You don't say

According to research it is proven that no such thing as a cure for a hangover exists. After many years of extensive research into this area I have also reached the same conclusion. Although the conditions under which I have trialled my experiment have not exactly been..........errr.........scientific, they are probably more accurate becaue they are based in real drinking situations under real pressures. So here are some of Jack's findings and observations surrounding the noble action of social drinking, supporting the notion that no matter what anyone says there is no cure for The Hangover other than time itself.

1.) Sticking to one drink - this makes no difference whatsoever, unless of course it's water.

2.) Mixing the "grain and the grape" makes your hangover worse - Nope, one glass of wine followed by a decent single malt will not give you a hangover. 2 bottles of wine followed by half a bottle of single malt however will make you cop a bad one.

3.) Giving up smoking makes the hangovers less painful - intially this seemed to be true as I'd often woken up after a session which included a packet and a half of lung torpedo's and thrown up at the thought of 3000 chemicals being inhaled into my lungs. Having been clean of smoking for 4 years now I can honestly report that although I don't cough multi-coloured gelationous gooey stuff up after drinking, The Hangover is still there.

4.) If you wake up without The Hangover then you've got away with it - wrong, wrong, wrong. You are still pissed from the night before and The Hangover is lurking away covertly in the body, like an invisible Crack crazed, hoodie wearing, body mugger waiting for the right time to hit you hard. Thus 12 hours after waking you will feel worse than you thought imaginable.

5. Ejecting the main body of semi-processed food and bile with a good throwing up session heals The Hangover - dream on! All this does is make you feel like jumping from a 7 storey building whilst slicing out your throat with a rusty bread knife because it hurts less.

6.) A full English breakfast sorts everything out - of course it does. No, what this does is accelerate the speed at which the worst bit of The Hangover kicks in. Similar to having pregnancy labour induced, this is the bodily equivalent of shouting "come and have a go if you think you're hard enough" at The Hangover. The hangover is hard enough, you are not. I've seen some of the roughest horriblest peeople become snivelling wrecks at the hands of The Hangover.

7.) Staying in bed and sleeping it off - the world is split into two other groups than men and women. Those who can sleep The Hangover off, and those who can't. The lucky ones are those who can fully sleep it off, even if they lose a whole day. I, however, belong to the other group, the unlucky ones. This group tries to go back to bed, but no matter how they try the body prevents them from sleeping. The Hangover has its vile fingers in all areas of the body and has full control over this group. Here are some reasons to stop you sleeping it off
a.) Temperature fluctuations of the wildest kind from massive sweats to an arctic like chill.
b.) The huge twitch is another control mechanism, just as you enter the blissful doze phase The Hangover flicks a switch which gives the body a jolt like having 5000 volts of pure electricity rammed through you.
c.) The "horrors" - a combination of all the above, along with doomladen thoughts of death,
excessive pulse checking, reflux, heartburn, inability to even sip water and mad mad
mini-dreams at the start of the doze phase

8.) Drinking water before you go to bed - bollocks, utter bollocks. All this does is increase the chances of a mid-sleep toilet dream and subsequent sheet changing exercise.

9.) Hair of the dog - this does not cure the hangover but merely delays its onset by allowing you to top up the alcohol level - The Hangover knows it is never going to be effective if you're freshly drunk.

10.) Vitamin tablets, Ibuprofen (the king of all drugs!), Resolve, Andrews Liver Salts, smoothies, fruit juice, fruit, oats, sex, tea, coffee and whatever else anyone recommends. No, no, no. All crap, all failures.

11.) A round of golf - hmm this works whilst on the course but only by masking the doscimfort of The hangover with the discomfort of being shit at a game you love. After the game, the sense of being cured disappears within seconds and then the shivers and sweats start. Last week I played after a Guinness induced hangover. The temperature on the course was -2.5C, and yet because of The Hangover played the whole round in a polo shirt! After the game, not even the worlds most efficient golf jumper and The Kings super heated Volvo estate could warm me up.

And so my friends the best thing to do is avoid The Hangover by not drinking, but who is going to take any notice of that? No, the advice from Jack is this - drink water and only water. If you must have anything else then try Orange Juice. The reason?

