Funny Old Week

A bit tardy on the posting front I'm afraid but that's down to a lack of time due to complete mental fuckwittery at work and to some degree at home as we prepare for the invasion that is Christmas. I mean that in the nicest sense of course as it's quite a compliment to be the host for the family, well Hellsbells family anyway. My own family , Skank and Dave , seem quite happy to do their own thing and who knows, maybe we'll meet up at some point, or maybe not. Laziness seems to be the driver here. So, the tree is up, the decorations up, the present bought and wrapped, we're now manoeuvring to the launch pad, ready for lift off at some point from Saturday onwards.

Saturday is the "locals night" at The Pub, but one fears for the numbers turning up as since the Governor jumped ship to his new pub, the fortunes of my local have severely nosedived. The former Governor left because he couldn't work for the new owners, Fullers, after they bought out the local brewery Gales. Fullers themselves used to be a smaller brewery but have long since forgotten their roots and now act like a real true corporate trampling over local culture and running the pub on a single business "one size fits all" basis. The first mistake was installing a misery guts relief couple with no concept of regulars. Then failing to refurbish the pub despite it being last done 12 years ago. The couple who took over then had to work under an environment whereby the pub was boycotted by groups such as cricket clubs and "beaters" who used to use it. A same because despite being an 'orrible Gooner the governor is a bloody decent landlord. The upshot is that he has been forced out by the brewery for under performance, so no doubt we'll get some high flying couple in there concentrating on "food" and maximising revenue streams etc without giving a shit about the regulars. Actually, that makes us regulars a bit like football fans doesn't it?

I have a "man cold" which is fucking my chest and throat up and giving me a permanent headache. It's genuine as well so go on , mock away. Perhaps this is why we get little sympathy.

Man Cold Video

Arsenal beat my beloved Chelsea yesterday, but to be honest after they got rid of the best coach in the world in September it has hardly come as a surpise that we are now struggling to beat the big boys. It seems the press have got what they wanted, the Man Utd/Arsenal duopoly. You can almost taste the relief in the papers now that the interlopers of Chelsea have no great relevance.

Lastly - todays song in my head is

Lynsey de Paul and "Sugar Me" - I've seen the consultant and am administering a strong dose of The Pogues in order to eradicate it.

Later, GrocerJack

Grocer, Grocer, give us a song!

I wrote some time ago about the “song in my head” syndrome that I suffer from. As a gentle reminder of this syndrome, it’s effectively a condition that means when I get into work, or on a golf course, or anywhere really I have always got some sort of song in my head for the day that just will not go away. Sometimes it lasts a day, sometimes longer. The longest period is around 5 days because at some point I’ve forced myself to listen to some good tunes in order to drive the bad one away.

It’s a bit like the immune system for the body – the good tunes act like white blood cells or an antidote attacking the bad tunes, which are like viruses or poison. The bad tunes debilitate you or you adapt to them until at some point you take the action of treatment because you simply can’t take anymore.

Sometimes it’s more complicated than that and you need to administer the cure in increasing levels of tune greatness. It’s no good dousing something truly awful like “Simply Having a Wonderful Christmas Time”” with a classic like “Always in the Kitchen at Parties” by Jonah Lewie. No, that sort of piss poor song needs heavier and more prolonged treatment such as side one of Led Zeppelin IV to truly eradicate the virus. In fact as I get older I find the treatment required is getting more and more prolonged, as if the virus of the bad song is adapting and getting even stronger. Only last week (sorry a busy week so no time to blog) I had to administer the whole of Made in Japan, the supreme Deep Purple live album in order to eradicate the alternating “The Boat That I Row” by Lulu (yep…I have no idea why that was in my head either) and the abysmal Karma Chameleon by washed up bitter old queen Boy George and his band Culture club.

What also worries me is the insidious way these shite tunes find their way in to my head. How do they get there? I mean I would never listen to them willingly and I rarely, if ever listen to any music radio, barring Virgin Classic Rock or Planet Rock, anymore. I may occasionally take in XFM but none of these would play this sort of crap and deliberately infect my ears and brain. It’s liken having safe sex, I only listen to “safe” radio stations or listen to my preferred tracks on my MP3 or PC – all of which act like musical condoms in a world of growing risk from musical viral infection.

I am therefore left with some conclusions on how this rotten crap gets in there.

1.) Someone is surreptitiously playing the tunes whilst I am asleep and they are being subliminally planted.

2.) Aliens are beaming them direct in to my head

3.) They are being regurgitated from drunken nights in the past

4.) I am going mad

So what do you think? Any cures that are guaranteed? Here are some examples of recent piss poor tunes that have tortured me until a healthy dose of Pink Floyd, Classic 70’s music or some down and dirty Green Day was administered.

The Boat that I Row – Lulu (is it me or does she look better now than ever)

Come What May – Vicky Leandros (A Eurovision winner from the 70’s apparently)

Patches by Clarence Carter (dear God how bad can one song be)

Angels by Robbie Tosspot Williams (music to kill yourself to)

The Floral Dance – Some stupid fucking Brass Band from somewhere up north

Mellow Yellow – Donovan

The Fast Food Song – God only knows what sadistic bastard wrote and performed this

The Final Countdown – Coiffured Euro-ponces called Europe

Simply Having a Wonderful Christmas Time – Paul McCartney gets everything he deserves from Heather Mills just for this garbage alone.

