries clogging up instantly. It says "not suitable for those with heart conditions".....well how the fuck will I know that? Perhaps these are the very thing to test out my LDL Cholesterol levels. I thought I might get her with the Twilight Zone Tower of Brain Blood Vessel Popping Terror...but no...her response to this was "wow...thats way cool". The Incredible Hulk Instant Eyeball Explosion Coaster? Not a problem..."Dad it reaches 70 miles an hour....how good is that?"...."Oh yeah....it looks quite interesting"  I reply, desperately trying to disguise the tremor in my voice.
 
So now, five times a day I mentally repeat this mantra
 
I can't back down...I can't back down...I will not back down.....I am not going to lose.....
 
Nope, hasn't worked so far.
 
Scared....moi?
 
Oui :-(
 
Later, Grocerjack
 
PS...I have a cunning and extraordinarily devious plan hatching which may guarantee that I win.....more when I have developed it further!
 
 

Choices, choices, choices......
 
Well in a weeks time almost exactly to the second I will be starting my annual main holiday in the Sunshine State of Florida for a whole 3 weeks. I have been fairly ambivalent about this holiday so far because it felt more like "one for kids" than one for me and GMD. You see, me and GMD are very similar - we are, quite franky, lazy bastards on holiday. We like to holiday in France because we like everything about the place...yes that also includes the people, who only appear arrogant because most IGNORANT Brits think they should speak in our language rather than their native tongue. I have lost count of the times I've heard someone saying something along the lines of
 
" 2 Pints of lager"......"I SAID 2 PINTS OF LAGER"....." 2 PINTOS OF BEERIO YOU FUCKING FRENCH/SPANISH/ITALIAN* KNOB/WANKER/BASTARD/TWAT**"........."why can't they fucking understand me?".
 
* - delete as applicable
** - errr...yeah delete as applicable as well
 
We actually heard someone in the self service cafe on the site we stayed at two years ago complain because
 
"....that were a reet palaver...they don't speak fooking english at the till".
 
Oh the joy of seeing our finest born and bred adopting their Little Englander ignorance in a not so foreign clime and inflicting it on the people merely trying to serve them.
 
Anyway, I digress. So we like to sit by the pool, or go to the beach, eat civilised street cafe lunches, read loads of books to make up for the fact we don't get time at home, meet new people, visit little market towns or historic sites (Carcassone last time..amazing walled city that is actually still used as a working city and not closed down for tours) and have barbecues in the lovely evening sun. We never have an intinerary, decisions are made on the day or the night before depending on weather and whim. But this year......I have had to plan the itinerary (with help) so that we can see the Disney/Universal etc etc  sites. We have to try and fit a "water park" in and alongside that a trip to Kennedy Space Center because Jack still finds Spaceships and Rockets awesome and fascinating. All of which makes it feel less like a holiday and more of a ....tour......thus making me a tourist. I like to absorb the culture of where I visit, so when in France I try and speak French, eat the local specialities, drink the local wine...you know..try and "fit in" and experience something different. So to absorb some of American culture I thought a plan of action beforehand would be good. Some of this is based on observation and some on what people have told me ...Here it is...
 
1.) Eat like a horse and  become clinically obese
2.) Become a good God fearing bible bashing person
3.) Use false sincerity a lot
4.) Carry a gun
5.) Use  the word "trunk" instead of boot
6.) Tell anyone who asks that yes I do know the Queen and in fact she is house sitting for us whilst we are away
7.) Say Eyerack when talking about the situation in Iraq
8.) Make my tyres sqeal at every opportunity when driving
9.) Make out that Budweiser is a nice beer (fuck me that'll be hard ...it'd be easier to pretend that drinking piss was nice)
10.) Always ask for the "washroom" ....never the toilet, the bog, the carzy, the loo, or the shithouse
11.) Wear very loud shirts and huge shorts
12.) Never lock the car door after parking
13.) Never visit an old warehouse or factory, just to ensure I am not caught in any final scene shootouts
14.) If I hear a noise outside the villa, do not go outside on my own without a torch
15.) Say "ass" instead of "arse"...mind you I never comment on other "asses" in front of GMD as this usually results in an inflamed ear from a swift right hander
 
...any other suggestions on how to absorb or adopt some American culture will be most welcome.
 
One last favour........on the night we arrive there is a launch from the Space Centre (my proper spelling). It is the Delta 2 Messenger mission to Mercury, but I will have been on the go for around 24 hours by this time....the kids won't be able to stay awake for it and GMD would have to stay at the villa if they don't want to go. What should I do? Should I stay, or should I go? If I go, am I likely to be safe on my own? How close can I get if I haven't bought a "launch ticket". Is a launch actually worth seeing? We are staying about 50 miles from Kennedy so , really, any advice is gratefully received.
 
Later, Grocerjack
 

Summer? Surely not....

Oh my God! We've had 3 sunny days on the trot after the most miserable June and July for a long time. Why haven't we had the patronising bollocks from the weather forecasters about making sure we're covered up? Why haven't the water companies issued stern warnings about a prospective drought? Why haven't standpipes been introduced through this unseasonally warm spell? Why haven't we heard doom-mongering reports on how many people have died in drowning/sunbathing/gardening/freak ice cream related accidents? Why hasn't the sensational soaraway sizzling Sun ran its "Phew! What a scorcher" headline and covered its front page with obligatory picture of a packed Brighton beach alonside a picture of  a hat wearing smiling sun and  a thermometer showing the temperature in London against the invariably lower temperature of some generally sunnier and  warmer city (like Madrid)?

