As promised, a nice work of art to act as my test card whilst my transmissions stop for a week or so. To enlarge it just click on the image. This is by JMW Turner, rapidly rivalling Van Gogh as my favourite artist, in a tight race with Monet, Dali, Kandinsky and Whistler (hmm...... a league table of artists maybe....... sounds interesting). Anyway, its called the Fighting Temeraire and is frankly...fabulous.

Its my current wallpaper on both my home and work PC's. Turner captures the colour of an evening beautifully, the sunset colours rich, reflecting on the calm sea and the sad sight of this beautiful fighting sail ship being tugged back into its presumed retirement or early death by the ugly new fangled, smelly polluting steam tug shows the juxtaposition between old and new ages, between effective simplicity and efficient complexity, also highlighting perhaps the futire price to pay for the environment. In this case Turner may even be trying to show how angry the environment is by the fiery rage of colours in the evening sky. Sad and simply breathtaking.

Have a nice week y'all, Later GrocerJack

Have a break Jack, you deserve it………

Ok, cheers, think I will. I’ll bugger off to the Highlands for a week, where my mobile phone won’t work, my Blackberry won’t work, a place with no digital satellite multi-channel TV, a weak FM signal and a dodgy AM signal. A place with no internet access. A place where no-one rushes around, where the weather changes from one extreme to another within 5 minutes, a place of breathtaking scenery, no fast food joints, no “theme” pubs, and farms with no fences that allows the sheep or cattle to walk out in front of you on roads barely wide enough to take a Smart^TM Car, or a motorbike come to think of it. A place where the first thing I see when I wake up is a fog shrouded mountain with a babbling brook at the bottom of it, where Reindeer, Red Squirrels and Capercaillie still run wild.

A place with, as the crap Mercedes ad states…….Space to Think! A nice picture may be posted later as a Test Transmission for the period of absence. I think a Turner will do nicely.

See you all in 9 days.

Later, GrocerJack

The Office - US Style

One of the best sitcoms ever produced, The Office, has been given the US treatment. I had thought this might be a disaster but if you follow the link to The Office (US) version you can judge for yourself (Thanks to Inspector Sands at Casino Avenue).
It has been executive produced by Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant, and perhaps that explains why I actually found this funny, and why I think this is one sitcom that might just survive the Transatlantic journey......although whether our friends over the water find it funny remains to be seen. And the US David Brent? Well, on this showing he has the potential to be even more crass, insensitive and irritating than Ricky's version.

Let me know what you think.....


Later, GrocerJack

Submission

I have finally given in. Chucked in the towel. Thrown my hand in. There are many things I want to do with my life and yet I am getting nowehere with any of them. And if I'm truthful that has been the story of my life. Always starting things but never finishing them. Getting disillusioned halfway through something and just quitting. It is the disease of the modern Englishman. Unlike our US counterparts who from a very early age are programmed to believe that winning is everything, achieving goals are important, that you can achieve what you want, we are programmed to believe that taking part is suffcient. That being a good loser is the mark of honour, to graciously accept failure. Well, thats my life in some ways, so last week I finally succumbed.

I wrote a LIFEPLAN.

Yep a fucking LIFEPLAN. After all the shiot I take about plans at work I have finally accepted the US Psychobabble Cock and started a lifeplan. I almost feel ashamed.

So, why do it. Well, the Mysterious M and me had a one-to-one last week, or a chat as we used to call them in more sensible days. He told me about some American bloke who wrote out 500 things to do before he died. Apparently by writing them down and then putting down the actions needed to achieve them you increase yuor chances of reaching those goals by 80%. In fact you are apparently around 90% likely to achieve the goal if you write it down, and how to ge there. West Coast hippy bollocks I thought. B ut then he told me the guy was now 86 years old and only had 6 things left to achieve! He has a book about it which he is going to lend me. I parked my cynicism in a little box and locked it in a safe at the back of mind and thought.." fuck it..what can you lose"

So, Jack will try the plan. I will attempt to reach every goal on there during this year. I will of course let you know as each one is achieved WHEN I have done it or failed pathetically, but in essence I have set targets for my golf, my weight, my teeth (crooked since 10 years old), my money (as in savings), my job, learning the guitar (yes Strings...again), re-learning French and a few other bits to go on there as well. Watch this space as Jack tries to work the plan.