Simple, they both taste the same when coming up as when they went down.

Cheers, Happy Christmas Your Arse, GrocerJack

Xmas greetings and Felicitations

Following my recent spat with Blue Witch (which is finished with I think a mutual agreement to accept we have different views on this) someone very kindly sent me a link to this video (thanks Dee). It is apparently of someone's house in a place called Mason in Ohio in the U.S (where else). Now this really is a Christmas Lights Show! Not one for Blue Witch to appreciate I fear, but if you’re a gadget oriented techie minded sort then you’ll appreciate the amount of work required to set something like this up. Apparently, it’s all done by computers, and although the music (which is a bit naff – a sort of cocktail in the style of an ELP/Rick Wakeman/Bobby Crush mix) is broadcast outside the house, it’s not at high volume, whereas inside it is. He also coincidentally broadcasts the music on a local FM frequency so that passers by in cars can tune in whilst they watch. He broadcasts and displays between 18:00 and 22:00 every night.

As much as I admire this I’m not sure how happy I would be if it was in my street (yeah, so no hypocrisy there then Jack).

On a different subject, I have become a member of something called The Witanagemot Club as mentioned previously. Follow the link to see what it’s about. Basically it is a group of Bloggers who believe that England as a country and nation is disadvantaged by the current constitution, especially in light of devolved power to other members of the UK. Scotland has it’s own parliament, Wales and Northern Ireland have their own Assemblies (are they like school assemblies, with a register and hymns I wonder?). Of course those who know me might think this view conflicts with my Champagne Socialist views and aligns even more to the Dark Forces of Tory-fication swirling around me like a spell woven by the charming (but sinister) new Chief Tory Wizard (Mad Vain Credo – anag), and also seems to contradict my very very pro-Europena views. But you’d be wrong. I could argue that my pro-Eurpoe views are as a result of nto feeling I belong to a state called England. A sate where being English is immediately associated with an Imperialist past and a xenophobic, culturally scared society. It isn’t racist to declare your Scots heritage, nor your French, Spanish or whatever. However, being English seems to be associated to neo-nazi, Little Englander, racist thuggery.

Which is of course very, very wrong.

No, I want to be pro-European, but to claim my nationality is English with pride and not be fearful of PC backlash, or be asked to atone for sins of my forefathers. I want a constitution that recognises the State of England as a sovereign entity within both the UK and Europe. I want English MP’s to pass laws specific to England. I want an English Parliament which does not vote on Scottish, Welsh or Northern Irish issues, and has that ideology reciprocated by those states. I want England to welcome other races and creeds whilst firmly retaining it’s own identity. Go to virtually anywhere in Scotland and you know where you are. You cannot doubt what country you’re in. A lot of England has sadly become a homogenous landscape of copycat towns with over zealous PC mad local councils. Hence, when Blue Witch nudged me to the Witanagemot Club site I was astounded to find that I liked what I saw and heard. I will of course try and partake in some of their healthy debates and let you know of anything strikingly interesting or controversial.

It’s the Locals Night down at The Local tonight ( a local pub for local people!). This means I will of course be very drunk and therefore probably not compus mentus tomorrow. For me this is where Christmas really starts…yep, the first real blow-out and consequent full day length regret session fighting the nausea, temperature fluctuations and general grogginess of excessive Guinness and Red Wine. I’ll try to avoid any silly drunken posts tonight.

Later, GrocerJack

Home truths

SARCASM may be the lowest form of wit... but it's still funny.

THERE is no worse feeling than leaving your mobile at home and then returning to no missed calls or messages.

THERE'S nothing you could wish for in life that you couldn't buy from a man in a pub. The trick is to find the RIGHT man in the RIGHT pub.

ATTENTION fat people! Diet Coke is not a magic potion.

NEVER go to Wolverhampton. It's not the end of the world, but you can see it from there.

PEOPLE who say "I'm beside myself" are often liars. With the notable exception of time travellers and Siamese twins.

HAVING "JUICY" written across your bum does not make it any smaller or more desirable.

UNDER no circumstances should two men ever share the same umbrella.

CHIPS should never cost more than a pound

PRACTITIONERS of alternative medicine should be banned from using hospitals. Broken your leg? In unspeakable pain? Have a little faith. Put a
crystal on it - you'll be right as rain in no time.