Have we just not noticed?

This cannot continue...I shall bring it to a close by doing what I usually do....washing the car. A surefire method that is far better than any rain dance!

Later, GrocerJack

Blame Culture
 
The video from Washington Dulles airport that shows the terrorists being security checked has been released. You can see it here.
 
This morning on 5 Live a woman representing a group called Skyscraper Safety in the US was interviewed about the video. When asked who was responsible she then went on to say that culpability was evident at all levels from the top of Government all the way down to the security guards at the airport and the cabin and cockpit crew of the hijacked airlines. She had lost her son in one of the Twin Towers, and so is understandably annoyed and upset with the events that unfurled that day. I would feel the same. But surely blame cannot be apportioned across the board as she stated? Ok, Intelligence didn’t spot the plots that unfurled that day, but the Americans have the best Intelligence Service and Intelligence Technology in the world, so if they didn’t see the threat or correlate the intelligence then what hope does anyone else have? She blamed the builders and architects of the Twin Towers branding them as “deathtraps”. Why? Because they weren’t built to withstand the full impact of two bloody great airliners being ploughed into them at 500 mph? Is any building anywhere built to that standard? Of course not! When they were built I doubt anyone would have suspected such an act, and even an accident would have been highly unlikely as any pilot of a distressed jet would ditch into the sea before ploughing into a building. Maybe now we have to make these considerations and it’s bad that we have had to witness such a thing before it became an issue. But blaming builders and architects is a bit strong – if a terrorist detonates a mini nuclear device in the middle of London and flattens most of it are we going to berate the likes of Christopher Wren, Norman Foster or Richard Rogers for not designing and building their creations to withstand thermo-nuclear blast? We wouldn’t, but I can’t be sure that the Yanks wouldn’t.
 
Blaming the airlines for not having secure cockpits was another target. Hmmm, well for years people have happily asked to view the cockpit, apparently without causing an issue so why would the pilots/airlines have thought any different on that day? They had not been given any warnings, or put on heightened alert. They didn’t know what they didn’t know. In fact I’m damn sure that when things kicked off they did their utmost to prevent anything from happening. The security staff at the airport were probably just going through the motions after years of checking people thanklessly and being told not to be overly aggressive in order to make customers happy and not prevent the free flow of dollars into airline and airport executives pockets. I watched a programme last week about a Peruvian aircraft that crashed  near Lima because the aircraft maintenance guy who cleaned and checked the outside had left some duct tape over the pitot sensors (which detect air speed and height). A 5 quid piece of tape killed 77 people. The guy who left the tape on the outside of the craft was jailed for 7 years. He was paid around $2 per hour. That’s right - you pay someone shit money and then put them in a position to make such a fatal error. That’s the analogy to the security staff at Washington. Being de-motivated and poorly paid does not lead to vigilant or professional staff.
 
I guess my point is that although mistakes were made that day and perhaps before it, they were genuine and honest mistakes. No-one could have foreseen what happened that day and I doubt we could foresee it now, even in the current climate of heightened awareness.
 
Why am I talking about this? Because next week I fly to the States and quite frankly the whole security thing worries the shit out of me.
 
 
Later, Grocerjack

Racist fools and vacated Teenagers…..
 
Ok, so I’ve had a couple of days working from home because I’ve hd some stuff to do with Big Telephone Company and The Company Retail Store Section , or in other words the muppets who run our shops. So it made sense to work from home, save Diesel, save the environment. Unfortunately it isn’t conducive to creative thought and so it’s a struggle to think of stuff.
 
I was going to write about the programme on last week about the BNP, but it basically showed a bunch of fuckwits…….. dim, deeply stupid and inarticulate people with a penchant for violence, and the fact is I knew that’s what they were about anyway, as I guess do most normal people, whether left or right of the political fulcrum. I actually visited the websites of some of these groups (I won’t dignify them with any links from here) and they are deeply shocking, as shocking as footage of American hostages being beheaded. Their words spread hate on the basis of skin pigmentation and religious belief and are aimed at people’s irrational fears or unwitting ignorance and this shows a level of organisation beyond anything seen previously with such neo-fascist hate groups. Of course the danger is that programmes like this can be akin to recruitment promotions and attract similar types to join, but that is the price we pay for political freedom and no matter how I despise these fools and their associated groups (White Knights of Freedom, Aryan unity etc), we have to allow their extreme views to be aired. They show the almost seamless progression of right wing politics to its worst extremes.
 
Are the far left as bad? I struggle to think of such hate groups on the far left. In fact they seem rather tame sandal wearing, animal rights, and environmentalist, bleeding hearts liberal wet types who believe all property is theft and that everyone’s wages should go into a communal pot for re-distribution. Basket cases they might be but I doubt you’d ever hear their “standard issue kicking in your door” (thanks Roger, another great line). And yes, I  know there are Animal Rights terrorist groups out there, but as yet they haven’t killed anyone based on race, or started riots in poverty stricken areas, or beaten the fuck out of youngsters of a different colour on their way home from school. At least if their hateful, despicable views are aired they can be seen publicly for the idiots they are, but if suppressed they feed on fear and misplaced anger and that’s how they grow. Let them die on the flames of the fire bought on by the oxygen of their own publicity.
 
So I did write about them then. Doh!
 