On a separate note, heres why I don't drink lager. Or more accuartely lager and wine. On Saturday the Big Telephone Company kindly took me to see Chelsea play Crystal Palace. Now I am not one of the famous "prawn sandwich" brigade villified by resident Manure FC psychopath Roy Keane , but they have taken me before and I have always behaved reasonaby well considering my passion for Chelsea.. On Saturday it was a balmy 22 degrees, and a perfect cloudless sky sat over Stamford Bridge. A great atmosphere was enhanced by the buzz that people gain when the weather is betetr. It's like coming out of the long dark and cold tunnel of winter into the garden of spring. The only blot on this blatant bit of freeloading is that they only serve two beers inside the ground. Budweiser (the insipid yank piss, not the Czech glory beer) or Boddingtons (or Imperial Leather as I call it). No Guinness. None. Not a fucking drop. So, I went for the Budweiser because it looked nicer and you got a full pint, unlike the Boddingtons "pint" reaching two thirds of a glass which presumably was poured from a can. Several pints later the game started...oh and I'd managed a glass of Rioja...OK two glasses....OK....who's counting because I certainly wasn't. The game went pretty much as planned, with The Mighty Blues recording a 4-1 win. At 90 minutes my £5 on 3-1 at 10-1 was looking good but the bastards went and scored in the 92 minute to remove a £50 bonus being added onto a buckshee day. Still £20 lined Jacks pocket for correctly guessing that the marvellous Frank Lampard would score the first goal.

So it was still a profitable day. However during the first half I had to nip to the loo twice and on each journey I slugged another quickie of Rioja down. Ditto the second half. Half time was accompanied by another Budshitter...and a glass of Rioja, and after the game I managed another pint and another glass of wine before staggering down Fulham Broadway to Mr and Mrs Chelsea's magnificent horseless carriage. I don't remember the journey home, nor much of the evening, bar embarassing Teenager in front of Mini-Me and his mate...who I taught to shake hands properly instead of the wet weedy one he had. I apparently also had a chat with Mini-Me's dad about football, but as he is a Southampton fan that pretty much excludes him from any worthwhile chat or opinion about football. All of this fuelled by more Rioja (errr....yeah that'd be my favourite squashed grape tipple then). I know I was daft enough to insist on going to the pub on Saturday night to make up for a Friday night in babysitting. What I drank in the pub was Guinness but I don't imagine it was too much.

Cue Sunday, and the hangover I haven't had for a good year or so had completely taken control of me. The last time it was this bad it had been bought on by on by...yup...drinking the piss that is lager. I can't blame the wine, but I can blame the lager for filling my system with god only knows what chemical shite. I might as well have drunk Diesel. So Sunday was more or less spent bed ridden, my memory of a pre-booked game of golf with The King completely erased. I resisted the urge to puke until the inside of my body was on the outside and steadily re-hydrated with filter water and lemon juice. Some cheese on toast stayed down and come 6 I was starting to feel human again, and the pounding chemical induced headache was at last subsiding, but in effect it was a lost Sunday. All for a few glory hours of free booze and free football in the glorious spring sunshine.

Never again? Yeah...until the next time of course.

Later, GrocerJack

Angry Bed Position 5

This is the last one - if your reading this first then go down the page and read from Angry Position number 1. No diagram for this - but this is the riskiest of all the Angry Positions; in 2001 alone, this position caused no less than 217,008 working days to be lost and cost British industry more than intestinal problems and pension fund fraud combined. Angry Position Five requires that one performer march wordlessly out of the bedroom, carrying a pillow. A position is taken up elsewhere in the house. It is most important (and many unpractised performers fall down here) to relocate to a simply awful site - at the very least, a desperately uncomfortable sofa but, ideally, under a thin towel on the hard, freezing floor of the bathroom. The point, you see, is martyrdom. If the performer who departed has judged guilt levels correctly, then they will be rescued before too long by their miserably penitent partner. However, it they have been over-optimistic, they are stuck sleeping there; additionally carrying the galling knowledge that their partner is spread-eagled in glorious opulence across the entire bed. Also, there's a very good chance that when they wake up in the morning their neck will be locked at 30 degrees and nothing but a cold, fizzing sensation remains where their legs used to be.

