I can't believe the news today....

Who would believe it? ....Unbelievable! ......A travesty!..... A tragedy!....... Disgraceful!...... The Government should do something! ........I blame Tony Blair! .........Just another example of how Labour are screwing this country up! ............It's all about big business in the end etc etc (ad infinitum...)

Or in my own particular case...thank fuck, good riddance and who gives a shit.

Yes folks, apparently that kindly old man and serial altruist Bernie Ecclestone has called time on Formula 1 in the country of its birthplace (err...that being England....oh Ok fucking Britain then). The comments above are just paraphrased from what I heard on 5 Live and some of the dickheads....sorry...petrolheads in the office (frankly I think I was right first time) in reaction to this allegedly monumental news. Now, I am sorry if this upsets anyone (but it's my blog and I'll write what I damn well like!) but I cannot bring myself to be the slightest bit sorry about the loss of this so called sport, with overpaid pampered drivers, driving virtually automated machines in a procession around the track. A sport where "team orders" destroy individual ability or undermine what comparatively little skills these automatons have. A sport which thinks nothing of charging a minimum of £150 to watch on the day and some hideous price to watch the practice runs or the qualifying rounds. I've said it before, it's hardly spectator friendly is it? I would have as much fun plonked on a deck chair on the side of the M25. And it'd be free!

And before anyone says "Oh yeah and golf is exciting is it.." in a sarky manner....well actually yes it fucking is. The Ryder Cup was genuinely exciting, as were the Majors, often going to the last day...remember the British Open? Plus, its a sport anyone can play, from rich to poor, male to female, brilliant to duffer, old or young, black or white, short, tall, fat, thin, blind (yes blind), deaf, disabled, clever, stupid or even the likes of me. Hmmm...how many F1 drivers fit into the categories above other than young, tall, rich, male and white....huh answer me that! But a set of clubs can be had for around £50 (second hand) or for £100 including bag, trolley and balls from Argos, and a round for as little as £10 in some places. And every course can challenge the best to the worst. Oh yeah...lest we forget... a handicapping system allowing players of any ability to be pitched against each other, meaning that theoretically I could beat Colin Montgomerie in a one off game (admittedly I'd still have to kneecap him or tie his arm behind his back to do this but...theoretically it is possible)

How much more fucking inclusive can you get?

And for golf, you can add football, rugby and even the biggest knobber sport of Tennis to that list.

However, my friends, with good old F1 things are a tad different. I used to think it wasn't possible to drive an F1 car without giving blow jobs to Team Owners and Managers, being bought up on the streets of Rio, or being a rich loaded public schoolboy with loaded parents or a knobber playboy with a death wish and a small dick. But I was wrong...for the princely sum of £1200 (yup 1200 bars, sovs, nicker) I can have a weekend at Mallory Park (who, where?), several meals, a night in a hotel (whoopy fucking do) , a ride in some cars (including a hot hatch...didn't I used to do that at 16?), with the climax (sic) of 8 laps in a genuine F1 car...yeah...a genuine F1 car...no honest guv..its genuine....fresh from Monza. At £1200 it's hardly something one can partake in every weekend though is it? And how genuine can this car be if their willing to allow any sad fucking boy (or girl) racer to get behind the wheel and drive it after a days "familiarisation"? Hmm...don't the real drivers have to do years at lower levels of motorsport, live a life of paucity (yeah right), struggle through adversity, indulge in large amounts of arslikhan etc etc (ad infinitum). Oh yeah, and there is no option to just book the driving bit....nah..there wouldn't be would there. After all, we don't want Darren turning up on his 18th birthday after a night on the WKD, in his F reg Ford Fiesta XR2, ready for a drive do we?

Oh yeah...Prix is French for price...so the translation of Grand Prix is "Big Price"...how very ironic.

So, I won't apologise for this tirade because I think the whole alleged "sport" is rubbish, contrived and corrupt. But worse than that it's boring boring boring.

So farewell then F1 in Britain...it's a wonder you lasted this long.

I am off now to strike a multi million pound deal with ITV for the rights to the Weekly M25 Round London Scramble, sponsored by the Ministry of Transport and held every Friday Night at around 5 'o' clock in the evening. I believe they have several other events there every day as well for those who want to secure the rights. The worst of it is....some people would probably actually pay for this!

Finally.......it's hard to write in the day amongst the sea of "swimlanes" so posts will probably be evening oriented from now on. And don't even start me on RAG Status Reports to add to the KPI reporting!

PPS Finally......Big cheers for the Mighty Blues as they rolled Porto aside last night. Professional, tidy and ultimately ruthless. Bring on CSKA Moscow (who will lose because Roman Abramovich will order them to!). And yes, I watched the game all the way and we won. The experiment continues.....