Chain Reaction – Michael Jackson….sorry Diana Ross…hard to tell these days

Mistle-bastard-Toe and Wine – The Archangel Sir Cliff of Colostomy

Firestarter – Prodigy (seriously try listening to this anywhere but a club whilst on E and it is surely just hideous noise)

And today’s special…………which will no doubt have to undergo so Radiohead treatment very soon…………Seven Seas by the Goombay Fucking Dance Band….I mean really, where the hell has that come from?

Later, Grocerjack

Simple solution

Ms Gillian Gibbons is currently on trial in Sudan for Inciting Religious Hatred or some similar bollocks trumped up charge. Apart from the outrage of arresting someone for something so trivial (and yes, to all Muslims, this is trivial) it just goes to show just how far behind us some of these 3^rd world tin pot countries are.

As a dyed in the wool socialist who believes in a fairer society that looks after those that can’t, and should ignore those that won’t, I find events like this test my in-built abhorrence of racial or religious intolerance. In fact my intolerance of all religions, with the exception maybe of the “harm no-one or nothing” Buddhist type ones, is growing all the time. Radical Christianity is as bad as Fundamental Islam any day of the week. It’s actually heartening to see the Muslim community in this country actually show some balls and condemn this petty and vindictive act.

So, no wishy washy, do goody, slapped wrist type actions from me. If I was Mr G. Brown Esq of 10, Downing Street the simple solution would be this – if this woman is not released with free pardon and allowed to come back home we will cut off all financial aid and supplies to Sudan, and we will stop all UK business with or in Sudan with immediate effect. The diplomats will be thrown out of the UK, no more refugees or immigrants will be accepted and any Sudanese person found in this country illegally will be deported without any leave to appeal on the same day.

Yes, the poor starving people of Darfur might suffer even more but the Sudanese will have bought this on themselves. Go on, disagree with me….

Later, Grocerjack

How to install a Dishwasher

Yep, it arrived on its due date so here are my friendly instructions on how to install a semi-integrated dishwasher.

1.) Welcome delivery drivers but be prepared for surly misery guts with one thing on their mind – to drop the dishwasher into the house at the nearest point of entry. (2 mins)

2.) Remain calm when they refuse to take the old one away despite you having paid £13 for this privilege. (5 mins)

3.) Put on your best aggrieved customer voice in order to persuade delivery miseries to place dishwasher in kitchen where it will be installed.(3 mins)

4.) Remove the rest of packing they were supposed to take wit them (10 mins)

5.) Check all the bits are there (5 mins)

6.) Work out what the one extra item is that isn’t listed in any documentation after you’ve found the English section of the 3 different manuals (5 mins)

7.) Place dishwasher in front of the space where it will go. (5 mins)

8.) Run power lead to socket and attach mains hose (5 mins)

9.) Run waste pipe into relevant waste pipe. (1 min)

10.) Prepare to fit furniture door (5 mins, loo break)

11.) Read instructions on how to fit door (20 mins)

12.) Make cup of tea and calm down – read instructions again because they are about as much good as Athletes Foot powder to Heather Mills (20 mins)

13.) After 30 minutes work out how to fit door for yourself as instructions might as well be written in Cantonese and drawn by Picasso. (30 mins)

14.) Swoon as it appears to fit first time and the holes you drilled were perfect. (10 mins)

15.) Slide dishwasher into position (5 mins)

16.) Open door and then work out why the kickboard under sink units immediately pops out.(1 min)

17.) Sigh and swear when you work out that door spacers should have been removed. Check documentation to find out there is no reference to them anywhere. (10 mins)

18.) Remove dishwasher and the door (5 mins)

19.) Remove stupid fucking spacers that shouldn’t have been there anyway and seem to serve no useful purpose other than to piss you off. (5 mins)

20.) Mark and drill new holes in fucking door (5 mins)

21.) Fit the fucking door (10 mins)

22.) Re-mark and re-drill holes to rectify stupid DIY fuckwit basic error you made (5 mins)

23.) Fit door and lose temper when screws won’t go into the allegedly WOODEN furniture door (15 mins)

24.) Try and remove screws that have now had the head sheared away by powered screwdriver (15 mins)

25.) Go and get proper drill with proper drill bit (5 mins)

26.) Scream when drill bit breaks in door (5 mins)

27.) Mark and drill new holes in door using new drill bit (5 mins)

28.) Find new equivalent screws in box you have containing hundreds of assorted screws (10 mins)

29.) What’s this fucking door made of? Diamond?

30.) Re-fit door and attach using near-enough screws (10 mins)

31.) Re-attach mains and hose. (2 mins)

32.) Switch water on at hose connection (1 min)

33.) Run and get bucket to catch water pissing from connection (10 mins – bucket will be hidden away)

34.) Ring LittleSis and beg for plumbers tape. (2 mins)

35.) Switch off water and wait (20 mins)

36.) Sigh with relief when LittleSis arrives with plumbers tape.

37.) Remove hose and put tape around connection (2 mins)

38.) Switch water back on

39.) Drive to shops to get dishwasher salt and rinse aid of which you have run out (15mins)

40.) Add salt and rinse aid (2 mins)

41.) Load with 2 days of washing up no-one could be arsed to do because they knew the new dishwasher was coming (5 mins)

42.) Decide to do in 2 sessions as there is so much washing up on side

43.) Select program and press “play” button (1 min).