Haven't we all been in all of these?

Later, GrocerJack

Angry Bed Position 4 - A full 'X' shape, each artiste forming one side of the letter. It's not quite an 'X', though, because the performers are not joined in the middle. That would require bottoms to be touching. None of the Angry Positions allow for any touching of body parts, that would completely ruin them. Sounds are certainly allowed, and in some positions they're pretty much mandatory. No touching, though, ever. The 'X' position is a declaration that both performers are convinced that they have God on their side and is quite often accompanied by abrupt, snatching attempts to achieve duvet hegemony and aggressive warning displays of pillow straightening. Just the one mopre to follow, GrocerJack

Angry Bed Position 3 - please see previous posts below for positions 1 and 2.
A position in which one performer is so utterly incensed by the fact that the other could have done that, that it requires spilling over into the third dimension. The vehemently livid party will remain sitting upright in bed, with the light on, glaring fixedly at some point in space and grinding her teeth (occasionally, she may ad lib a few glances down across at her partner, before expelling air from her nose sharply, shaking her head in furious astonishment and turning away again). While this is going on, the performer who did that thing positions himself on his side, facing away, curled into a ball and, basically, tries to keep his nerve.
More, GrocerJack

Angry Bed Position 2 - Think of it as a 'K'. One person is in the standard half-'X' shape (facing away) and the other is a rigid 'I'; lying supine, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. Here you lose points for style if the 'I' person doesn't let out frequent sighs and snorts in an attempt to get the Half-'X'-er to ask, 'For fucks sake ... What is it?' - More to follow, GrocerJack

Angry Bed Position 1 - An '11'. Both performers lie on their backs, right on the very outer edges of their respective sides of the bed. A bit amateurish, frankly. For a start, you have nowhere to wriggle away to in an extra burst of fury, which limits your options terribly - only the most inexperienced performer would allow themselves, right from the off, to take up a position from where they're unable to raise the stakes at all. Worse still, roles are poorly defined - it's easy to forget whether you're meant to be pointedly waiting for an apology or mutely declaring your intention not to apologise this time. More often than not, after under an hour of uninspiring action, you'll end up with the 'I'm not in a mood, you're the one who's in a mood'/'No, I'm not. You are, I'm not in a mood at all' exchange and everything crumbles into a fiasco. - More to follow, GrocerJack

Three Notes…..

Happy Birthday to LittleSis who today reached the age of………….yeah ….like I’m gonna fucking broadcast that to everyone and piss her off (she’s a semi-regular reader). Lets say she’s not anywhere near the big Four-O yet, but 21 is also a gonner as well! Anyway I hope she continues to enjoy the day and the weekend. Her and GMD, along with MiddleSis and some other members of the coven are off out for a birthday Ruby tomorrow evening, no doubt taking in some liquid fuel along the way. To this end I have sacrificed my usual Friday night sojourn to the pub for the usual football, sex and politics debate, where I am always singled out as the local (and it seems unique) socialist. I do tend to be brushed as some sort of commie pinko liberal wet nose, but the truth is I am a “champagne” socialist. I like what I’ve got and want more. So fucking shoot me all you rabid far left wing, sandal wearing lettuce chomping, unwashed fuckwits.

What the fucks that got to do with what I am writing I don’t know…just the usual ramblings of stupidity and boredom I guess. Anyway some observations…

St Patrick’s Day – I’ve ranted before about this I suppose but I just don’t get all these people out pissing it up and celebrating this night. By people I mean non-Irish people. People who do not have any Irish blood or any Irish connection. People who think Irish means “builder”. I am half Irish, my mum was from Sneem in County Kerry, so I do have a reason to go and knock a few down, however I am as proud to be half English as well. I choose not to because I have to work tomorrow and there is no place worse to have a hangover than fucking work! Anyway, all I am saying is why don’t these people celebrate St Georges day in the same raucous manner? I heard today that a magistrate in Norwich who granted extra drinking time to some pubs for Paddies Day, as well as some Yanks for Independence Day has refused a late licence for St Georges Day because “it isn’t a special day”. What a fucking wanker. No mate, it isn’t because twats like you prevent it from being one!