Later, my friends, later, GrocerJack

This Weeks Work of Art - conscious that this has lapsed since I went on holiday so back comes this occasional series whereby I display my favourite works of Art for your enjoyment or for you to despise, but hopefully never be apathetic about. This is by Gustav Klimt - The Kiss, 1907-08, oil on canvas. It has been variously described by some as the most romantic painting of all time, but if you look carefully I think it is actually a real scary picture, or a real warning of something sinister. Does she look happy? Does she really enjoy this apparent close attention? What hold does the bloke have over her..is it love...or some other darker force...such as fear? Excellnet stuff and someone I am just discovering as a thought provoking and challenging artist. Later, GrocerJack
 

Men and Women.......

I don't normally do Monday posts as the weekend is never that interesting, however a good 1-0 away win for the Mighty Blues at Middlesbrough warmed things up after a top night in Old Pub on Friday (New Pub still hasn't worked out what the fuck it needs to get the real locals in) and a semi-decent game of golf yesterday capped off a nice relaxing weekend. Told you it was dull but I like dull...dull is good...dull means no nasty surprises.

Anyway, my thanks to Private Godfrey for this - its probably done the rounds but I haven't seen it before.

How to make a woman happy?

It's really not difficult... To make a woman happy; a man only needs to be :
1. a friend
2. a companion
3. a lover
4. a brother
5. a father
6. a master
7. a chef
8. an electrician
9. a carpenter
10. a plumber
11. a mechanic
12. a decorator
13. a stylist
14. a sexologist
15. a gynaecologist
16. a psychologist
17. a pest exterminator
18. a psychiatrist
19. a healer
20. a good listener
21. an organiser
22. a good father
23. very clean
24. sympathetic
25. athletic
26. warm
27. attentive
28. gallant
29. intelligent
30. funny
31. creative
32. tender
33. strong
34. understanding
35. tolerant
36. prudent
37. ambitious
38. capable
39. courageous
40. determined
41. true
42. dependable
43. passionate

All this WITHOUT forgetting to:
44. give her compliments regularly
45. love shopping
46. be honest
47. be very rich
48. not stress her out
49. not look at other girls

And at the same time you MUST also:
50. give her lots of attention, but expect little yourself
51. give her lots of time, especially time for herself
52. give her lots of space, never worrying about where she goes

It is VERY important to:
53. Never to forget: * birthdays* anniversaries* arrangements she makes

How to make man happy? :

1. Shag him
2. Leave him in peace

I did think of some others that make a man happy such as "don't ask for a cuddle after a shag" or don't ask him for some of his chips. I'm sure there are probably more....

Later, GrocerJack

Wise Words from the worlds greatest songwriter….

The monkey sat on a pile of stones
And he stared at the broken bone in his hand
And the strains of a Viennese quartet rang out across the land
The monkey looked up at the stars
And he thought to himself
Memory is a stranger, history is for fools
And he cleaned his hands in the pool of holy writing
Turned his back on the garden and set out for the nearest town

Hold on! Hold on soldier!
When you add it all up the tears and the marrowbone
There's an ounce of gold and an ounce of pride in each ledger
And the Germans killed the Jews
And the Jews killed the Arabs
And the Arabs killed the hostages
And that is the news
And is it any wonder that the monkey's confused?

He said Mama Mama the President's a fool
Why do I have to keep reading these technical manuals
And the joint chiefs of staff and the brokers on Wall Street said
Don't make us laugh you're a smart kid
Time is linear, memory's a stranger, History's for fools
Man is a tool in the hands of the great God Almighty
And they gave him command of a nuclear submarine
And sent him back in search of the Garden of Eden

Can't you see?
It all makes perfect sense
Expressed in Dollars and Cents
Pounds, Shillings and Pence
Can't you see?
It all makes perfect sense

Little black soul departs in perfect focus
Prime time fodder for the News at Nine
Darling is the Child warm in bed tonight

Can't you see?
It all makes perfect sense
Expressed in Dollars and Cents
Pounds, shillings and pence
Can't you see?
It all makes perfect sense

(Roger Waters, Perfect Sense parts 1 and 2, Amused to Death, 1992)

And seemingly even more applicable today. If you get the chance to listen to this track (Parts 1 and 2), then it becomes even more poignant.

More later, GrocerJack (and they will be happier…. I promise)

Those who live by the sword......

I really wanted to write something cheerful and perhaps even funny because it seems to me my postings have been a bit whingy lately. However, bearing in mind the current situation with the British hostage in Iraq anything like that seems a bit trite. Perhaps its just me, because generally my mood is pretty "up" at the moment. Work is going well, despite the swimlanes, roadmaps, strategy documents, RAG status reports and KPI's so I can't find anything remotely good enough for a savaging on the blog from that usually reliable source. After this post perhaps I'll try and ignore what's going on in the world because I can't help but feel duty bound to write and comment on what I see and hear, and that doesn't necessarily make for good reading. The last thing I really want is to make this blog as miserable and depressing as Eastenders.