NEVER channel surf on Sky when there is a break. Every channel will have a break at the same time.

IF you can't believe it's not butter, you're an idiot.

CATS know more than they let on.

LENNY Henry isn't very funny.

MIDDLE-AGED couples! Kissing on public transport is not proving you can find love at any age. You just look like you're having an affair.

BEGINNING a sentence, "Now, don't get angry..." will always have the reverse effect.

NO T-shirt is ever worth more than £20.

NOBODY has ever read the small print of a mobile-phone insurance contract.

YOU can't skip and be unhappy at the same time.

THERE are two theories to arguing with women. Neither works.

KANYE West is not a service station on the M4.

KNOWLEDGE is luggage. Travel light.

YOU can make any lie believable by beginning with the words "In America..."

A BABY On Board sticker on your car's rear window serves no purpose other than to advertise your fertility. Congratulations on being a parent, but the motorists around you weren't planning to plough into the back of your car deliberately.

NEVER pretend you can horse-ride.

NEVER trust a man with a comb-over. If he's lying to himself he's likely to
lie to you too.

TOO many cooks spoil the TV schedules.

DON'T make your voice go up? At the end of every sentence? Please?

DOG owners! Your monstrously large hound is NOT more afraid of me than I am of it.

NEVER "Reply to All". You're not as funny as you think you are.

IT is impossible to sing Copacabana without wiggling your shoulders.

NEVER weigh more than your fridge.

NEVER ever mix sleeping pills and laxatives.

ALWAYS judge a book by its cover. It has been specifically designed to target a certain audience so you can pretty much tell whether you're going to like it or not.

THERE is an inversely proportional relationship between how acceptable a person is and whether or not they have chosen an ringtone with "crazy" in
the title.

ARRIVING anywhere with a pride of lions is guaranteed to draw attention to yourself. Unless you are in Africa.

NOTHING productive can come from just nipping in for a quick pint at two in the afternoon.

YOU can be too rich and too thin.

THE only people you should address as "brother" are your male siblings and monks.

MEN who download Page 3 girl pictures for your mobile! Take a long, hard look at your life.

YOU cannot trust a man whose name is also a verb: Bob; Roger; Russell; Don; Grant; Chuck; Bill.

IF you drink bitter or stout, you invariably are.

YOU can live your life through a computer.

THE baddie is always English.

IF you like your men to be unbalanced and insecure stalkers with unnatural sexual fantasies then simply hang around the air rifle and combat magazine
section in WH Smiths.

IF you are a football manager, don't wear football boots for the game - you won't need them.

NEVER try to teach a pig to sing - it wastes your time and annoys the pig.

NEVER trust anyone who has a glass-top coffee table in their living room.

CHRIS Moyles is the only DJ who can be seen from space.

CAMOUFLAGE clothing is rendered useless in towns and cities.

IF you are amused by Giles Brandreth, chop your head off.

Later, GrocerJack

Turning Point?

You know how sometimes you hear or see something that immediately riles you up? You know the feeling that sometimes you just have to jump in with both feet and say what you feel? For me, it’s just my way of applying my version of common sense to an increasingly and maddeningly frustrating world of overbearing political correctness, acts of outright evil and the growing culture of the Nanny State. So yesterday in yet another day of stultifying boredom at work I did the usual blog round. I ended up at the site of Blue Witch. I can’t say I’m an avid reader, and I’m sure she thinks the same of me. However, I found myself both laughing at her recent musings, agreeing with some and hating others. Grist to the Mill one might say. A recent post was a little tale of an encounter she had with someone she knows who has draped her house in masses of Christmas Lights (that’s Christmas, not Festive or Holiday lights).

Basically Blue Witch is somewhat anti on this subject, mainly on environmental grounds but also on the rather vague “light pollution” issue as well. All well and good and each to their own would be my normal attitude. However, my mood being what it was yesterday caused me to write some comments along the lines of “Why oh why do some people have to be such bloody killjoys…..live and let live…..who are the real culprits……kids love sparkly lights displays….get a life etc etc” – it just seemed to be yet another sanctimonious piece of preaching the moral high ground.