What is so wrong with the English patron Saint that we don’t enjoy our National Day? If its still associated with racism then why? Surely the patriotism shown during the England football campaigns has more or less destroyed that by now? I know some people seem uneasy about it because of our “imperialist” past, but fuck them, this is about us, this generation, having an excuse to have a fucking party and celebrate the fact that despite its shortcomings it’s still a better place, with a better culture, history and freedom than a lot of others.

Marmite Blobs – Were they serious. Removing an ad because 6, yes 6 people complained their kids were scared by a fucking brown blob. Don’t let them watch Oprah then. But just how mad is this world when this sort of shite goes on. Why not just explain to the kids that it is a blob of marmite and not something horrible….but then again if you don’t like Marmite….

Comic Relief - so much better than Children in Need. Two years between events means the quality control is that much higher. When you consider the abject bollocks served up by Children in Need the BBC is to be congratulated for this. Although not all bits were hilarious, most was funny, and the Little Britain guys made me laugh out loud , even the sketch with Sir Elton of Wankness. A special mention for Catherine Tate as well, a much unsung comedian, whose teenage girl character is fantastic and whose interrogation of pop wanksters McFly was absolsutely sublime…..”am I bothered…do I look bothered….is this face bothered….do I sound bothered….etc etc”. Chris Evans late show was also funny enough and rebellious enough o suggest that he still has something to offer TV. But the stand out top dollar bit was the ever outstanding genius of Peter Kay and his marvellous miming video of “Show Me the Way to Amarillo”. He is single handedly reviving and enhancing the career of Tony Christie. Although how Tony Christie isn’t as “big” as Tom Jones is a mystery to me because quite frankly his voice is sensational. You’d swear he was a genuine yank, and as for power, well he has it in abundance. He was always popular at my Uncle Georges house because I guess he appealed to the 40 something’s back in 1970 whenever, and it was a simple version of karaoke in those days. Get drunk, lob Tony Christie on, and hey presto, instant sing along music. I loved watching the adults have a crack at his stuff….especially the classic “I did what I did for Maria” and of course not forgetting the aforementioned Amarillo and “In the Avenues and Alleyways” the theme to one of Monty Bermans iconic ATV 1970’s glamour “spy” series, The Protectors. In fact they all had good theme tunes, Department S, Jason King, The Champions and of course the wonderfully cheesy The Persuaders which had the best theme of all. Why not bring them back and show them again?

Anyway, after a few pints of the black stuff we again contributed more than we probably can afford, but they do know how to grab the heartstrings with their videos. Whilst I won’t shove any money into Children in Need because it is a lazy, amateurish, contemptuous attempt to play the charity card and get people to pledge dosh without doing anything worthwhile, Comic Relief with its sure stewardship under the likes of Lenny Henry, Billy Connolly, Jonathan Ross, Rowan Atkinson et al seems to go from strength to strength. They make the effort. I’ll pay the money!

Later, GrocerJack

Supervolcano

Did anyone else see the programme on BBC1 last night called Supervolcano? This is what I call quality TV. Budgeted correctly with superb special effects it told the story of what might happen if the volcano underneath Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming were to explode. Granted the storyline was a bit cheesy, but then it was never supposed to be so powerful as to detract from the sheer horror of the effects of such an explosion. The storyline about the various scientists and US Departments was merely a strand with which to explain the cause and effect.

Apparently there is a magma chamber underneath this landmark that is potentially the area of the park itself and contains at a conservative estimate something like 25000km³ of red hot molten rock. Apparently Yellowstone has a record of popping its cork every 600,000 years, and its currently …….errrr……..640,000 years since its last ejaculation. Typically based on computer projects from the US FEMA (Federal Emergency Management Agency) mainframe called HAZUS the programme projected that if the eruption were to last 7 days then around a million would die in the US alone, and the ash cloud would cover around 75% of the US land mass. The sulphur would cover the globe leading to permanently yellow skies, followed by the inevitable volcanic winter, whereby temperatures could globally fall by as much as 20^oC. The days of lazing in the sun during summer would be gone for up to 10 years. The human race would survive because we are nothing if not resilient and resourceful. Livestock would be all but destroyed, crops would fail, large areas of land could no longer be farmed and basically a disaster for the US would become a disaster for the world.