Tonight I watched the videos of the American hostages being ......well murdered is the only term....no, make that brutally and savagely murdered by ...well ....(and I apologize for the language but it sums up the depth of feeling).....a bunch of Terrorist Cunts. These TC's (to save writing the C word which I use frequently with mates on the golf course but NEVER with anyone else) are psychopathic motherfuckers and the only thing that I can think of is that we don't even attempt to take them alive but we kill them using the alleged methods of Black Jack Pershing. It's extreme but I can't see any way forward in dealing with people allegedly holding no fear of death. And I apply this only to the TC's killing people arbitrarily in the name of some warped translation of the writings of the holy book of one of the worlds great faiths.

This is the story -

HOW TO STOP ISLAMIC TERRORISTS...... it worked once in our History...
Once in U.S. history an episode of Islamic terrorism was very quickly stopped. It happened in the Philippines about 1911, when Gen. John J. Pershing was in command of the garrison. There had been numerous Islamic terrorist attacks, so "Black Jack" told his boys to catch the perps and teach them a lesson.
Forced to dig their own graves, the terrorists were all tied to posts, execution style. The U.S. soldiers then brought in pigs and slaughtered them, rubbing their bullets in the blood and fat. Thus, the terrorists were terrorized; they saw that they would be contaminated with hogs' blood. This would mean that they could not enter Heaven, even if they died as terrorist martyrs.
All but one was shot, their bodies dumped into the grave, and the hog guts dumped atop the bodies. The lone survivor was allowed to escape back to the terrorist camp and tell his brethren what happened to the others. This brought a stop to terrorism in the Philippines for the next 50 years.
Pointing a gun into the face of Islamic terrorists won't make them flinch.
They welcome the chance to die for Allah. Like Gen. Pershing, we must show them that they won't get to Muslim heaven (which they believe has an endless supply of virgins) but instead will die with the hated pigs of the devil.

It seems this story may be apocryphal as any hard evidence is disputed but if we are fighting fanatics with no fear of death and unless that death is tainted in some way then we cannot beat them. If we made death a fearsome prospect (as it is for us, especially if untimely to brutal) by adopting a methodology such as this, then doesn't this act as a possible deterrent?

Before anyone screams "Islamaphobe" or "racist" lets get one thing straight. I will stand by the right of any person to practice any faith they like, providing it causes no harm to myself or others. All I am advocating is using an extreme method of death which puts terror into the hearts of terrorists. Faith should be a personal thing only to be shared amongst those who also follow it, or those who have no objection to its practice. I do not believe in indoctrinating people in any faith, by any method. If they want to follow it then let them learn about the options themselves, perhaps by the teaching in school of their existence but with no secular bias, like the French do. I do believe that most Muslims are peaceful, caring people who want to worship their God and live good and meaningful lives in conjunction with others of different faiths (even Judaism). The same goes for most Christians, Buddhists and Hindus. However, terrorism against innocent people, with no militaristic connections has no part of any religion and that is also the truth about Islam. What we see is the warped translation of the Koran (Qu'ran?) by fanatical pyschopaths with agenda's and motives known only to themselves. And lets also get this straight...fundamental Christians are as bad...and George W is a fundamental Christian. What we are seeing is a repeat of the Crusades being fought out by minority wings of each religion (Georgie Boy from the Christian side, Zarqawi/Bin Laden on the other,) where the majority of each lives side by side, sometimes easily, sometimes uneasily but they do not willingly kill the innocents of the other side. How did these idiots gain such prominence. How did the respective religions allow such zealots to gain such followings?

Surely the great and the good within the "Arab Nation" can root out their own troublemakers and prevent the seemingly inevitable path to self destruction they're being dragged down. Surely it is in their economic and cultural interests to co-exist peacefully with the West? Surely the American people can see the fool in charge for what he is, and the damage being done to the name of America in all areas of the world? Surely, they'll vote to put someone in charge who REALLY KNOWS what the horror of war is FIRST HAND and knows it is a last resort, not a first resort. Surely, they'll vote for someone who seems keen to take a proud nation and return it to a caring and generous nation, genuinely protecting the innocent and not just the business community. A man who wants to release their country from the grip of Middle Eastern oil and help them look elsewhere for their energy needs? Surely common sense will prevail somewhere.....

And so I put forward the view that when these terrorists are found they are shot with bullets impregnated with pigs fat or pigs blood. If they are tried and sentenced to death, then that death should be similarly tainted. They should know that their belief of what follows death will actually be the realization of their worst fears and not their greatest aspirations. Then perhaps they will learn that democracy, no matter how flawed is still the fairest political system the world knows today, and the best and most effective way of changing what you don't like.

Later, Grocerjack

Knobbers in cars....