To which Blue Witch replied, assertively but very kindly putting me in my place. So I replied again and await the next answer. Because I love an argument (as opposed to a row! So, this post was destined to be about me finally losing my rag with the sanctimonious and pious goody two shoes culture that seemed to be afflicting blogging. Then I realised that Blue Witch pissing on my fireworks had jolted me somehow. It’s HER opinion and as such if I want to live by a maxim of “live and let live” under the JS Mill “principle of greatest utility” then she has done me no personal harm. I might not agree, but then I should argue my case clearly and cohesively if I disagree with an opinion. I am asking myself if the dark thoughts pervading my mind of “tory-fication” under the influence of Romanced Diva are leading me to become intolerant of others views if I don’t like them. Of course it’s her blog, and if I don’t like what is said then I can say so (without being rude or personal). If it gets too much, then like my view of The Daily Fascist then I simply don’t read it (although for the most part her site is good fun).

It’s a timely lesson for me in occasionally dragging yourself out of the environment that can take your mood and demeanour to an abnormal place and warp your view of normality, giving people the wrong impression of you. And making you feel twisted. Add to this the interview I have just attended (more later) which even if i don't get the job, went well and reminded me of just how fucking good I am sometimes (cue sound of mini-jacks blowing trumpets!). I just need to remember to stop, take stock, give myself the once over check and remember who I am.

So blog on Blue Witch and everyone else. Be pious, be sanctimonious, be controversial , be irritating, be hateful, be spiteful, be kind, be respectful. It’s the variety of life’s rich tapestry, and maybe just maybe a little event like a wrist slap from another blogger is the catalyst to getting Jack back to the lesser, but ostensibly still Grumpy Bloke. Things look brighter already. And it might just start with an environmentally unfriendly display of some new tacky Xmas lights on the front of GrocerJack Palace.

Later, GrocerJack

PS – the picture is just something nice to look at and to remind me of where I want to be, and where I WILL be again!

Sick (and therefore funny)

Police have today admitted that George Best was not in fact buried in Belfast last week and that in retrospect the decision to cremate him in Hemel Hempstead on Sunday morning might have been a mistake.........

Later, GrocerJack

Wise Words mate.....

I can't take the credit for the following, so this is a lazy post. However - I agree with the sentiments totally. Teenager is following this course exactly, and more worryingly I can see the green shoots of teenagehood starting in Baby.

Oh Joy!

Is your child approaching those glorious teenage years? Have they started sulking for England, throwing apoplectic strops, slamming bedroom doors that shake the house to its very foundations? Have they turned from a child straight out of a fabric softener commercial to the lead role in The Exorcist?

Welcome to the wonderful world of teenagers. Trust me, nothing will have prepared you for this moment ... I don't care if you've climbed Everest single handed wearing nothing but a pair of Y-fronts, living with teenagers is akin to kicking jelly up a ladder.

I have just two words to offer you as your child arrives at this life changing threshold:

Brace yerself!

Oh, and the following tips might help:-

1. Make an appointment to see the dentist. You'll be doing a lot of teeth gnashing in the years to come so make sure they're up to it.

2. Check your cushions and pillows, make sure they're strong enough to survive a good bashing and dense enough to bury your face into them when the urge to scream is overwhelming.

3. Check your house. Ensure door frames are up for the slamming, pictures and mirrors are secured firmly to the walls, stairways are solid enough to withstand heavy stomping, and carpets are prepared for the inevitable trail of mud (teenagers don't wipe feet).
4. Invest in a good dishwasher. This has two benefits. (1) Your teenager will not, if their very lives depended on it, wash up again until they have children of their own; and (2) teenagers will use every single cup, plate and piece of cutlery in the kitchen to make one meal.
5. Stock up on junk food. Yes, I know, you want them to eat healthily, but forget it, you're wasting your time. Buy pizzas, those disgusting noodle things in pots, and as many bags of crisps as you can afford.

6. Also on the subject of food, check out the microwave ... it's the only kitchen implement teenagers will use. And stock up on microwave meals like frozen curries which will, hopefully, provide a modicum of vitamins in an acceptable form. (If you're worried about their diet, might I suggest crushing vitamin tablets into their food whilst they're not looking - avoid the temptation to crush a few sleeping tablets in there too).