44.) Stand back with LittleSis and scratch chin when nothing happens (2 mins)

45.) Select another program and try again (1 min)

46.) Start sweating and worrying that the whole thing is a duffer and a waste of £360 (2 mins)

47.) RTFM * (2 mins)

48.) Press and HOLD the “play” button for 3 seconds.

49.) Hey presto, one fully working and installed dishwasher!

50.) Find spare item with no apparent use and discover in manual that it’s a hard water filter for mains hose (5 mins)

51.) Resolve to fit that another time

52.) Go to pub and drink excessive amounts of Guinness to alleviate stress of doing all this.

53.) Wait 48 hours until you have hangover from Saturday session

54.) Go back next day and fit filter and re-tape connection to water (10 mins)

Easy huh?

Later Grocerjack

*RTFM = Read the fucking manual

Bodysnatchers?

And Lo! The Call Cometh to Him! Yesterday I attended my Band F "Development" Centre. Yep, thats right, identified as a potential Band F within The Company having only worked there 15 years, the first stage of my "transformation" from tall, witty, slim, good looking, sensitive, caring and humble (only 2 of those are true!) GrocerJack , through the "Stepfordisation" process into a complete replica of myself, minus any of the personality or attributes that make me who I am, has apparently started.

The interesting thing is the use of the word "Development" . For most of us the dictionary definition has stood the test of time pretty well...

Development : the act or process of developing; growth; progress: child development; economic development

In The Company's Official Management Gobbledygook Bollocks Talk Dictionary the word "Development" actually means "Assessment".

Assessment : the act of assessing; appraisal; evaluation.

As can be clearly seen these mean different things, so the current F band Club probably had a bright young thing, freshly scrubbed from Uni who thought "why not change the meaning so that people who are stupid won't understand what is actually going on?" Yeah, OK I understand how business works, but the very nature of the 4 of us on this event means we're not stupid, so we knew what was going on, so why not just call it what it is? A chance for the hunters to size up the prey before the kill. A chance for the mad scientists to see what they're cloning. They are demi-gods ready to turn us into their own image. For them this is fun and they get to play the part of God's with omnipotent power over whether we live or die (in the metaphorical career sense one hopes).

And you know what? The damn thing is I would sell my soul for the extra money and benefits. Yes, I am suffering from yet another bout of Hypocrititis! The day itself was the usual mix of a group activity, a competency based interview and a bit of role play. All the usual stuff which is quite fun. Apparently we will get feedback which act as an "enabler" for us to recognise and act upon our developmental areas (or weaknesses as we used to know them).

I have now gone past caring to be honest, a bit like Red in Shawshank Redemption when going to his parole hearing for the 20th time...

SHAWSHANK PAROLE HEARINGS ROOM - (1967)

Red enters, sits. 20 years older than when we first saw him.

      MAN #1
 Your file says you've served forty
 years of a life sentence. You feel
 you've been rehabilitated?

Red doesn't answer. Just stares off. Seconds tick by. The
parole board exchanges glances. Somebody clears his throat.

      MAN #1
 Shall I repeat the question?

      RED
 I heard you. Rehabilitated. Let's
 see now. You know, come to think of
 it, I have no idea what that means.

      MAN #2
 Well, it means you're ready to
 rejoin society as a--

      RED
 I know what you think it means. Me,
 I think it's a made-up word, a poli-
 tician's word. A word so young fellas
 like you can wear a suit and tie and
 have a job. What do you really want
 to know? Am I sorry for what I did?

      MAN #2
 Well...are you?

      RED
 Not a day goes by I don't feel
 regret, and not because I'm in here
 or because you think I should. I
 look back on myself the way I
 was...stupid kid who did that
 terrible crime...wish I could talk
 sense to him. Tell him how things
 are. But I can't. That kid's long
 gone, this old man is all that's
 left, and I have to live with that.
  (beat)
 "Rehabilitated?" That's a bullshit
 word, so you just go on ahead and
 stamp that form there, sonny, and
 stop wasting my damn time. Truth
 is, I don't give a shit.

The parole board just stares. Red sits drumming his fingers.

CLOSEUP -- PAROLE FORM

A big rubber stamp SLAMS down -- and lifts away to reveal the
word "APPROVED" in red ink.

Like red I feel I've been through this "Development" every year and still never got anywhere near the door. Maybe , just maybe if I really don't give a shit then something might happen? But I won't hold my breath.

Later, the original Grocerjack

Scousers won’t like this, it’s a bit of a knock to their pride I guess. Aren’t you sick of hearing the people and officials of Liverpool harping on about the community spirit of the City. Whenever a news item comes on about Liverpool it will always be accompanied by some local dignitary or hack ready to spout on about the wonderful community spirit that ties unifies the city and sets it aside from anywhere else in the UK. It doesn’t seem to happen in London, Birmingham or Manchester possibly because of the sheer size and population diversity within them. The major Scottish cities seem tied together more by Scottish Pride or Nationalism than the individual City behavioural traits so rarely do you hear the same level of bleating about community from them – the football and sectarian rivalry displays this adequately.