What I had intended to write about was tonight’s superb programme on BBC2 called “Inventions that changed the World”, presented by the superbly imperious Jeremy Clarkson, a man who could present the dullest of subject and make me laugh.
 
Arrogant? Yes!
Smart-arse? No question!
Self satisfied? Undoubtedly!
Funny as fuck, honest and interesting? Abso-fucking-lutely!
 
It was all about the Jet Engine, which I suppose has shrunk the world and perhaps added to our cultural diversity that the aforementioned shitneck, interbred morons hate, but somehow I think my views on this great programme and invention can wait for another day.
 
One last note. Teenager and I have been clashing more and more lately. Huge phone bills, bad attitude, loud music, locked doors, bad language, sarcasm and cynicism don’t help, but hey I’m 42 and these are now fully ingrained traits! Actually, of course they are examples of Teenager of late. The mobile bill was £70 for fucks sake, nearly all in texts! And I work for the fucking company and so she gets a REDUCED fucking rate! On Sunday we clashed in the pub whilst at lunch all over some lippy answers to me in order to show how clever she was in front of friends. It was almost a public arse-smack of the near 10 variety. But she’s gone on school camp….and I fucking MISS HER. It’s too quiet, Baby is alone and bored……GMD is quietly worried coz she’s away from home……..how can I keep in touch with the latest shite tunes if they’re not being played LOUDLY and repeated “ad infinitum?”. My sparring partner has gone, and ………I’m lonely……..and bored. Teenager, please come home safely…let the hostilities resume. Now I know how Tom feels when Jerry is out of town.
 
Later, Grocerjack

This weeks Work of Art is called "Experiment on a bird with an Air Pump" painted in 1768 by Joseph Wright of Derby and currently on display in the Tate Gallery in London. It's not really my cup of tea, but I had to do a presentation on this a few years ago at my OU Summer School and once you start digging into it it is fascinating in the extreme. The children are a mixture of fascinated and upset, the two people on the left seem more interested in each other. Who is the man pointing, is he their father, an uncle? Who knows? One of the most intriguing things about this is where the light source is. Is there a candle behind the large glass? And just what is that inside the glass? What is the boy on right doing? Is he trying to leave? Notice the fact that its a full moon but yet the room is dark and seemingly barely any light from the moon is entering it. I could go on, but I'd be recreating the presentation which was a struggle to do in the allotted time. The painting had looked easy to critique but just kept turning more and more layers. Wright was renowned for his use of light, and his treatment of the new science stuff mixed in with the romanticism of the pre-industrial revolution era. But perhaps the biggest question was the one I posed at the presentation. Was that man holding the top part of the pump a relative of Peter Stringfellow? Later, Grocerjack 

Wot no posts?

Aaah , thats because I've been busy seeing the sights and sounds of London, and using the time to catch up and get a bit in front on my studies. Plus, after a gruelling few days (sic) the creative juices were a little slack. Hopefully all will return on monday, when I can discuss the BNP (any doubts about their agenda now?), knobbers on the course, and other goodies.

A ray of sunshine though.....Michael Howard must be gutted this morning seing the Lib dems steal his chance to show how much the Tories have closed the gap. I think they need the Underground announcer on their side, constantly reminding them to......er....."Mind the Gap"

Later, Grocerjack

London calling…..

Now let’s get this straight. I am not some sort of prodigal son returning to my home town after some massive absence, far from it. I visit bits of London from time to time to see friends or relatives. However, these visits are to the suburbs of Greater London, bits of the once proud counties of Middlesex and Surrey consumed by the voracious city as it expanded its population and geographical boundaries. Surrey still exists albeit smaller than before, but Middlesex is nothing but a postal address as it disappeared under the weight of boroughs like Ealing and Hillingdon. But this is the first time I have been back and been actively writing observations about aspects of my life, or of others lives and so I noticed things perhaps differently from before.

Bendy Buses – I am a big fan of the hop on/hop off Routemasters, after all they stopped directly outside my house on the 195 route until being replaced by the insidious single decker, driver controlled things that allowed a bloke called Stickley to ignore me and threaten my brothers at the bus stop. The other people in the queue were less than impressed with him. OK, so I’d nicked his girlfriend (my big regret was letting that one slip by), but hey life’s a bastard Stickley and sometimes women do want better looking blokes with some personality (yep, he was a dull, ignorant and monosyllabic pig so I’ll blow my trumpet on this one). Funny thing is when I fronted him in a pub once, his bottle went instantly (I was pissed though). At first glance the Bendies look good, with low floors, plenty of space and easy access for the less able people to get on and off. But the RM’s had quick loading times as fares were gathered once on the bus – by a conductor. I couldn’t tell but the Bendies appear to be driver controlled as well and this was one of the frustrations for the public, waiting minutes to get on an already late bus to be confronted by some ignorant fool with no change, who’d probably just turned a kid off because they were tuppence short for their journey home. Maybe it’s just my rose tinted memory at work. Anyway, have the Bendies got personality though? Maybe in 40 years, if they are reliable then perhaps people will regard them as fondly as the Routemasters. Time has a knack of making things attain character.

Cycle lanes – Christ! Where I am staying they’re everywhere, which is great for cyclists, but as a pedestrian not quite so easy to see as a taxi, car or bus. I can see the advantage of them though in encouraging people to use bikes, which around here must be the second fastest mode of transport after the tube.