7. Consider taking out a second mortgage. You're gonna need it.

8. Stand in front of a mirror and practice saying the word "No." Don't move away from the mirror until you have mastered this in a thoroughly convincing way. Continually saying yes to their incessant demands for lifts and money will result in major hostilities when you dare to say No for the first time.

9. Toughen up your tongue - chew it all over for at least an hour a day until it has the texture of rhinocerous skin. This will come in handy when they bring a boyfriend/girlfriend home. If you keep quiet about the green haired, tattooed, multi-pierced monstrosity they think is God incarnate, they'll soon get bored and wander off to (hopefully) someone a bit more human - dare to voice your objections and you'll be stuck with the monstrosity for a long, long time.
10. Join a prenatal clinic. The deep breathing exercises are helpful in times of immense stress ... pretty much 24/7. Alternatively, buy a crate of good whisky.

11. Remember, at all times, that they really can't help being so loud/selfish/argumentative/
unreasonable/thoughtless - its just a phase they're going through, their hormones are raging, it'll only last ooooooh 4 years or so.

12. Remove all dangerous items from the house; this includes baseball bats, knives, any sharp objects, any heavy objects and glass from interior doors so they're not to hand when they've Driven You To The Very Edge of Sanity.

13. Keep photographs of their young, innocent faces handy to remind you of what they used to be like. Try not to cry over them too much.

14. Invest in more cushions and pillows, the bigger the better. And probably a couple more crates of whisky, too.

15. Try to avoid resorting to swear words when your tether end has been long surpassed - its not a good example to give them, and apologising afterwards can be a bit grim.

16. Don't bother arguing with them, you'll never win because teenagers are totally without logic. When they're jumping up and down screaming blue murder about the £250 trainers they Simply Must Have, just shrug and smile serenely (and push the cotton wool deeper into your ears).

17. Warn the neighbours about the increased noise levels - both from the screaming matches and from the volume of their music (well, they call it music, you'd probably call it 'Sounds from the Edge of Hell').

18. Whatever you do, don't laugh at their choice of clothing (remember what you wore at that age, probably in the 70's ... say no more). Oh, and try to pick out some distinguishing mark on your teenager so that, in a group of identically dressed teenagers, you might stand a chance of recognising them.

19. Don't expect any help from your teenager whatsoever. They don't do vacuuming, they don't do washing up, they don't do ironing, and they won't have a clue what the washing machine is for. Remember, in the eyes of a teenager, all domestic duties are 'Mothers Domain' (joy).

20. A word here about their bedrooms. They will turn into indoor council tips. Nagging, bribing and threatening just doesn't work, so save yourself the effort and simply forget about the festering filth. Keep their bedroom door shut at all times to avoid contaminating the rest of the house (occasional fumigation might be required).

21. Remember, if they smile at you, they want something (usually money).

22. NEVER expect gratitude. You've kitted out their bedrooms with every state-of-the-art technology conceivable to man, spent hundreds of pounds on petrol driving them places and scrimped for months to buy that expensive pair of trainers for their birthday, but they'll still believe you're Asking Too Much when you dare suggest they put the rubbish bags out on Tuesday night.

23. Once they reach oh-my-god-haven't-they-grown proportions, buy a stepping stool for those moments when you need to give them a swift cuff around the back of the head. Buy old copies of Land of the Giants to pick up tips on how to cope.

24. Remove all telephones from the house unless you enjoy heart resuscitation every time the phone bill arrives.

25. 3 o'clock in the morning is a perfectly reasonable time for a teenager to come home during the week - don't even question this.

26. Teenagers are slobs.Its inbuilt. Nothing will change this.

27. At the onset of hormonal angst your teenager will either abandon personal hygiene altogether or else be constantly hogging the bathroom and all the hot water.

28. Your eloquent child will turn monosyllabic almost overnight. Expect only grunts and dirty looks for at least the next two years.

29. Teenagers don't sleep, they hibernate - draped over the kitchen table, spread out like a starfish in the middle of the living room, or huddled up on the lawn during a thunderstorm. You have more chance of finding the Loch Ness Monster in your garden pond than rousing a teenager from bed in the morning.