Why this “attack” on Liverpool…well it doesn’t seem that long ago that the Bishop of Liverpool was holding a memorial service for Rhys Jones, the 11 year old boy shot dead in a pub car park as he walked home from football practice. This poor lad was murdered in August of this year, his family devastated by the loss of such a young person. And yet….have the police discovered the killer yet? Has anyone come forward and given them a name? Has any parent

come forward to name their child or their friends child, other relatives child as the killer? Someone somewhere is hiding this information, someone close to the killer, someone in the killer’s gang or family knows who pulled the trigger.

And yet, displaying the full depth and breadth of the “community” spirit in Liverpool, no-one has been named or convicted yet. A family still grieves, their son torn from them and yet the great unified City of Liverpool still hasn’t given up the killer. Some are even intimidated by the gang threats if they inform the police.

Fucking cowards the lot of them.

If any of my children or my relatives kids did such a thing I would not hesitate to hand them over and let justice takes its toll.

All the fuss over the murders of Stephen Lawrence and Damilola Taylor finally identified the killers despite police cover ups and cock ups. In Stephen Lawrence’s case the killers are well known but through legal loopholes walked away free…..no-one doubts they did the killing though. In Damilola Taylor’s case a conviction was secured against two brothers in 2006.

Surely someone, somewhere in Liverpool has the balls to finally nail the bastard who killed Rhys Jones. Until they do, they should really keep quiet about the so-called unity and spirit of their now shamed city.

Later Grocerjack

Could it happen today?

Driving back from the dump yesterday ('tis a glamourous life indeed) I tuned into the local radio station - original 106 - which if nothing else is a brave attempt to provide an alternative to the homogenised, safe pap that constitutes local radio today (see posts passim). As good fortune would have it they were playing a Rolling Stones song, but not for them the normal Jumping Jack Flash/Satisfaction/Start Me Up safe bets. Nope, they were playing the classic Stones blues-fest that is Little Red Rooster. The song just oozed sleaze and atmosphere. In fact I was momentarily transported to a seedy little blues bar in the Deep South as it played.

This sort of music can only be played live in a small, smoke filled, crowded bar, with people standing shoulder to shoulder or sitting too many at tiny little tables with a stage only a few feet away where you can talk to the band between numbers. It's the implicit sleaze that makes it work, the feeling of being somewhere underground, somewhere that's bad for you yet has that irresistible pull and most of all is bursting with atmosphere.

Today, non-smoking pubs and bars may have all the advantages of being cleaner, healthier places to eat and drink, but they lack soul, spirit and atmosphere. They will never be able to create an atmosphere whereby a band can play Little Red Rooster and make it feel like something that moves the soul.

Later, Grocerjack

The Magic of The Internet

Internet shopping has transformed the way we buy everything from food to electrical goods to second hand stuff to illegal stuff. It's driven down prices and forced the incumbent high street retailers to up their game. No question, it's really delivered value and choice.

Or has it?

Last week, in a couple of disastrous months the cherry on the icing on the cake was the diagnosis that our less than 4 year old dishwasher had suffered a massive internal failure and that repair was out of the question. That's the society we live in now. We throw things away and don't get them repaired because the items are so bloody cheap that the time and materials required to fix them would be more than buying something new. It's a different economic model to the everything that went before.

The first thing I did was use Google to search for some decent sites that would sell me a 60cm semi-integrated dishwasher on-line. The results of the search are a strange mixture of "shopping intelligence" sites and on-line retailers with names like Appliance City, Appliance Planet and Appliance Universe. Some well known names appear their as well, such as John Lewis, B&Q (Appliance Warehouse!), Boots, Tesco's and Sainsbury's. I tend to use either Ciao or Kelkoo as my intelligence sites to get the lowest price available, and so after doing some research I came up with the perfect model by German giants Bosch. I ordered one on-line from Sussex Appliances Online and duly gave my credit card details over and printed my receipt. Within 10 minutes a very jolly chap rang to thank me for the order but also to inform me that they didn't actually carry any stock and that Bosch had none of that model in the UK. None were expected until mid to late December. Hmmm....Christmas with nigh on 20 people for dinner and NO dishwasher? Not fucking likely. I thanked him and searched again. This time Empire Direct came up with the goods. A day later I get a phone call telling me the same thing. Order attempt number 2 cancelled then. Never mind, I'll try Appliance City, again no luck. I gave up on Bosch at that point.

Some more research followed and I decided on a Smeg (titter ye not!) model. Good reputation I thought and a good price with a lot if funky (I guess) features for a dishwasher. I ordered one through B&Q Appliance Warehouse from their website repleat with a background indicating a yawning great carbuncle of a warehouse somewhere...a white goods heaven in their eyes no doubt. Within30 minutes back came the call.....that's on back order with the manufacturer and might not be available until mid to late December. By now I'm getting a bit agitated....I have up to £400 to spend and no one wants to take the money in fair exchange, within a reasonable time frame, for a dishwasher to help spare the growing pile of plates and the arguments between me, Hellsbells, Kid and Pie.