The Northern Line – I caught this from Waterloo to Euston and the train was clean, quite, quick and …new! For the uninitiated the Northern Line was for many years the absolute arse end of the tube. How Stockwell was not renamed Mugger Central, or Elephant & Castle renamed Male Rape East I’ll never know. It was dingy, dark, unreliable (I’ve sat for 45 minutes before in complete darkness due to power failure between stations, an unbelievably scary experience with people too scared to move or talk) and dirty with piss and puke filled carriages rather the norm at night. But behold, this train was sparkly, shiny, graffiti free, with recorded announcements for the partially sighted about where they were and where they were heading. Very impressive.

Bus ticket machines – next to the stops! Put the money or card in, get ticket, get on bus – perhaps this is the method of reducing loading times? I may just try it out tomorrow to see how easy it is to use. Being a fuckwit though I’ll probably cock it up.

Starbucks – everywhere. Now I know what the press are going on about. Where I live I couldn’t even tell you where one existed, let alone the number within walking distance of where I am staying. Note to self - must try one out.

Other observations so far – The County Hotel, opposite where I am staying – advertising £40 for a single room for the night and £52 for a twin or double! In the Bloomsbury district? Even the Travel Inn starts at £80 quid. What sort of hotel is this? Should I know? Should I investigate? Does it do rooms by the ….ahem …..hour?

Kings Cross – what a magnificent building. Stunning façade undergoing some presumably much needed TLC. Still awesome though. Where have the hookers gone though? The area used to teem with them, but maybe it’s undergone a clean up. My mates and me used to collect/drop people off at the station and often used to enter into friendly banter with the girls whilst we waited or went for a pint. They always seemed good for a laugh and one couldn’t help feel quite protective of them. Maybe we were just being patronising or perhaps they never felt threatened by us.

The British Library – over time, over budget and what’s more it look like it’s been located inside an old Sainsbury’s. I’m not anti modern architecture but this is a seriously shit looking building. It’ll make the perfect site if they ever decide to have a HM Kings Cross prison. Doesn’t belong in the same fucking City as Kings Cross station let alone next door to it.

Tavistock Gardens Park and Russell Square – a little oasis near my hotel and a larger park one block beyond that. Like the communal gardens depicted in Notting Hill. Beautiful. Lovers kissing, kids playing, students reading, businessmen and women on mobiles…whispering, the obligatory drunk asleep on a bench with people ignoring him. The only places I’ve seen so far where people aren’t trying to get somewhere.

It seemed to me that I was the only person aimlessly wandering with no specific destination. Perhaps it’s because I have moved away and can now appreciate London, whereas before I took it for granted but so far it has shown to me that it has the romance and oddly warmth inducing charm of any city anywhere in the world. I doubt I could live here again but my heart has been won back and now I can comment positively. London is changing, as it always has done, but this seems to be distinctly for the better. An indictment of Mayor Ken’s reign perhaps?


Later, Grocerjack (in the only part of the bar with no anti-mobile lead cage coverage)

Arrived in the smoke….

Safely.

The “not quite 3G” is not too good here and the mobile signal is parked next to the chocolate teapot. South West trains arrived at my local station 3 minutes early and got to Waterloo 10 minutes late. Doncha just love those 5 minute stops outside stations with no explanation listening to antiquated bits of the train creaking and whining? In fact I live on the only line that SWT have yet to upgrade the rolling stock, so it’s the steamy , sweaty, stinky shovel em’ in and bugger it ticket in m,y neck of the woods. Honestly it’s like travelling in the 1920’s, with draughty, smelly and noisy carriages. Still, nice to see the usual train travelling basket cases are still at large. The weirdo at my local station reading a self help guide to Ju-Juitsu, wearing his combats and talking to an unfortunate woman he seemed to vaguely know. He worried me, let alone what she thought as he rambled on about wearing a gangsters outfit to a wedding, complete with ….ahem…violin case. Apparently he went to the bank first where they called the police! Apparently he was confused as to how they didn’t recognise him as “he goes in at least once a month”. Priceless! Eventually he wore me down with his bollocks stories so I moved away before I rang the police to tell them Peter Sutcliffe’s unhinged brother was boarding a train for London.

I kind of miss commuting because it is a never ending supply of stories of lunatics and sane people worn down to the edge of insanity by the sheer hell of travelling by train. Anyway, I have written this by the window of my hotel, enjoying the perfect pint of Guinness, with a near full signal (the only part of the hotel that seems to have it – am I being cynical or do these hotel have anti mobile signal technology to force you into using their phone system at £5 for 2 minutes?). Will have one or two more and then disappear into study land.

Later, Grocerjack

Whereabouts this week……

This week I am on a course for 4 days…in London. So my blogs are dependent on The Company’s “not quite 3G technology”. This is a technical challenge, but hopefully I’ll be able to incorporate some of the spirit of the London Bloggers, like Inspector Sands at Casino Avenue, Onionbagblog Man and Diamond Geezer.

No doubt the fun will start with South West Trains and good old London Underground, both of whom have yet to qualify in my cast group of The Total Fucking Bastards by virtue of the fact that I don’t use them that often. As an ex-Londoner………no….. lets say I am an exiled Londoner, because the London bit never leaves you and I have done my utmost to keep my London-ness and accent intact from the onslaught of the local bastardised dialect where I live.....I find myself looking back with rose tinted glasses at the place, although after a few days back visiting I can't wait to get away again to the countryside with it's clean air and comparative lack of traffic.

I’m staying near Kings Cross, so that could be an interesting starting point!