30. Remind yourself that teenagers are retribution for what we did to our parents, so just accept the inevitable and keep dreaming of peaceful times (when they've left home and you sit there sobbing that you miss them).

Later, GrocerJack

Nothing better to do?

Fuck me, there are some weird fucking people around aren’t there? None more so than the professional TV watchers who have nothing better to with their lives than sit around watching TV in order to find things to complain about?

The latest casualty of the sad twat club is the BBC’s rather striking and innovative “talking heads” ident (as seen in p[icture) used recently to promote its digital services. Apparently a number of people found it “alarming” and “disturbing”. In some cases very young children were scared by it apparently. One has to wonder in what world these people live, and indeed, what world their children live. I mean apparently some young children are scared by Santa Claus. Does this mean all images of our jolly old toy-bringing hero should be left until after the watershed? If, say, 10 people ring in and complain about the fact that they found Jonathan Ross “disturbing” would that mean he would be dropped from the schedules? If a collective group of children found images of a cartoon rabbit scary, is that the end for Bugs Bunny?

The whole premise of the argument used by these sad moron s is destroyed in some fairly noddy examples of the “reducto ad absurdum” technique I have used above. Just for once I wish the TV companies would turn round and say a collective “fuck off” to the whiners. Just stand their ground and say something along the lines of "go and get a fucking life". In fact I would advocate the TV companies being able to broadcast anything, including hard core porn, using appropriate controls. After all I can indulge in it (maybe via a private club or a liberated set of friends), or even buy it online and have it delivered (not strictly legal in the UK but easily done) or buy it in an approved "sex" shop. But apparently I can’t film it and show and distribute it to others even if they ask to see it because …well perhaps an errant 3 year old might catch sight of it, conveniently forgetting the fact that children walk into Mum and Dad's bedroom all the time and perhaps see things they shouldn't (well not for a few years yet) …and no.....don’t even think of the “exploiting women argument” so fondly trotted out by fat, spotty dykes and vegetarians.

Surely it is parent’s responsibility to police what their kids can see. My kids have cable in their rooms but we apply parental responsibility controls to what channels they can and can’t see, so how come no one else seems capable? Or is it just society playing to the lowest common denominator again, whereby people too ignorant, thick or stupid to switch off, or control the TV output define the rules the rest of us “adults” live by.

In this day and age of “time-shift”, multi-channel and On-demand TV surely the argument for censorship is dead in the water. I think anyone who complains about TV programmes for any other reason than the quality is shit (see virtually every ITV programme) should have their TV viewing rights removed and be reduced to late night local Radio. They’d find plenty to moan about there.

Later , GrocerJack

Big Black Cloud

And so with a great amount of personal effort I finally dragged my sorry, sulky arse along to the “workshop” organised by The Company to help me learn how to deliver “difficult messages” to people. In other words how to destroy their lives, de-motivate and demoralise them, whilst helping them through the “transition curve”.

What a crock of shit.

As expected, I was patronised from the moment I went in. First we had the obligatory introduction of ourselves, including the obligatory “unusual fact” about you. I find this bit incredibly patronising. Everyone is unique I grant, but some of us have led such dull lives it’s hard to find some unique fact that others might even find remotely interesting. I thought I’d list some unique facts about me of which only one is true (and although other interesting things have happened in my life, none are fit for public consumption, least of all by the automatons I work with)…see if you can work out which is true, and which I actually quoted………

My cousin played Benny’s girlfriend in Crossroads (the one that got killed on her pushbike)

Mark Lamarr used to empty my bins

I went out with Lorraine Kelly just before dating Kate Garraway

I am allergic to water

I have 5 children by 5 different women in 3 different countries

I play the spoons in a Lonnie Donegan tribute band

I once smacked Mark Lamarr in the face after a nightclub drink spilling incident

I survived being hit by lightning when camping with Mark Lamarr on Bodmin

I impersonate Shirley Bassey at weekends for money

I once hit Mark Lamarr with a golf ball from a mis-hit drive

Anyway, it was three hours of “being sensitive”, of “not clobbering nor pussyfooting” of being “supportive yet honest” ….blah blah blah. I mean I’m 44 years old and apparently too much of a fuckwit to realise concepts such as compassion or sensitivity or humility. The course was full of silly little role play sections where to be honest most people sat around and chatted about the football or whatever. Of course, who do I get to role play with all morning? The Babe…..the Director of Pipes, Tubes and Strings, and she chose me!. To be fair she looked as if she wanted to be there as much as I did so maybe she thought I looked like a laugh, which of course I duly was. . So did I let her have both of Jack’s barrels at any point. Did I let her know of my deep dissatisfaction with my job? Did I let her know I write a blog during work time because that’s HOW exciting and fulfilling work is?