Fuck me, this was scary stuff. So scary I couldn’t let Baby watch it as she has a propensity to be sick when scared by things like this. Vampires and monsters are fine, but natural disasters scare the crap out of her, and being in the middle of Hurricane Charley doesn’t seem to have altered that. What really came across as well was the sheer helplessness of what can be done. In essence nothing can be done at all; we are apparently just waiting for this time bomb to go off and then left with the daunting task of picking up the pieces afterwards.

I wonder what the environmentalists make of this? If we knew this was about to happen for sure in the next , say 5 years, wouldn’t this undermine every “green” principle currently being espoused. Would air pollution matter when 25000km³ of ash and general crap is going to be spued into the atmosphere? Wouldn’t factory farming then become a necessity in order to keep livestock for food, and for clothing…wouldn’t fur become a necessity again as it is for eskimos? Wouldn’t intensive arable farming be the only way to secure crops for the years of darkness? Wouldn’t coal and oil become vital to generate power and heat to keep us alive, especially in those temperate areas where sub zero temperatures are unheard of. Wouldn’t nuclear power then be seen as the potential saviour of the race with its seemingly inexhaustible supply and comparatively small amount of waste? Couldn’t we all just go and top up our tans safe in the knowledge that for a few years the sun would be a stranger and harmful UV rays would be a thing of the past?

Just a thought, Later, GrocerJack

So farewell then Dave Allen, one of the finest comedians to grace our screens. I grew up watching him with my Dad, one of the few remaining memories I have of sharing moments like that. My Mum, being a good Roman Catholic thought that Dave Allen was a blasphemer, which in essence was true. However, I preferred his ungodly way of exposing the hypocrisy and immense pomposity of the Catholic faith, and indeed all faiths. He was a prime cause in my own questioning of the unchallenged dogma of Catholicism, both globally and in my own house via my Mum's teachings - a dogma that forced me to go to Church every Sunday until the age of 14 when all my mates were off playing football. Football made more sense to me than Catholicism and even at 14 it was obvious to me that this religion hadn't moved in 2000 years, was never likely to, and was just an excuse to exercise power by fear over people and force them into someone elses view of how to live a good and meaningful life. By exposing this crap, Dave Allen, in my view did exactly that. For what I gained he lived a good and worthwhile life and comedy is a sadder place today without him.

I loved the way he told stories as well as jokes, his laconic manner and how he coloured ironic and daft facets of the daily drudgery of life and its hypocrisies and paradoxes. He was last seen on TV in the early 90's, where his sense of fun was still obvious, but his style had been superceded by the current crop of young (now middle aged) bucks. But he still had appeal, and could still spin a yarn. His trademark glass of whisky was still in evidence. And that is why I chose the above picture of him to display as my tribute to a man who will never know his influence upon me and countless others as we struggled to grow up in the sometimes dark, sometimes colourful, sometimes grim society of the 60's and 70's.

Dave Allen 1937-2005 R.I.P.

Later, GrocerJack

Shameless plug.......

My first "proper" article has been published today on the Chelsea FC Blog site - follow the link. I will try and keep this site relatively sports free, however as Chelsea are my passion its always likely that my feelings will need politically incorrect airings here. The article is titled The Calm after The Storm if you're interested and is basically my personal review of the UEFA Champions League game on Tuesday night between Chelsea and Barcelona, from which my blood pressure and heart rate have finally recovered. It also covers the disgraceful, woeful, abysmal and downright fucking insulting coverage that ITV Sport (sic) granted the game.

I hope ITV Sport gets banished into the wilderness of "extreme" sports coverage (i.e, those sports that aren't real sports but are merely the sad activities of lonely wankers with a testosterone overload and no friends or life). ITV Sport - you're a bunch of arse!

Later, Grocerjack

Chav Jokes……

I’m feeling a little lazy this week, and am still exhausted from The Mighty Blues fantastic, thrilling and enthralling victory over the arrogant Spanish whingebags of Barcelona the other night. Rarely does anything evoke as much emotion within me as watching my beloved Chelsea in action, but don’t worry I’m not going to spout on about it here. I may well put an article onto the Chelsea Blog about it though (for those interested).