Anyway in this weeks visit to my home territory here are lists of 10 things I love about London and 10 things I hate about London

Things I Hate about London

1.) The North Circular road – absolutely soul destroying bastard of a road
2.) The City – or at least the workers there - a bunch of arrogant, free loading crooks
3.) Oxford Street – a once glorious shopping paradise now reduced to cheap tat shops
4.) Waterloo Station – a shithole, nuff said
5.) Highbury – the home of The Arse, the biggest single thorn in my side for 32 years
6.) Buckingham Palace – Not the building, but it’s occupants - I’m a Republican so this is hardly likely to light my candle – would make a great museum though
7.) The London Underground – which, ironically, is in my list of things I love. I hate it because it’s unreliable, smelly, run down and doesn’t run all night. I’ve been stranded too many times due to cancellations and breakdowns.
8.) Capital Radio – a once proud London station reduced to a commercial, soulless, community spirit drained, corporate, accountant run bollocks station.
9.) The blacked out fence around Heathrow – fucking killjoys stopping me seeing the planes as I drive past
10.) Wandsworth’s one-way system – makes the North Circular seem like paradise

Things I Love about London

1.) The London Underground – a national treasure, massively depleted due to successive decades of under investment. No other country in the WORLD has an underground like ours – spend money on it (new stations, new rolling stock, new rail and signalling), pay the staff more, reduce the fares, extend it to more sites South of the river and run it 24/7, whatever it takes – and fund it publicly!
2.) The Thames – cleaner than ever and an awe inspiring sight wherever you see it from.
3.) Stamford Bridge – yeah, wonder why this is in there – the HOME of football!
4.) Southall – the best Indian restaurants in the COUNTRY. If you haven’t eaten here then you haven’t had a real Indian.
5.) Routemaster buses – reliable, efficient, fun, full of character and how can you ever replace the ability to hop on and off at will?
6.) The Greenwich foot tunnel – dingy, scary, damp, marvellous
7.) Covent Garden – the best place in any City, anywhere (with Amsterdam’s Liedesplein a very close second)
8.) Westminster Abbey, Tower Bridge, The Tower of London, The Houses of Parliament, the BT Tower, Canary Wharf, The National Gallery, The V&A, The Natural History Museum, St Paul’s Cathedral, The Science Museum, Tate Modern, The Tate, Battersea Power Station, The Dome, The London Eye – all architecturally stunning or interesting sights - yeah I’ve cheated a bit there, but I’m limited to 10 entries alright.
9.) Hyde Park – is this really in the middle of the city?
10.) Heathrow Airport – noisy - but for little boys (of which at heart I am still one) a fascinating place. Not an airport, but a proper Town in its own right.

Places I remember fondly from my own area of London

1.) Northolt Grange Youth Club – many fond memories of the girls, the disco’s and the fights.
2.) Grosvenor Fields – a park next to Grosvenor Avenue – football, bikes, fights, girls and a place to smoke without getting caught by parents
3.) Goshawk Gardens – the street where I lived until my parents decided to shuffle off of this mortal coil before I’d hit 18.
4.) Charville School – a strange little nursery, primary and junior school. It backed onto my garden and so getting in each day was a case of climbing over the fence and I was there. Mr Mcleod the caretaker used to chase us away when we played football in the playing fields during the holidays – silly old fucker – potentially stopped me from being the English Charlie Cooke!
5.) The Grange Youth Club – the Hayes equivalent of the Northolt one, bigger, better building but less welcoming. Used to host the Interspin disco’s which allowed underage smoking and plenty of girls dancing around handbags.
6.) The Carpenters Arms - my local pub for 8 years until I got married (the first time) and then had no money. I served 4 years behind the bar, serving local villains, local idiots who thought they were villains, boyfriends of girls I was also….errr….assisting and especially the local constabulary (Friday and Saturday nights, after hours until the early hours of the morning)
7.) Uxbridge town centre – the only thing to do on a Saturday afternoon. Teenager does the same excursion with her mates to our local shopping town – some things never change.
8.) Oscars – a nightclub (disco we used to call them) in Greenford. It guaranteed either a fuck or a fight, sometimes both.
9.) Steve’s Burger Bar – the finest burgers and pizza anywhere. Always packed out after the pubs were shut.
10.) The EMI club – no, I didn’t work for them but we used to go there in 6 or 7 cars from the Carpenters Arms, meet a load of geezers and birds from Townfield and Barnhill schools (our rivals when we went to school – both now defunct), drink loads of lager and then 12 cab loads of us would go to the White Hart, a pub/disco in Southall for fun and frolics.


Later, Grocerjack

10 Great Songs …………


……I heard on various radio stations this morning.

1. Will You – Hazel O’ Connor (great Sax)
2. Take Me Out – Franz Ferdinand (a bright ray of light in today’s morass of shite music
3. Relax – Frankie Goes to Hollywood (heady nostalgia from my 80’s mis-spent youth)
4. No Woman, No Cry – Bob Marley and The Wailers (just takes you straight to Jamaica)
5. Ballroom Blitz – The Sweet (timeless Glam Rock – immediate transportation back to being 13!)
6. Guns of Brixton – The Clash (the Daddy of all Punk Bands)
7. Don’t Look Back in Anger – Oasis (when they were Kings)
8. Design for Life – The Manic Street Preachers (the best thing to come out of Wales…ever)
9. Seven Nation Army – The White Stripes (to be played LOUD)
10. Zombie – Cranberries (Oh Dolores, where did it go so wrong?)