So I'm driving to work this morning when a member of The Fucking Bastards (see my cast list for details) is driving his tractor along the road I use when leaving the village. This Knobber is travelling slow, even for a Dingle Tractor Driver, my guess is about 3mph or just barely above stall speed in my car. Just behind him about 6 inches or so is another knobber from The Fucking Bastards, a 20-ish male driver. He is driving a lime green , barely legal, battered old Peugot 106 and seems happy to be following Numbnuts Dingle at snails pace. I then decide to execute a perfectly legitimate manouvre generally known as OVERTAKING. Patently this is something yet to be experienced by Young Knobber, that is being the overtakee. Undoubtedly when he's showing off to Shazza or Trace he is often the overtaker, when he can find a straight enough road to get the half mile or so his motor would need to pass a motor mower. Anyway I am just gliding effortlessly past him and have my car about 3 feet in front on the opposite side of the two lane road (Christ I'm sounding like a copper now...at least I haven't said "the vehicle was proceeding..."). when Young Knobber decides to also overtake Numbnuts Dingle. Yep, straight into the side of my car. Wanker. I pulled over and the details have been swapped and he knew he'd done wrong. Didn't make the start of my day any better though did it? Anyway, the damge is from the front wheel arch all along the car to the back wheel arch, nicely dented, scratched and gouged. Mirror shatter and in pieces, indicator bulb on front panel now lying on the roadside somewhere. Around £2k if my estimate is right. Twat.

The moral? Chill out, avoid Numbnut Dingle Tractor drivers (in league with lorry drivers if you ask me), and always, always assume that Young Knobbers are clueless, witless, shitnecks who you wouldn't trust to run a bath , let alone drive a car. I will from now on....

Later, GrumpyGrocerJack

Well done to "Our Boys!".....





Well done to the Europena Ryder Cup team - I don't want this to dwarf the article below about the late, great Clougie but as a golfer....nay....as a a sports fan this was a superb victory, on a par with winning a world cup in footie. If Tone and gang can't get the "Euro" spirit into the people then this certainly came close. In my "anti-Europe" local, where I bang a very lonely pro-Europe drum, everyone was gripped and cheering the guys on. Apparently it wasn't big news in the US, but that's because of the fact that

a.)they lost,
b.)it wasn't a competition between only US citizens and...
c.)it involved a little place they barely know exists (that'd be Europe then!)

Sweetest moment was Monty, who after years of putting up with the hate mob and their purile (but slightly funny) Mrs Doubtfire gags, and after a traumatic year personally was the one to hit the winning putt and in doing so shove a large one right up America's pipe, Later, GrocerJack 

So farewell then Brian Clough 1935-2004.......





It is a sad day for football and one cannot underestimate what this man achieved in football. To win a league championship with a small provincial team like Derby and then do the same twice with Nottingham Forest is remarkable enough.

To win four league cups is more than most other managers ever achieve, but to win two back to back European Cups is unrivalled and to do that with Nottingham Forest is absolutely miraculous. Don't forget this is the equivalent to todays Champions (sic) League and is the biggest prize in club football in the world!

It was sad to him end on a relegation note but unquestionably his drinking had taken its toll and the sharp mind had been blunted considerably (if not the sharp tongue!) Those last images of him in 1993 before his enforced retirement with his bloated face and blotched, spotty, wretched complexion, a giveaway sign of the soon to be irretrievably poisoned liver, were sad indeed. But his liver transplant last year and his total subsequent abstinence from the sauce had transformed him. In recent interviews he had looked hale and hearty, almost fresh faced, with the sharp tongue still there but complemented by a warmer, more engaging person...a man who knew he was lucky to be alive and was happy in his dotage to play the part of retired ex-legendary manager and current Dad and Grandad. His stories are legendary, both from his friends but also from himself.

My favourite Cloughie quote? That would be this....

"I'm not the best manager there is, but I'm definitely in the Top One".

It is a huge tribute to the man that he was known even to those who never watched football or even like the game. He was a personality, an eccentric and a deeply principled man (a real socialist through and through), and a man who never let the riches and fame change him. His favourite meal was always quoted as Fish and Chips in the paper. Football, and I would argue the country as a whole, is a little less colourful for the loss of one of it's greatest men. RIP, Cloughie. Later, GrocerJack  

So Farewell then………

Just a brief post about the demise of my alter ego ChelseaBoy. I thought it might be a good idea to spin off my sports stuff, especially around footie and golf to another blog but to be quite honest I don’t have the time to do it justice and every time I posted to it I felt guilty about not having time to post to this one.

So from now on this blog will include my sport related rants as well and ChelseaBoy is now sat firmly with other failed experiments, making friends with 8-Track tapes, the Squarial, Betamax videos, the Sinclair C5, Concordski, British Rail’s Tilting Trains and The Earth Centre in Doncaster (were they really serious about thinking people would want to see this?)


If you get the chance, have a look at Casino Avenue today from the link on the left. The cartoon Inspector Sands has posted had me laughing out loud in the office this morning. It sums up just what I think of the twats who spent the day protesting in London about the forthcoming ban on fox hunting, and the knobbers who decided to invade the floor of the Commons. I know the country dwellers think people don’t understand them but let’s face it in this high tech age we must be able to come up with more humane ways of controlling the fox population. Even shooting seems humane, although after the incident this week with the youngster in Devon it might be more dangerous for people than foxes. I’m a countryside dweller now and most of the people I know are either completely ambivalent about the alleged sport, or want it banned. Hardly anyone thinks it’s acceptable these days. Another point is that we live in a representational democracy and the MP’s who voted are the elected representatives of their constituencies and that’s the way it is. These knobbers are now talking about breaking the new law and hunting anyway because they’re “not hurting anyone else” to quote one of the protestors interviewed on the fabulous 5Live (a former Olympic Medallist whose name escapes me).