Anyway, here are a few Chav jokes to lighten up the day, apologies if you've already seen them.

1. What do you call a Chav in a box? Innit.

2. What do you call a Chav in a filing cabinet? Sorted

3. What do you call a Chav in a box with a lock on it? Safe.

4. What do you call an Eskimo Chav? Innuinnit.

5. Why are Chavs like slinkies? They have no real use but it's great to watch one fall down a flight of stairs.

6. You're in your car and you see a Chav on a bike, why should you try not to hit him? It might be your bike.

7. What's the difference between a Chav and a coconut? One's thick and hairy, the other's a coconut.

8. What's the first question at a Chav quiz night? What you lookin' at?"

9. How do you get 100 Chavs into a phone box? Paint three stripes on it.

10. Two Chavs in a car without any music. Who's driving? The police

11. What do you call a Chav with 9 GCSE's? A liar.

12. What do you call a 30 year old Chavette? Granny.

13. How many Chavs does it take to clean a floor? None, "That's some uvver fellers job innit."

14. Why did the Chav cross the road? To start a fight with a random stranger for no reason whatsoever.

15. Two Chavs jump off beachy head, who wins? Society.

Later, ChavJack

Good to see that after all that searching they finally did find Nemo.......  

Sad old queen......

Did you know Elton John is gay? What a shocker huh? Blimey, will the bloody sad old queen never cease to find ways of telling us?

This week he appears in a Little Britain sketch for Comic Relief with Matt Lucas's Dafydd and gets the chance to utter the words "I'm the only gay in this village"............OK, thanks for that Elton, but I'm disappointed that the Little Britain guys have allowed their irreverant show to be come yet another marketing model for Sir Baldness of Eltons gay agenda.

But now to my utter frustration he is now the face of mobile telecommunications giant and bitter rival of The Company, Orange. In this ad he is being lauded by two "marketing" types on the joys of 3G and the fact that Orange will give you an additional 3G handset free of charge when you buy one of theirs.

The advert, which no doubt some Nathan Barley type thought was highly witty ends with the truly cringeworthy strap line of Sir Elton Bald saying "I'm gay" and the the marketing bloke saying "Your gay? We're delirious!"

I don't question the mans right to be gay, or his right to make a few (more) bob from featuring in ads , and even having one of his latest piss-poor tunes as the backing music. But frankly I'm fucking tired of being told that he is gay. I'm tired of his playground like double entendres in every chat show. Does he really think he's championing the cause of gay men by constantly spouting on about his gayness? Why is he so proud of that, and yet so fucking vain as to wear piss poor wigs that give him the hair of a 10 year old. Have you ever heard him say "I'm as bald as a coot and have a massive collections of syrups" (wigs in rhyming slang to the uninitiated). No, course not.

Elton, take a leaf from George Michaels book. Shut up, live your life as you please but stop telling everyone you're gay. What next, a concerted leaflet campaign through everyones letterbox explaining your passion for some arse action? Full page ads in The Times announcing the truly amazing fact that you like a bit of cock?

Lord Elton of Wigness, You may be a very rich man, but your behaviour underlines the point that dignity is not something you can buy with cash.

Later, GrocerJack

You couldn’t make it up……..

My thanks go to Dee for sending this to me. The fact that all of these people are from the US should not be treated as a reflection on the collective intelligence of that great nation…..no really come on………they’re not like this at all…….seriously….just look at The President……..OK perhaps that wasn’t the best example ………

1. WILL THE REAL DUMMY PLEASE STAND UP?
AT&T fired President John Walter after nine months, saying he lacked intellectual leadership. He received a $26 million severance package. Perhaps it's not Walter who's lacking intelligence.

2. WITH A LITTLE HELP FROM OUR FRIENDS:
Police in Oakland, CA spent two hours attempting to subdue a gunman who had barricaded himself inside his home. After firing ten tear gas canisters, officers discovered that the man was standing beside them in the police line, shouting, "Please come out and give yourself up."