I then order from Boot Kitchen Appliances. This seems to go well until the dreaded phone call from a nice Northern girl called Kerry (Katona...moonlighting from Iceland and being a professional mum?). Yep, you've guessed it...no can do Jack. To be fair to Kerry she was armed with some alternatives that were in stock from Electrolux, but they were dearer and the details were confusing and didn't quite ring true (no cutlery basket? surely not...) but at least she tried. I asked her to ring Smeg and get an answer as to when they'd be in the UK so i could decide whether to chance delivery before Christmas. The lovely Kerry agreed and said she'd call me on Tuesday.

After that call I decided to call Sainsbury's Kitchen Appliances before ordering to check if they had any stock ......an attempt to be proactive at last. A very nice northern girl called Kerry answered the phone and.........do you see what's happened here? Kerry works for Boots and Sainsburys! And probably all of the others I tried to order from. It didn't take long to see what had happened here...all of the top searches from Google and within Kelkoo and Ciao are for household name companies who back off the supply of the appliance to a company called DRL Ltd. DRL operate a fuck off great big warehouse in Bolton and supply that service to the names you and I know. They also supply the "sales" and "customer support" staff who with chameleon like stealth can change their employer to whoever they want depending on what number you ring. So, if B&Q ain't got it, then Boots won't. Neither will Sainsbury's, nor Tesco's probably.

You think you're being provided with choice, when in fact your new vaccum cleaner or washing machine is all coming from Bolton.

And the lovely Kerry will be whoever you want her to be.

There are other choices of course, but look into the T's and C's and you'll discover that quite a few are fronts for a single out of sight operating company. Trade Appliances Ltd operate under 5 or 6 different names so that depending on which search engine you use they increase the chance you'll use one of the front flash named gateways to get to them. If this was the world of TV, there'd be scandal in the tabloids at such a .....well "con" is too strong a word....but it is a smoke and mirrors device to deceive the ordinary punter.

Kerry did ring me back, and very sweetly said that Smeg had changed the code of the product and it was in stock. It's due next Friday, thank fuck. Unless of course , and knowing my luck, they've shipped the wrong thing and the code was right!

Later, ConsumerChamp Jack.

Ooops

I forgot my Friday Crap Jokes

Boxers don't have sex before a fight. Know why that is?
They don't fancy each other.

I hate those emails where they try to sell you penis enhancers. I got 10 just the other day.
Eight of them from my girlfriend.
It's the two from my mum that really hurt.

The dodo died. Then Dodi died, Di died and Dando died... Dido must be shitting herself.

My parents are from East London which means they're incredibly hard, but I was never smacked as a child ... well maybe one or two grams to get me to sleep at night...

The doorbell and when I answered there was a 6ft beetle there. it smacked me in the mouth and called me a wanker.
Apparently there's a nasty bug going round.

Groaning, Grocerjack

Everything is Fucked

Nothing ever rocks and nothing ever rolls and Nothing’s ever worth the cost!

So said former fat bastard Meat Loaf on his epic ditty, Bat Out Of Hell. I struggled with that lyric for a while but now I think I know what he was getting at. The truth is that anything gadget-like or labour saving that you buy provides a mere few minutes of unbridled joy before it gets discarded through boredom, or no-one uses it, or because the damn thing doesn’t quite do everything it promised, or is too hard to use, or you decide that it’s raison d’etre was never something you really needed anyway. One thing for sure, it’ll break down and your hard earned cash might as well have been shoved in the washing machine until it becomes a pulpy unusable mush.

Why am I even discussing this? Well, it seems to me that fate is playing some cruel tricks on me at the moment. In the last 2 months, precisely 5 months after converting from my comparatively cheap interest only mortgage to a hideously expensive repayment one, we have seen mechanical failure on household appliances ona an unprecedented scale, forcing me to uncover capital investment funds in order to keep the operational business of daily life on track.

1.) The vacuum cleaner packed up earlier this year. After 4 years of tackling the crap left behind by Kid and Pie, plus all the other members of the Brood, it decided it wanted to die and hence committed vacuum cleaner suicide. Of course, to me it was just fucked. We got by because we either didn’t bother cleaning the carpet or borrowed and hid LittleSis’s cleaner. It was no good, she found it and she demanded it back and we ended buying a new one – cost £130

2.) The Fan Oven enter the world of The Fucked when it decided to finally give up, extending cooking times for oven chips (as an example) from 20 minutes (crispy) out to a week or so. Replaced – cost £400 plus £50 for the install.

3.) The Shower – the only one in the house is in the en-suite and is a gravity fed shower. It’s had the cartridge replaced once about 3 years ago but this time it’s gone and I couldn’t face just a refurbished one. It gets used around 4 times a day and so like anything that heavily used it also became fucked. New integral power shower purchased – cost £275 plus somewhere in the region of £180 for the plumber to install and cable it up. Plus a new one in the main bathroom for Kid and Pie to abuse to their hearts content.

4.) The Shower Cubicle for fucks sake – the “bi-fold” door is held together in the middle by two plastic lugs secured to one half of the door with a screw and the other by virtue of the lug being inserted into the tubular spine. Yep, one broke a few weeks back and now the others gone. Can you buy a new door on it’s own? Yeah…..you guessed it….can you fuck! Unless the superglue works then that’s another £300 needed, plus the cost of install unless it’s so fucking ridiculously easy even a DIY fuckwit like me can do it.