How interesting will that be to see how the police and courts deal with them? If they get off lightly or are ignored then think of the interesting other laws that people might ignore! Perhaps we can ignore speeding offences “where no-one else is hurt”, or allow public Cannabis consumption and dealing, after all they’re not hurting anyone else either, especially after having had a joint. After hours drinking is another good one, after all the only people being damaged or hurt are the drinkers.

I’m sure you lot can think of more laws that we could all start breaking on the basis of not hurting anyone else….cant you?


More later, GrocerJack

Pain - Please go away (part 2) …….

This will only make sense if you have read the posting below, so go ahead…I’ll wait here until you’re done.

She came back and explained that all X-Rays are routinely checked again at the end of a shift and upon examining mine the Senior Junior Young Doctor had asked what ward I’d been sent to! Doctor Chris Evans then (presumably) said I’d been sent home and then the Senior Junior Young Doctor had then explained or shouted to him that when someone’s leg is shown to be detached from the hip by 6 inches and a shard of bone was visible, having been broken off at impact from the socket of the pelvis, that usually meant something serious. Effectively all that was attaching my right leg to my body was muscle, tendon and skin! I did see the X-Rays later and even a medical moron like me could see just how detached things were. So it was a dislocation and a fracture. As the ambulance guys wheeled me into the hospital I lay there thinking what I would do if I got hold of Dr Chris Evans again…but even then I just kept thinking about the nurse and my missed opportunity…..damn…….there I go again!

Then Doctor Death came and saw me. He was Spanish, although I never held that against anyone before this guy tainted my view for a while. His hair was jet black and he was young but with a morose look that suggested he wasn’t over-enamoured with his job…or in fact his lot in life. Anyway he proceeded to tell me that my operation was scheduled for 13:00 and it was a good job I hadn’t eaten………

“But I have…I had breakfast and a cup of tea”

His dark features darkened even more and then he flipped…..”Why you do this? You have operation booked! People have been moved for you to have this. Why you be ignorant?”

I was in pain so my tether was already close to the end.

“You patronising wanker….you fucking c**t…” said I…”You bastards send me home with a smashed in fucking leg, don’t call me until the next day and then have the bollocks to have a go because I fucking ate before an operation I didn’t even fucking know I was going to have!”

Or words to that effect. There might have been one or two more swear words used, but I lost it as big time as possible considering the pain I was in. He was unfazed and then went into a tirade about how selfish and stupid bikers were, before telling me how many decapitated bodies he dealt with from motorbike accidents, or the amount of serious brain damage he saw. According to him I was lucky to be alive. I found out later that his bedside manner was similar to everyone, thus the nickname Doctor Death. It takes all sorts I suppose.

Anyway the operation was delayed by another 7 hours and so I was left on a trolley, alone in terrible pain until they came to fix me. Strangely enough the Doctor doing the operation was a double of Gary Lineker! I started to think that perhaps this was a Twilight Zone Hospital where celebrities got to fulfil their Doctors and Nurses fantasies on real people. In my mind the pretty nurse had started to resemble Linda Lusardi….but maybe that happens all the time.

The operation was successful but I had a six week stay in hospital (with truck loads of other stories that I will tell later) in traction which included the Christmas period as well followed by six months on crutches. The Consultant (who thankfully didn’t look like a celeb) said I must have had a very high pain threshold and that in normal cases where a dislocation occurs for more than 12 hours a condition called
Avascular Necrosis can occur. Basically the blood supply to the bone is cut off or depleted during dislocation and if this occurs for long enough the bone dies. I asked the obvious question of whether it comes alive again once the blood is restored and back came the answer…which was No! The bone would then crumble and the only resolution was a hip replacement. I was 32 for fucks sake! Apparently hip replacements only last 10 years and you can only have two of them, not because of the cost, but because after two there isn’t enough bone left to secure it to! Anyway, that condition didn’t happen thankfully, but I was also told that I would increase my chances of arthritis by about 85% and that risk had increased from the moment of impact and not from the negligence of the hospital. The shard of bone from the accident had been left in my leg because it meant cutting muscle to remove it and that may have caused more damage than leaving it there.

And so, the pain I now have could be something totally different. But it could be arthritis although I imagined that to be a dull constant pain combined with difficulty moving and perhaps the odd “grinding” sensation. It may just be the shard of bone having moved into a not so friendly location – the equivalent of the old “shrapnel in the leg” excuse. All I know is that it hurts and the Ibuprofen seems to be having less effect every day.