What do you think? Remember I suffer from Hypocrititis!

I did leave a warm impression I think as I cracked jokes and acted like a clown during parts of our chats. But did she see the tears of The Clown or did I mask my career unhappiness sufficiently to allow her to think I like what I do? Who knows, like I have said my woes are trivial in comparison to most, and although the slide in my morale has apparently halted I still cannot say the recovery has started, and that’s worrying because by now I’ve normally snapped out of it and decided to continue making a good fist of such a dull role.

At least I know what to expect when someone has to deliver me a a “difficult message”.

Later, Grocerjack

Time for a Change?

As a fading socialist fed up of being mugged by New Labour's hoodie clad tax regime I'm now ripe for being picked off by another party. I actually voted for the Lib Dems at the last election because that was the only tactical hope for preventing Michael “ Pssst….wanna buy a watch” Mates being re-elected.

Some hope of that in Blue-Rinse county.

However, the Lib Dems seem to have lost a bit of momentum lately. So am I about to become a Tory?

The very phrase and idea sticks in my throat like a cyanide coated rusty razor blade, but with the election of David Cameron, the taste of the cyanide/rust cocktail seems to becoming more palatable. I actually applaud this bloke's apparent willingness and desire to move away from the "traditional" yah boo sucks playground politics that diseases the alleged Mother of Parliaments. Tradition it might be, but the catcalling, insult lobbing, finger-pointing, cheap point-scoring bollocks that masquerades as democratic political debate is patronising and insults the large number of people in this country who really care about the society we live in, and the manner of how governments behave.

When we see our politicians acting in such a puerile and childish manner is it any wonder the country is awash with apathy and cynicism? Can you imagine how such behaviour would go down at your place of work? Not much of a career development strategy is it?

I vowed once never to vote Tory again (I lapsed in 1979 because someone convinced me that as a flat-owner Labour would leave me with fuck all), but as the New Labour crowbar of taxation diminishes my hard earned savings and earnings more and more each day, and the Nanny State tendencies creep in more and more (don't smoke, don't drink, don't sunbathe, don't fly, don't drive, don’t watch TV, don’t eat red meat, don’t shop at supermarkets, etc etc) the more I feel this government is on borrowed time. Cameron may be a flash in the pan, but then again maybe, uniquely, he really means it. His evident love for his wife, his apparent normal family domestic life, his regular visits to his local for a pint or two, his alleged use of drugs in previous times, his doting on his children, including a severely disabled son, his apparent willingness to introduce a new era of inclusiveness to the Tories, his anti-Thatcher acceptance of the concept of “society” and his willingness to hold back on policies rather than make promises that can’t be fulfilled are all attributes that I find interesting. Perhaps he is more in touch with life in modern Britain than the Ivory Towered hierarchy of New Labour.

I am not yet willing to commit to a swap on “red” principles of my life (fairer society, limited re-distribution of wealth, equality for all irrespective of race, sex, age, creed, size, colour, free healthcare etc) for the “blue” but maybe I’ve reached a time where my goodwill to tax dodging self employed people, along with benefit fraudsters, illegal immigrants here to screw the system and all the other ne’er do-wells of society has been drained. I hope he succeeds because this country needs a new kind of opposition and a new attitude to leadership.

Gordon Brown is NOT the future, and if he succeeds Tony Bliar (sic) then it seems to me that New Labour/Nanny State will be subject to a period of reflection on how robbing honest hard-working people blind via tax, in order to support the fucking wasters, whilst small businesses hire devious accountants to minimize their tax contribution, is NOT the way to remain in power.

Later, TaxedJack