Just one of those days where every tune seemed to be a good ‘un. It won’t last.


Later, Grocerjack

The Next Door Neighbour Incident……..

I tantalisingly mentioned this “incident” in my previous post and was asked by Mick from the Bloggocks to explain. So here goes…I’ll make it as concise as possible but it is a long story.

GMD is heavily involved in the village community. To date she is a member of the local Community Project, a Brownie Pack leader (Guides next), a governor at the local Primary School and also the local Junior School. She also works part time at the local leisure centre. The local parish council is inevitability. Up until the latter part of last year she was also Chair of the Village Carnival Committee. All of this takes up quite a lot of her time, as you can quite understand. The Carnival (now defunct) was a valiant effort to try and instil some sense of community into the village which is expanding in population by being one of the nearest places to Portsmouth for the current city-country migration trend that is occurring. It is also becoming a popular place for Londoners to move to (that is people like me, except I’ve been there 18 years). As more people move in its “village” status is diminished bit by bit. With this diminishment you get a free bonus of a complete lack of any sense of community or neighbourliness.

The Carnival consisted of the traditional float display followed by a funfair, exhibitions (clown, dogs, family sports day etc) and an evening party in a marquee all held in the local meadow (yes a genuine meadow!). Something for the village and its neighbouring villages to enjoy….you’d think …but that’s another moan.

Scene set.

The week leading up to the Carnival is traditionally a logistical nightmare, with floats being added, some dropping out, new attractions for the post-carnival display in the park, car parking arrangements, signposting, police liaison etc etc (that King of Siam keeps coming back). A very stressful time for the whole committee, but especially the Chair. On the day of the carnival we had people stopping outside the house to drop things off , collect things, including the children who were to be the Queen, King , Princess and Prince. We received a knock on the door at about 11:00. GMD answered expecting another carnival related delivery/collection. No, it was Hornblower’s wife – The Healer. Both of them are a bit weird. He was ousted from the Navy, but not for my suspicions (Roger the Cabin Boy was my immediate thought), but because he was a whistleblower for exposing the institutional bullying and ritual abuse of young ratings. Honourable chap…you’d think. She was an ex-Tax Inspector who had relinquished this role to become a Spiritualist and faith healer. He is a vegetarian, she is a vegan, both are teetotal so they never attended one of our legendary barbecues. Anyway, she immediately launched into GMD about people parking in front of her drive, and specifically about a friend of ours (Mr. Chelsea the third). He had stopped to drop his daughter off and his wife had walked her to the door. Whilst this was happening The Healer had approached him about parking his car across her drive. Thing was, you see, he was parked across mine at the time. He had parked across hers, let his wife and daughter get out, seen them walk to mine, reversed his car into MY drive and pulled out again to face the other way (toward his house) and parked in front of MY drive. The Healer approached him at that point to berate him. He argued the point that in fact he was in front of my drive and house, all to no avail. When she threatened the police he told her to “Fuck off you mad old bat!”. I can’t argue with his reasoning there.

GMD, being very stressed burst into tears. Why was this woman having a go at her?

Enter Jack. In full Chelsea shirt, jeans, complete with fresh Grade 1 cut. Fuming.

I went next door to ask her to complain to me and not GMD, as GMD was already under a lot of pressure. The Healer was tending her garden. Her response was to order me off of her property or “there would be trouble” and “you’ll regret this later”. I tried to argue the point that if she wanted to take that view, then she had trespassed first by walking to my front door. All to no avail. She just rebuffed me even more. I don’t believe in hitting women, no matter how obnoxious they are (unless they hit me first, then in these days of equality they’ll get a dig back)
So I resorted to the witty riposte of …..

“Or what…..you’ll get Big Bad Hornblower onto me? I am SOOOO worried”

Followed by a slightly muffled…

“You are an old bat”

Back into house, everyone is laughing. That’ll teach ‘em. Out of the corner of me eye I saw the tall, grey figure of Hornblower walking down the alley at the side of the house. To do this he would have had to open the (closed) 6 foot wooden gate. Which meant he must have stood on the wall, leant over and opened it himself.

Without my express permission.

Quiet immediately descended. Baby was at the open patio door. “Hello Hornblower” she said sweetly and oblivious to the events that had just occurred. He pushed her aside, she fell, she cried. The other children cried. They were scared. This man was obviously angry, and children are generally scared of angry men. Especially those they don’t really know. Within a few seconds Hornblower was in my front room, nose to nose with me.

Shouting.

I don’t remember what he said, but it was probably along the lines of me not having a go at his wife. I reacted by shouting back. The Grand Master told him to get out. MiddleSis screamed at him to leave. I laughed sneeringly and offered him outside with the renowned duel request of

“You fucking want some?” (repeat several times). I was aware that several people were between us, most were physically holding me back. For Jack had “lost it big time” by now. Jack was defending his family and his home. Jack was in full “flight or fight” mode and the fight element was the winner.

After a minute or so of scuffling and shouting he was ejected by a combination of MiddleSis, Grand Master and Raptor. GMS was comforting Baby and the other kids. All of this was witnessed by my friends, family and 5 people helping out who had never seen me before. In the immediate aftermath I was praised by all and sundry on showing commendable restraint and not flattening the cunt (I rarely ever use that word unless something really pisses me off and he did). I did actually correct them and say the only reason I hadn’t was because I had been STOPPED from doing so by them. When Skank turned up, his immediate suggestion was to go round and issue some summary justice, but common sense prevailed because we had all calmed down by then. MiddleSis was so upset that her children had witnessed this she called the police to complain. They arrived and did the usual note taking. They went to see Hornblower and got his side….apparently we had been parking in front of their drive for months now! Which of course is utter bollocks. The police then left and nothing happened.