5.) The final insult? I fucking hope so. Yesterday HellsBells came back from lunch to find the dishwasher still going. It had been put on a wash cycle by me at 07:00. She discovered it at 4 in the afternoon. Now, I all in favour of dedication to the task…but 9 hours to wash one load…and still it was going. Yep, it’s fucked and to add insult to injury we have a “semi-integrated” one…..functionally the same as a normal free standing one, but apparently the biggest difference between them is…the fucking cost. Another £350 for me to find.

I am almost scared to go home in case the front door falls off it’s fucking hinges.

Have a good weekend, Later Grocerjack

Bad ratio

What arslikhan goody-two-shoes fool determined that 5 days at work and 2 for rest was a good ratio.

Wouldn't 4 days at work, 3 days off have been a fairer ratio?

Here-in starts a campaign. 3 Day weekends for all, except for lousy benefit sponging loafers who live off my taxes. They should be forced into community work like cleaning street, painting houses or tidying up parks.

Rant over.

Later, Grocerjack

The Ministry of Crap Design

Yes, the Ministry of Crap Design is alive and kicking in Jack's world. Two examples hit me today. The first relates to a new power shower I'm having fitted to replace the old gravity fed mixer one that shuffled off the the shower heaven in the sky under the duress of 4 showers a day since Kid and Pie discovered the delights of showering instead of bathing.

To put the new one one I had to remove some tiles from MY FULLY TILED bathroom. i'd hoped they might come off in one piece, but no, the tiler was a real fucking professional and these were tiled for life. Hence from 12 only 3 survived. What's this got to do with the Ministry? Well, the tiles I removed were a nice 8" by 6" (" = inches in case anyone under 25 is reading). However since they were attached it seems a new law prohibiting the sale of this size has been passed. Now you can get 10x8, 6x6, 4x4, 8x4,6x4, 12x10, 12x8 and any other combination...except for the apparently unconstitutional 8x6. Marvellous. Thanks to this I've had to buy some at 6x6 which of course means I needed a tile cutter because it doesn't fill the same rectangle and my ham-fisted DIY capabilities will stretched to the full. Life really is just a fucking trial isn't it?

The second example is from a bed we had arranged to be collected by, get this....a Rag and Bone man. Yes, they do still exist. He will collect your rubbish and tale it away for nothing! Free! Fuck All! Zilch. In this day and age in a culture of disposability this is a bloody godsend.

He duly arrived and I decided to help him dismantle this old metal bunk bed. Of course The Ministry had been involved at it's construction, which means that they got rid of those stupid old "screws" and replaced them with bolts that can only undone with a fucking Allen key? What a shit invention that is anyway! I hate the bastard bloody things. Awakward, ineffective, slow and cruel to fingers. If it had been held together with screws then me and my electric screwdriver would have had the thing dismantled in 5 minutes, but no, because it was Allen keys it took 2 of us over a fucking hour to dismantle the thing. Luckily, R&B Man still took it for nothing, which was nice as he'd lost an hour and a bit of his day.

I hate designers, they just don't think about anyone but themselves and their inflated ego's.

Later, Grocerjack

Cornucopia

Just a few comments before a weekend of Guinness, Golf and Cycling. And who knows, with any luck I might even get a bit of rest. I believe that there is rest for the wicked you see.

World of Sport

Fernando Alonso moves away from McLaren and Lewis Carl Hamilton (anagram….Car Wealth? Millions) decides that he’s too popular to live in the UK. When I was a kid we called this “car racing” and in those days it was all about dashing, devil-may-care heroes laying their lives on the line in the pursuit of sheer speed and the glory of being the champion driver. Nowadays it’s a dull procession of overpaid pampered primadonna’s in a “sport” ruled by the richest teams who can simply buy the best or develop the best, and governed by a corrupt body of stuffy old farts that are completely out of touch with the fan base and the soul of the sport.

Much like football I suppose.

Celebrity Special

Richard and Judy are quitting their Channel 4 TV show and I think the world of daytime TV will a poorer place for this. I know he can be an irritating and arrogant know all, but there are times when he has handled sensitive subjects with real sensitivity. Judy has always seemed to show great respect for people and admiration for what they have to say. I can’t help but like them. Their original show, This Morning, changed the face of morning daytime TV by creating a successful and popular magazine format and has consistently beaten any opposition from the Beeb or anyone else. It’s a testament to what they created that Phil Schofield and the gorgeous (my guilty secret) Fern Britton have continued that success by imposing their own personalities without really changing the format. Call me a cynic, but Richard has stuck with Judy through a time in her life when ill-health has ravaged her looks and figure, and occasionally her mood. In the shallow world of the TV celeb it’s obvious he would have been presented with plenty of “away-days” but, as far as we know, he has never been tempted.

Or never been caught.

Travel News

A new car share starts for me on Monday, taking it to 3 of us. The previous one collapsed when the closet sharer gradually decided to go his own way. Frankly he’d been pissing me and The Happy Hammer off for months by continually turning up hideously late and not apologising. He even recruited 2 other young blokes from the area into his team in what now looks like a blatant attempt to create a break away car share.

Or maybe it’s to share some George Michael moments.