I’ll put up with it for another 2 or 3 weeks, doing the bloke thing of ignoring it and hoping it just goes away. But then, if it hasn’t I’ll have to bite the bullet and see the Doctor. Thus my call of
Pain – please go away.


More later, GrocerJack

Pain - Please go away (part 1) …….

I have a pain in my upper right leg, near the hip but also just down from that. It hurts to

Stand Up
Walk
Run
Lean
Lay on my right side.
Sit with my legs crossed

Eleven years ago I had a motorbike accident in which a wayward driver decided to plant their car in front of my moving bike. I had a choice of

1.) Ditching the bike or
2.) Hitting the car and flying over the top.
3.) Building a time machine and going back in time to stop myself taking that route home or flattening the car tyres so they couldn’t make that journey

Not being Dr Who or even one of his lovely assistants ruled out Option 3. Had I been Olga Korbut I might have taken the second option and flown over the car, done a triple pike, with a somersault culminating in me landing on my feet, shouting a chorus of “Tada!” and flashing a cheeky smile at the cameras and judges.

But I wasn’t the delightful Ms Korbut, or a clone of her. So I took option 1 and ditched the bike. I was doing around 50 at the time so it fucking hurt when I hit the deck. I remember screaming like a girl (sorry girls but you do scream!) as the pain seared through me, and the shock and fear hammered home. I rolled into the opposite lane and opened my eyes in time to see the wheel of the oncoming lorry stop about 5 feet from my head.

In that one instant my previous typical young bloke sense of immortality disappeared forever. From that moment of impact I would start to think frequently of my lucky escape but also of the thought that one day I would shuffle off this mortal coil like everyone else. It changed my life.

I was rushed to hospital in an ambulance where I removed my own helmet (a precaution to ensure they don’t do any further damage to your skull because you’ll know if it can come off safely and painlessly) where I was ignored for 45 minutes before a nice pleasant and very attractive nurse asked me to remove my jeans. Blimey, just my luck to get a chance like this when I was obviously temporarily disabled. No…….No…obviously it was because of my injuries and they wanted to X-Ray me but at that age (32) and being single that thought would go through any blokes head. I was then manhandled into the X-Ray room after being given some painkillers. After about 3 hours, in excruciating pain, unable to stand or sit, with a broken wrist now heavily strapped I was sent home. The Chris Evans lookalike Young Doctor said that the X-Rays showed a bit of bruising and twisting and that in a week or so after plenty of rest I’d be reasonably mobile again. He must have done 100 hours that week, or maybe it actually was Chris Evans because he was very wrong. I stayed with a (now former) friend who happened to be a nurse. She looked after me, made me comfortable and fed me. I smoked through the night unable to sleep through pain, despite being as heavily dosed with painkillers as was legal without knocking me out. The next day she did me a Bacon sarnie and some tea. It was so nice that despite the pain I followed it with a Sausage sarnie. As I ate, she answered a phone call and the transcript of what I heard was

“……..yes, Jack the Grocer is here”

“Oh…….oh dear……..well that explains why he’s in so much pain then”………

TO BE CONTINUED IN THE NEXT POST…………….

Later, GrocerJack

Happy Birthday Skank……….

Yup - incredibly my brother hits the big 40 today. Happy Fucking Birthday! Don’t worry it’s a normal birthday greeting for both of us, nothing malicious in it at all. We did not hold the big annual Jack Barbie bash this year mainly because the original date in July was one of the worst weather days this year and everyone would have ended up soaking wet and miserable. Sorry, make that pissed, soaking wet and at least temporarily happy. So our plan was to move it to September 11th when the weather was maybe a bit more placid. Then after returning from Florida and realising the full horror of the finances we decided to cut our cloth accordingly until The Company’s share option comes through later this year and refreshes the parts of the bank account that my holiday managed to decimate. We knew it would be expensive but it appears to have had the equivalent damaging force of a financial Hurricane Charley, tearing its way through the timber framed structure of my savings account and tearing off the corrugated plastic roof that seemed so secure for my accumulated wedge just 3 months ago. Anyway, September was nice for the first couple of weeks, but as Saturday approached we knew the good weather was about to suffer a massive sulk and curl its toes up, shuffling away from its brief sojourn to the jolly old South Coast of Dear Old Blighty. And as it left it decided to leave a pile of gob on us, luckily just a few dribbles on Saturday before the full crap of yesterday. We decided to go with family only for the Barbie and to keep it as a celebration (in part) of Skanks 40th birthday. The weather did its best for us but there were some short sharp showers. However the copious amount of alcohol flowing freely stemmed any negative thoughts on the day, and everyone had a top time.