3. WHAT WAS PLAN B???
An Illinois man, pretending to have a gun, kidnapped a motorist and forced him to drive to two different automated teller machines, wherein the kidnapper proceeded to withdraw money from his own bank accounts.

4. THE GETAWAY!
A man walked into a Topeka, Kansas Kwik Stop and asked for all the money in the cash drawer. Apparently, the take was too small, so he tied up the store clerk and worked the counter himself for three hours until police showed up and grabbed him.

5. DID I SAY THAT???
Police in Los Angeles had good luck with a robbery suspect who just couldn't control himself during a lineup. When detectives asked each man in the lineup to repeat the words: "Give me all your money or I'll shoot", the man shouted, "that's not what I said!".

6. ARE WE COMMUNICATING???
A man spoke frantically into the phone: "My wife is pregnant and her contractions are only two minutes apart". "Is this her first child?" the doctor asked. "No!" the man shouted, "This is her husband!"

7. NOT THE SHARPEST TOOL IN THE SHED!
In Modesto, CA, Steven Richard King was arrested for trying to hold up a Bank of America branch without a weapon. King used a thumb and a finger to simulate a gun... Unfortunately, he failed to keep his hand in his pocket……..blinding!

8. THE GRAND FINALE!!!
Last summer, down on Lake Isabella, located in the high desert, an hour east of Bakersfield, CA, some people, new to boating, were having a problem. No matter how hard they tried, they couldn't get their brand new 22 foot boat, going. It was very sluggish in almost every manoeuvre, no matter how much power they applied. After about an hour of trying to make it go, they putted into a nearby marina, thinking someone there may be able to tell them what was wrong. A thorough topside check revealed everything in perfect working
condition. The engine ran fine, the out-drive went up and down, and the propeller was the correct size and pitch. So, one of the marina guys jumped in the water to check underneath. He came up choking on water, he was laughing so hard.

NOW REMEMBER...ALLEGEDLY THIS IS TRUE AND NOT MEANT TO BE A SLUR ON OUR AMERICAN FRIENDS……

Under the boat, still strapped securely in place, was the trailer!

Later, BritishJack (well OK Half-IrishJack)

Female Logic 1.........

An old chestnut I know, but I have to ask. I know that the statement "female logic" is an oxymoron, but I just do not understand the rationale.

A friend of mine today said that he always has to apologise after a row with his wife, no matter whether he is right or wrong. Because like most blokes we can't abide the silent treatment, or the sub-Arctic temperature being emitted from our alleged better halves. As soon as he said this the sound of a large and incredibly noisy bell could be heard inside my head. You see the same thing happens to me, constantly. If GMD and me have a row, whether a full war campaign, or a minor terriitorial skirmish, then the end result is ALWAYS the same.

And that result is this....I APOLOGISE.

Even if I am factually completely and utterly correct. I APOLOGISE.

Which of course means that I APOLOGISE, even when I have done nothing wrong.

And this ALWAYS happens. There are NO exceptions. Ever.

When nI think of the ramifications this could have I get a bit scared. What if a female copper mistakenly nicks me for a murder. I could protest my innocence, but all she'd have to do is give me the silent treatment for a few hours and I'd apologise. Which then implies my guilt and before I could say "GrocerJack Robinson", I'm doing a hefty old stretch in the chokey at the pleasure of Her Maj!

I thought I could sulk for England....nay GB.......nay Europe in any intercontinental sulking competition, but sulking is different to this absolute denial of wrongdoing, this utter pig-headedness, this steely-eyed stubbornness, this unswerving inability to accept that on occasions even WOMEN are in the wrong!

I bet a straw poll of the blokes in the office, or down the pub would reveal exactly the same

So, if you know the answer then please.....please.....pretty fucking please...for fucks sake ...let me know.

Later, GrocerJack

Briefly....

A great win for the mighty Chelsea on Sunday to end what had been a frustrating footie week for me.. Although the match went to extra time, we were good value for the eventual 3-2 win.

Back to earth today though with a seminar at work telling us all about the wonderful virtues of Global Performance Management. Yep, yet another load of corporate gobbledygook bollocks talk, which, if you're unlucky I might just tell you about.

In my own way of course (scheming laugh).

Apart from that I just don't have enough time to write.............maybe tomorrow huh?

Later , LazyJack