Crime Shock

The Met are guilty! Apparently. In a time of heightened stress and fear we all know they fucked up when they shot the illegal Brazilian immigrant Jean Charles De Menezes, and no matter what his status he did not deserve to die. Especially at the hands of an apparently trigger happy bunch of gung-ho coppers. But the truth is they acted in haste and by mistake, a tragic and terrible mistake. But, the fact is shit happens and I’m unconvinced that the police are guilty of anything other than a horrendous error of judgement. A little known fact is that to date their have been 10,000 incidents to which armed police have been called, and guns have been used (firearms discharged in copper-speak) on just 3 occasions. It’s hardly the sign of a police force making its own law is it?

Sir Ian Blair is being pressured to resign, but I’m not sure this is deserved or serves any purpose other than to deliver yet another political scalp and lose more hard earned experience. In fact where this whole culture of resignation came from is the detestable tabloid press and their insatiable hunger for stories to sell newsprint and to show off their political clout. Why not give someone the chance to remedy the error of their ways, to put right what was wrong? What happened to the culture of forgiveness and redemption our so called Christian society was built on?

Friday Rubbish Jokes

Q. What tells you a spider is modern?

A. It has a web-site (groan)

Batman came up[ to me the other day and he hit me over the head with a Ming Vase and he went “T’Pau!!”
I said, don’t you mean “Kapow!”
And he said “No, I’ve got China in my hand”

I was reading this book the other day called The History of Glue. I couldn’t put it down.

I fancied a game of darts with my mate. he said "Nearest the bull goes first"

He went "Baa" and I went "Moo". He said "Your closest"

And finally

I've no problem with buying tampons, after all I'm a modern man.

But apparently they're not a real present.

have a good weekend

Later, Grocerjack

Modern day Management

You all know by now what I tend to think of a lot of the Senior Managers in The Company. The Master isn't bad by previous standards of bosses and I get on very well with his boss, The Godfather. However, the thought of how some of them across The Company got to their current position pains me, especially when I think of the extra cash and perks they get.

I have of course, honourably and stoically sacrificed the untold riches available to me should I succumb to this fate, all by my own choice (Editors note.......yeah right!) in order to preserve my dignity and remain a man of principle untainted by the lure of more filthy lucre (Editors further note......who are you fucking kidding?).

My ideal style of management, and one I'd dearly love to pursue can be viewed here....

Leadership - Jack style

Effective and no bullshit, dont you think?

Maybe tomorrow, Grocerjack

Abigail's Party

Last night was a televisual feast for me. The BBC decided to dedicate a whole evening of their increasingly impressive BBC 4 schedule to the masterpiece that is the play Abigail’s Party, written by Mike Leigh and first broadcast in 1977 as part of the BBC’s “Play for Today” series after a run at the Hampstead Theatre. I’ve seen the play several times on TV, and once on stage in Southampton. Every time I watch the play I wonder if the contrapuntal mixture of black comedy/cringe-worthy embarrassment and eventual tragedy will still hold the test of time. Of course, it does so with aplomb. Stuff like this is truly ageless.

The play is set at a drinks party in a suburban household during a time when Britain was undergoing changes as fundamental as those that happened in the previous decade. Whilst the 60’s are fondly viewed through rose-tinted glasses as a time of peace and love, where the “teenager” really took root, technology would save the world, jobs were plentiful and the years of post-war austerity were gone, the 70’s are often viewed in a dimmer light. A time of poor taste in fashion, industrial strife, weak government and an increasingly disenfranchised youth about tot grasp the reins of the punk revolution. In truth the 70’s were as much a time of change and increasing hope as the 60’s. More and more we see the 70’s being reflected upon nostalgically, perhaps related to the growing dominance of the 40-somethings playing a leading part in today’s’ society. Who knows?

What makes the play stand out so much is the ability of the writing to continually reflect the tensions of society that have plagued us from time immemorial, irrespective of the time it is set in. Are our relationships worthwhile? What about our children? What do others think of us? It reflects worries about work and captures our primary desires to be accepted by peers and friends, and to increase our social standing within our local environment.

The play effectively made Mike Leigh’s career, and turned Alison Steadman into a household name. Her imperious and faultless portrayal of the overpowering, domineering Beverly and her faux sincerity is exquisitely beautiful and painful to watch at the same time. Tim Stern makes the downward spiral of Beverly’s husband, Laurence, the extremely stressed estate agent really come to life and you simultaneously despise his smug, self perceived social superiority and middle class pretentious snobbery towards the others whilst being inexorably drawn into feeling great sorrow and despair for him as his life ebbs away, both psychologically by his belittling wife, and ultimately physically when the stress takes it’s inevitable toll on his heart.

Following on that you have the superbly understated performance by Harriet Reynolds as Sue, the emotionally shackled divorcee, whose daughter Abigail is having the real party. You never see Abigail, but the constant thump of the music, and the blasé references to teenagers and their parties slowly but surely stoke up the level of worry inside her. The muffled music also serves as a mechanism that highlights the generational difference that has always existed between those at the start of adulthood and those of us cynics worn down and embittered by the harsh realities of life's experiences. Never has a portrayal of stoic politeness, in a place of sheer hell and in the face of such social horror been captured so beautifully.