As expected.

A week later we received a solicitor’s letter on behalf of Hornblower. It made the accusations regarding the parking. It alluded to my “threats of physical violence”. It threatened injunctions and legal action, plus damages. This was in danger of escalating. I rang a solicitor, who kindly asked me to read her the letter and give my account of what happened. She laughed, told me that the firm of solicitors Hornblower had used would have charged £300 for the letter, which was complete and utter legalistic bollocks, with no standing in law. Hornblower had paid to be ripped off. A second opinion from a mate who is also a solicitor confirmed this. He photocopied it to be framed in his office because it was such crap. He was also a golf mate of the solicitor who had written it and was sure he had written what he had been asked to write, whilst undoubtedly smiling at the contribution to his coffers.

To this day we have not spoken or even acknowledged each others existence. We ignore each other when we pass on the pavement or when we’re outside the front or backs of our houses. Two proud men? Or two silly fucking idiots acting like little boys?

Suits me, the bloke was a fucking nut case before this happened.

Later, Grocerjack

Arid Britain……….

So, here we are in the middle of summer. And what a glorious one it is….NOT. Since the arse end of June…...well from halfway at least...... it has been “unsettled” in weather forecasters parlance and here we are on the 7th day of July, having barely seen any sun for fuck knows how long and to cap it all we have a severe weather warning from Teletext.

Great!

And people wonder why I want to live somewhere hot when retirement/redundancy eventually occurs. So, in the faint belief that this is just a fucking blip and that (someone’s) God doesn’t really hate the British that much I went to my favourite weather site and got a forecast for my local area for the next 10 days. Here it is…….

July 7th – Rain (good for the plants)
July 8th – Rain (still turned out nice again hasn’t it)
July 9th – Showers (sometimes known as ……rain)
July 10th – Showers (errr….would that be rain then?)
July 11th – Mostly Cloudy (Ohmigod what will the flowers do without a drink
July 12th – Rain (phew…I was getting worried then – bring on the standpipes)
July 13th – Rain (Golf Umbrella anyone? Only one owner….)
July 14th – Partly cloudy (break out the factor 25 sunscreen peeps)
July 15th – Showers (Oh good! A break from…. errr…rain)
July 16th – Mostly Cloudy (well, better get my shorts out and have the Barbie ready then)

……..etcetera, etcetera as the King of Siam allegedly once said (err…. well on the stage that I saw him on he did)

However, no doubt some arseholes will still be watering the garden…..like my wanker of a next door neighbour – hereinafter known as Hornblower – yep he’s an ex-skate of the Officer kind and we DO NOT speak after THE INCIDENT last year where he pushed Baby out of the way and stood face to face with me in my front room…a story for another posting.

I wonder what the suicide rate is when the weather does this.

Anyway, come August I’m off to Florida for 3 weeks with GMD, Teenager (lets see how fucking cocky she is in the theme parks there!) and Baby (who isn’t scared of anything from what I can see). Apparently they get an hour of torrential rain each afternoon in August and then the sun gloriously returns, the temperature rises back to 30 plus degrees and everything is dry within 30 minutes. How very fucking civilised.

Anyone wanna sell a sun lamp?

Later, Grocerjack

Bleeding Hearts.....

Yep, the bleeding heart, do good, sandal wearing, beardies and wimmin are on the fucking march again. This time it's to get the smacking of children banned by law. Great idea, lets criminalise just about every parent in the UK! What about those whose children have grown up? Shall we retrospectively charge them as well? The thing that gets me about this is that apparently we are such a violent society because of the fact we occasionally reprimand our kids with a smack on the wrist or arse. Peter Allen from Radio 5Live's excellent Drive programme argued the point eloquently yesterday to a sandal wearing beardie. The beardie had stated that violence today is rife because we smack our children. Peter Allen then asserted that in fact we smack our children less these days than perhaps in Victorian times or at anytime up until the 70's. So, how come our society is more violent now than back then? We certainly never had the degree of street crime in the past that we see today. I agree, back then, even when I was a kid, it was seen as the norm to discipline children with a smack or a belt with a stick, but yet they didn't grow up to be muggers or binge drinking fighters. At least not in the volumes we see today. So, with less smacking of children we now apparently see more violence in society. The beardie struggled to answer this point, in fact he wriggled out of it in a politicians manner. Good ole Peter didn't let him off that lightly though.

Now even I know it's not that simple, but it does seem to me that a short sharp smack makes the point and shocks the child sufficiently into knowing that punishment follows bad behaviour. I also know that this is open to abuse and this can spiral into horrific conclusions as with the tragic case of Victoria Climbie, but most parents are responsible adults who do use corporal punishment very sparingly. So, the vote yesterday was one for common sense and at least has (albeit temporarily) stopped the do gooders in their tracks. I do not doubt the altruistic motives of these people, but as with everything they are misguided in their intentions. What does stopping a child's pocket money, or sweet ration do? Does a child learn from being talked to like an adult (maybe at 8 or 9 onwards)? Do they learn from such apparent punitive measures as being stopped from watching TV, or going out with friends or playing with their toys? I would argue that is a less effective punishment as the child may not relate it to the offence, especially if the misdemeanour was carried out hours or days before, or if the punishment drags on for hours or days afterwards. What they do remember is the pain of the smack, there and then! Oh yeah, and the bleeding heart sandal wearing gang say that it legitimizes assault on children where you can't do the same to an adult. Well in the interests of consistency I believe I should be able to deck the odd adult! Especially if it shuts some of the fucking idiots I work with up!