At one point we had a full rendition of the adults singing along to Roger Waters version of the Pink Floyd Magnificent Octopus that is “Comfortably Numb”. Twice. In fact a good proportion of the music was supplied by the good Mr. Waters and Messrs Page and Plant from my recently acquired live DVD’s, pumped out through the mega TV Dolby window shaking, bass thumping system I bought last year. It was as good as the other week when he came down, but improved by the presence of BigSykes and SmallSykes, along with MiddleSis and LittleSis, plus Grand Master and Raptor (who barely deserves this nickname now so I will seek an alternative). Mind you I was fucking ill yesterday with a hangover not seen round these parts since I celebrated my 40th! It’s not the capacity that’s the problem. I’m pretty sure that we, as older blokes, can drink as much and probably more than a 20-something, with the bonus of not getting slappy with it. No, it’s the recovery period that so badly lets us down. What used to take a few hours to recover from now takes anywhere between 12 and 36 hours before I can consider myself part of the human race again. Even a round of golf was not enough to blow the hangover away and that is very unusual. But it’ll happen again no doubt and the truth is that we never learn, do we?

Pub News…….

My “local” pub (i.e the one in the village) closed last year to be rebuilt. However such was the shithole it had become I rarely drank in there. The governor was an ignorant fat slob, his wife thought she was Bet Lynch, except she was ugly and lazy. The pub was built in 1960, after the original stone cottage pub was knocked down. The new pub was famed for being built in a day. Built in Lady Margaret Road in Southall (one of my former haunts), delivered at 06:00 in the morning on the back of lorry, serving drink by 18:00. It was a pre-fab and the fact it lasted until 2003 is nothing short of a miracle in itself. So, they knocked the old one down and built a new one made out of flint and brick, two storeys, new garden and completely in tune with the architecture and character of the village. It opened on Friday and the crowd in my current pub had the wisdom not to go that night, although I had a sneaky pint (which means two!) on my way home from work. It looks good and is a massive improvement on the old one, but one thing stood out – 2 bar staff? On the opening night? Sure enough down my pub that night we had an overflow of people who had waited up to an hour in some cases to get served. The new governor of the new pub did not even show his face! Even on Saturday when I took GMD and Baby there at lunchtime for a swiftie before the Barbie started we waited 10 minutes, and eventually with no sign of being served and with the new Landlady blanking us, one obviously inexperienced girl trying to take food orders and serve drinks we upped and went to our normal pub for a beer. We were served there as we walked through the door. So, here’s my advice to new pub landlord. Get it fucking sorted or you’ll be empty within a week. You should be very visible now, whilst you try to win back people like me and my mates. You should have too many staff on and then cut back according to your new trade levels. Get the basics right and you have a chance. Otherwise you’ll end up with passing trade and 20-somethings and teenagers spending a few quid before going clubbing. And before you know it the place will be a shithole like before. Hardcore spenders like me and my family and friends will stay where we are, safe in the knowledge that a pub where the governor knows my name, where my Guinness is on the go as I walk to the bar. That’s what running a pub is about, knowing the locals and the regulars. Treat them right and the others will notice this and also come back. Until then, The Governor at my local knows his trade is safe.

More later, GrocerJack

Changing Lanes………

Six weeks ago my work calendar was barren. It was sparse, vacant, empty, a vast desert of un-booked time punctured sporadically by free lunches, or reminders to get important things done (play golf, go to pub, buy flowers for GMD ‘s birthday/anniversary, buy kids presents for birthdays, Christmas Day etc). It was almost unspoilt virgin territory. Now it has changed and bit by bit, day by day it is returning to its former state. Days packed with meetings I don’t want to go to but am expected to attend, reminders to finish some bullshit, raggedy-arse task that I couldn’t actually give a flying fuck about. Since agreeing to manage this new team life is changing from one of virtually uninterrupted loafing into the monster of before, with endless meetings, dozens of phone calls, deadlines, documents, masses of wanky irrelevant emails, projects and initiatives. A return to the bollocks of “swimlanes”, “horizontals”, “process alignment” and my old nemesis “leveraging global synergies”.

I have to devise a plan to contain it all before it spirals out of control. In essence I enjoy the extra stuff to a degree, but having had 6 months of comparative leisure and freeloading time I don’t want to return to the stress-monster I was before. Life is all about balance and I want loafing and freeloading mixed in with stress free team management and peer interaction. So I need to formulate a cunning Blackadder like plan to ensure life doesn’t return to how it was before.

Other than “Quit” all I can think of is “Lie to everyone”. Any other ideas?


More later, GrocerJack

Still mad…….

Yup, still mad, upset and bemused over the Beslan tragedy. Even copious amounts of Guinness could not completely quell the pain of what happened. We talked about it in the pub with the usual cross section of people giving off views ranging from the eminently sensible to the completely barking (Medallion Man) view of nuking them all. This to me is what the pub is about, and is uniquely British. People out for the night, maybe just a fleeting visit, drinking and talking in an establishment where you never know who’ll walk through the door, chatting idly or engaged in friendly (or unfriendly) banter, or as on Friday with everyone talking about the days events and being given the chance to air their view.

Who says people don’t care?

