Jacks SureFire cure........

for those inevitable rotten post holiday blues.................book next years one.

Which I have done.

It felt great and certainly lifted my slightly gloomy demeanour. I do suffer badly with PHS (post holiday syndrome) to the point where I could probably spend two weeks sorting through Anne Widdecombes laundry and still be glum on returning to work. So next year it's a return to my adopted future homeland for 3 whole weeks. Vive Le France!

I also think having a blow out of the old kind with Skank at the weekend helped. He had a weekend off and GMD was away with the Guides or Brownies or something similarly jolly hockey stickey. Saturday night was the real big night...the night where we decided to be like we were before wives and kids enriched our lives. And what a night we had. Sure, it wasn't quite the indulgences of our 20's. We didn't spend £100 on videos and CD's, we didn't eat a whole litre of ice cream each, or buy a KFC Bargain Bucket. No, we bought door handles for me in B&Q, we ate Chicken Kebabs with Salad and Pitta. We kipped for 45 minutes in the afternoon (pre-match tension maybe). Then we went to the pub and drunk an incredibly unfeasible amount of Guinness each. Around 9 pints each over the 3 hours we were there. 20 years ago that would have been around 12 to 13 pints but hey, we've slowed up a bit. We then came back to my house, opened the Guinness and watch some of Roger Waters Live on DVD, and followed that with my Led Zeppelin Live DVD that he got me for Crimbo. We crashed out at around 3:00.

Sunday I had a hangover, but since discovering that a Guinness only drinking session gives me a mild groggy feeling as opposed to the serial vomiting, nausea , headache, shakes, blurred vision, itchy teeth along with serious runs that Lager gives me I wasn't too bad. It was most definitely worth it to act the kid drinker again. We don't do it enough and maybe in the next couple of months a reunion with Dave (see my Cast List) , my younger, harder and much taller youngest sibling now looks extremely viable and indeed likely.

And so the posts will now normalise as I absorb the news of the time and the arse-bollocks corporate shite of The Company and bring you my views. In the meantime....

Paula...you have unsuccessfully tried to wrest the title of Life President of the All Britain Chokers Society from Timbo. Ok, so you choked in the last Olympics with your fourth place. You choked in the Marathon this year. You choked again in the 10,000 metres. Once is valiant, twice is foolhardy. Timbo does it every year, without fail. Paula, my sweet anorexically thin love, you have had the sweet taste of success. Poor Timbo hasn't. In fact he even transported this great self-asphyxiation skill to Greece and got knocked out first round.

Class act.

He should win a gold for his choking. Paula, you crazy, zany twiglet, until you emulate this you cannot depose him from his place at the very pinnacle, the very summit of the Empire of Chokendem. Close, but no cigar as they say.

Later, GrocerJack