Later, Grocerjack

This Weeks Work of Art - MichaelAngelo's Pieta, 1499, currently on dislay at St. Peters Basilica, Rome. Not a picture this week, but a sculpture and quite simply one of the most amazing things I have ever clapped my beady little eyes on. It is of the Madonna cradling the body of JC himself after the crucifixion. A digital picture can never do this justice, only seeing and touching can. However, due to some idiot vandal who attacked it, probably a mad muslim, this is now behind glass. All I can really say about it is that when you see it, it is almost impossible to view it simply as a piece of shaped rock! I have seen people reduced to tears simply by its sheer magnificence and beauty. It is the only piece that MichaelAngelo actually signed (on the sash worn by the Madonna). If you go to Rome, then see this..it is a must, but you'll see so much more at the Vatican as well as a bonus! Later, Grocerjack 

The Axis of Evil……examples

An occasional series……

Number 1: Rupert Fucking Murdoch and his lackeys….

OK, the reason I have listed Rupe and gang is that I fundamentally believe this man, along with his corporate cock sucking lackeys, Rebekah Wade (The Scum...sorry Sun), Kelvin MacKenzie (Talk Shite.....sorry Sport), plus the incestuous James Murdoch (the son and heir to the Empire) are trying to undermine and one of this country’s crown jewels…The BBC. Now I know I have criticised the Beeb in the past (too many repeats, letting ITV win rights to The Premiership, Gimme Gimme Gimme etc) but fundamentally the Beeb is the only place where I would turn to get my news in a time of crisis. And yes, they get things wrong (Hutton et al) but they are publicly accountable and when this happens we all see what they do to ensure it doesn’t happen again. Unlike The Scum which rarely apologises for errors, and when it does prints them in small type on some backwater page.

Years ago I believed the licence fee was a rip off but now for £121 I think the fact that I get BBC1, BBC2, BBC3, BBC4, BBC News 24, Radio1, Radio 2, Radio 3, Radio 4, the excellent Radio 5Live , 6Music, BBC7, 5Live extra, regional radio, a top web site and a World Service listened to by 150,000,000 or so people around the globe, some of whom use this as their only real source of unbiased news and the truth of what may be happening in their part of the world, plus Christ only knows what else for 33 pence a day, with no poxy ads or pop ups is spot on value. Now Big Rupe, as Private Eye like to call him The Dirty Digger, and gang don’t think this is right. In fact they want the Beeb to be broken up, sold off and be funded via free market forces.

But The Scum has got it in for the Corporation – now with Uncle Michael Grade in the bigger chair than the DG (Mark Thompson, Grade’s chosen son) – as it prepares to make its case for the 2006 Charter renewal. The increasingly fractious and desperate, not too mention lunatic paper since Rebekah Wade was installed as Rupe’s Mouth Organ in the editor's seat, will do anything (yeah,,,anything if you ask me…) to promote Shite...sorry Sky Television and hammer the BBC in Big Rupe’s mission for world and Universal media ownership.

"The BBC has got too grand and is too large. It’s time to sell it off." says the complete fucking idiot and village fool Kelvin MacKenzie…"It would be a shameful waste of our money if the BBC were permitted to continue to squander millions competing with commercial ventures."

Twat – so you have no vested interest eh Prick. Oh yeah, 5live has the footie rights for the Premiership, you don't....and Rupe owns most of Talk Sport doesn’t he…..ooooh open that arse just a little wider Kelvin….don’t want any discomfort for the big man do you? Tell me what’s it like to be his bitch?

”But…” I hear people saying as they fold their copy of The Scum and tune the radio into Talk Shite or switch the TV onto the increasingly dire and laughable Sky One…..”why should we pay a £121 TV licence fee?" So, I repeat….. You get eight advertising-free TV channels, five advertising-free radio networks, a nation stack of national advert free digital radio networks, national radio for Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland in English and local dialects …errr with no ads, dozens of local radio stations and regional TV studios….again with no ads, the world's best website ….pop-up free and errr….no adverts, and a Government funded World Service listened to by 150,000,000 people.

Sky Television, also owned by the Big Rupe, who also owns The Scum, and has an increased shareholding in Talk Shite radio, apparently would love to remove the average British household of four hundred smackers a year. Let’s look at what you get……

Loads of mainly crap channels, including film channels that were originally ad-free but that again was quietly dropped in favour of “maximising revenue streams”.

No regional programming (like I say barely any UK programming unless you count the endless “holiday rep/ teenagers abroad/people from hell/ arses on the beach” type tabloid trash TV that Sky One shows.

20 minutes of ads per hour, including an ad break TWO MINUTES…yes TWO MINUTES after the start of the programme.

So, you pay them each month to watch shite TV plus the ads that you’re….errrr…also paying for. In anyone’s books that is absolutely outrageous (if not brilliant!)

I’ll forgive them for the excellent Sky Sports channels which are an example to both the Beeb and especially ITV on how to cover even the dullest of sports and make them seem exciting. My god , look at how they marketed the Darts as an example of supremely good marketing.

Next in the Series….yeah the Daily Facist Mail

Later, Grocerjack