The Governor was most strident in his views, blaming the Russian Government and armed forces, as well as Western Civilization (see below) in general for creating the conditions for terrorism and ultimately contributing to the events and deaths. Of course these are valid (if unsound) points but the 20 minute lecture on how to free hostages had everyone yawning a bit. The Governor is ex-Army, although like a lot of soldiers its always a bit unclear exactly what he did. He may have been a Commando, he may have been a cook but its funny how he seems to be an expert on everything and everyone. A typical British pub landlord then, almost related to the Great British Taxi driver. Whatever, despite this tragedy the atmosphere was what I had come to expect, glasses clinking, people talking and laughing, no music. A beautiful noise indeed, and one rarely heard in today’s modern theme pubs full of loud music (which I LOVED when 20 but hate now I’m old), quiz machines and fruit machines. A sign of age no doubt, but to my view a very welcome one.

And that’s it for the weekend. Just spent most of it decorating, repairing or constructing stuff, like any other henpecked husband and Dad. Over the next few weeks my posts might be a bit sporadic as my exam is due in October and I have a mighty rush to complete the course work, do the last assignment and revise. All this amongst the stress of my new “management” role within the company with a new team of engineers for me to manage makes life a bit more hectic for a while. The obvious upside to this is the extra ideas it will generate (hopefully) and some more corporate gobbledygook bollocks talk to publish.

I read this today – on the point of Western Civilization. When a Western visitor first asked Gandhi what he thought of Western Civilization, apparently Gandhi replied “I think it would be a very good idea!”

Still in comparison to some other civilisations we currently seem to right at the top of the moral tree.

More later, GrocerJack

Heartbreaking…..

I wish this post was more cheerful, but the images seen today of the events in Southern Russia have bought a tear to my eye. I can imagine nothing worse than my two children being involved in something as horrendous as this. The sight of parents lifting sheets to see if the body belongs to that of one of their children left the canteen at my office a very silent and sombre place. A tragic and very sad sight indeed.

Who is to blame? Only one answer there – the terrorists. I am no fan of Bush but his stance against terrorism is the strongest in our times and perhaps thats what we need no matter who is elected. And despite my doubts about Blair it has to be said that for once we have a leader willing to stand up to these terrorists no matter what the cause. President Putin seems to be of a similar ilk and does not appear to have given any order to go in, nor it seems did any of the senior military personnel there. The evidence seems to point to the Russian soldiers taking it upon themselves, stirred into action by the sight of the terrorists starting to shoot the hostages. I have seen some comments accusing the Russians of heavy handedness but what else could they do? Negotiate? With fanatics? Has that ever worked? Nope, they had to go in eventually and it’s a terrible shame that people and children have died, but it seems they were doomed anyway. Russia has its own Northern Ireland here, that’s for sure.

As I have stated before the only way to deal with them is to kill them – no trial, no justice, no publicity. Just quietly and efficiently take them out. And here’s another idea. Why not create a terrorism Task Force made up from the worlds elite military forces. Yes, combine soldiers from the SAS etc into one highly mobile, highly trained unit. Their purpose could be defined as preventing Terrorism (via killing the fuckers before they get the chance to do their terrible deeds) and being used in situations such as today. I do see the point that some make about breeding new classes of terrorist by keeping the killing going but surely the world has seen enough after this to unite and stamp it out, whether by use of Special Forces or internally from their own communities. Surely the combined might of powerful nations can overwhelm and crush these bastards.

Put it this way. If I knew someone was a terrorist, drinking in my pub I would kill them, in cold blood if necessary. Fuck the fear factor, if necessary I’d act (or be) scared but yes, I’d put a bullet in them. No doubt I’d be arrested, but lets face it, what jury would bang me up? I often wonder why no-one close to Hitler/Saddam/Pol Pot/Ho Chi Minh/Stalin/Milosevic et al never did it.

I need some Guinness, and some good news to cheer me up.


More later, GrocerJack

Vive Le France!

So some nutcase fruit loop, basket case Iraqi’s have kidnapped 2 French journalists. I don’t much like journalists but even I find kidnapping a bit much. My view is simple. France is an independent country which is free to make its own laws. I quite like the idea of separating the state from religion and keeping it independent. It means that any teachings can be unbiased and objective. Who do these Muslim fanatics think they are? If I go to Saudi and open a bottle of Jim Beam, will I be ignored…or banged up? If I steal a hat from a shop…will I be chastised or fined? Or will I lose my hand? If I decry Allah in Tehran, will I be ignored, laughed at…or stoned to death?

Followers of Islam listen. If you live in the West then abide by the laws of the country you live in, or were born in. I have to. If I moved to the US then I will abide by their laws, or if I move to Jordan I will abide by theirs. I have no choice. When the Arab countries make allowances for Western faiths and traditions then maybe we’ll listen back. In the meantime the only protests should come from French Muslims, and then only via political and lobby group pressure and dialogue.

France, please do no cave in like the Spanish did after the Madrid bombs. It’s you country, your law. One which has been around along time. It affects Christians and Jews as well, no skull caps or visible Crucifixes. The West must not allow these fucking idiots, whether Muslim, Christian, black, brown yellow or whatever to dictate our laws.

More later, GrocerJack

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