The last two members of the cast, Janine Duvitski and John Salthouse play the married couple Ange and Tony. Janine Duvitski plays the socially inept Ange to perfection and her ability to play someone who is oblivious to the discomfort of others with such innocent yet awkward questions and comments is a joy to behold. It does seem to have stereotyped her into playing mousey, subservient types ever since but I bet she’s never been short of work. My favourite character though is Tony. This is a man whose brooding menace is never far from the surface, a man who knows he’s married the wrong woman, who feels constantly embarrassed by her constant twittering and her unswerving, but unwitting and seemingly unintentional ability to do or say the wrong thing. He doesn’t say much in the play, but with single words and at best muted sentences, combined with his facial expressions and glaring eyes he sums up perfectly how everyone of us has felt at some point in our lives. Impotent with barely concealed rage sums Tony up.

In my view, only The Office has ever got close to delivering that constant pull between laughter and head holding cringe-worthy moments of deep embarrassment – I wonder if Ricky Gervais would quote Abigail’s Party as an influence on his own massive success? For those who haven’t seen it I urge you to find a torrent site and download it, or buy it from Amazon (less than a fiver!). You’ll need a strong stomach and a sense of perseverance for the first 10 minutes, but the rich reward you’ll get from having witnessed such a classy piece of theatre is worth it. And just like Pulp Fiction you’ll never be short of conversation with anyone who has ever seen it. Not every post has to be a moan, and the GoGB is happy to laud and heap praise on such gems as Abigail’s Party.

Fantastic, a cheesy-pineapple one Sue?, Later Grocerjack

Leave it!

I liked Diana, the Princess of Wales. She seemed to be quite independent minded and had her own views on how to bring up children. She rattled the Royal family’s cage, which as a sworn Republican is no bad thing in my mind and would have made a pretty good figurehead president in the Republic of Jack.

But, what a waste of time and money the whole inquest thing is. Will it nail the conspiracy bollocks once and for all. Of course not! In fact the seemingly endless trail of witnesses and close contacts are all just adding even more fuel to the flames of the communal “Diana was murdered” conspiracy bonfire.

At my expense.

Yes, me and you, the great British mug taxpayer is funding this seemingly never ending waste of time, effort and money. Why not just hit me on the head and take a tenner? At least I’d know it had gone, rather than be patronized and indoctrinated in the belief that anyone really cares, or that it has some value. I don’t and it doesn’t.

As any fool know, she was tragically killed in car accident in a dangerous tunnel in Paris whilst being driven too fast by a drunk driver.

Live with it. And (despite my avowed Republicanism) spare a thought for 2 young men who, as if life wasn’t weird enough, have to live with intimate details of their mother’s life being splattered across newspapers and TV screens 10 years after she died.

No-one deserves that. One person who will seemingly never be allowed to RIP is Diana, Princess of Wales.

Later, Grocerjack

Hello Everyone

It's been a bit quiet round these parts for a while. Yeah, well fucking hard luck, some of us have been a bit tied up with work, families and the societal malaise of a general lack of time do do stuff. I miss writing stuff so I am hoping that I'll get 15 or 20 minutes every couple of days to confirm the Guild of Grumpy Blokes is alive and kicking. When I say "Blokes", of course this is a generalised term for anyone, male , female or trans-gendered who feels all they can do is watch helplessly as the world gets madder and madder day by day. Blokes are not just men now, they're everyone in our increasingly homogenised, androgynous world. Welcome to you all. I'll update the rules shortly as parts of them are a moveable feast, but feel free to check them out from the link and suggest any new ones.

So, what do I mean by a madder and maddening world? Well how about some More Nanny State anyone? Well just keep backing The Presbyterian Preacher (TPP) Gordon and you'll find every aspect of your life is wrong in some way or another. An example? Well I used to be "slightly overweight" like a lot of people in their 40's, but now, thanks to TPP and the whole gang of Lunatic Labour Bleeding Heart do-gooders, I am "obese". Lovely, thanks Gord. It seems not a day goes by when some rent-a- mouth MP or government sponsored scientist or study -group is spouting off some load of old bollocks which pisses on yet another aspect of my life. I've been quiet about this but really I'm bottling it all up, ready for a few rants. Keep reading......

Another example of our collective insanity could be seen with the recent hysterical wave of broadcast, tabloid and broadsheet media hyperbole surrounding English..........no British sport. World beating footballers one day, useless overpaid low-lives the next, including our friends in Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland. A European Championships with out a single nation from the British Isles beckons. World beating Rugby side one day, plucky, dogged and determined losers the next. Super rookie Formula One driver carrying the hopes of a nation one minute, second placed let down the next. I used to think Tim Henman was a one off who flattered to deceive, but it does now seem that we, the UK, are a nation of Tim Henmans', ready to choke when the big moment comes. We don't want winners, we want the plucky honourable loser. We revel in the ethos of "taking part is what counts" and "you can only do your best", whereas in the USA, Australia, South Africa and many other nations all of these would be seen as nothing less than a national shame. Culturally, the Henman space is where we are at and for the foreseeable future where we'll be.

Do you see what I mean? We're whipped into a frenzy and assaulted on all fronts by xenophobic propaganda, only to be disappointed again. Always the bridesmaid huh? All I ask is that the majority of us, who live in the "glass half empty" world continue to spread the gospel of realism and pragmatism so that when the inevitable defeat occurs, we can stoically as a nation just take the let down with a lovely pessimistic collective sigh of "told you so".

Cheers, Grocerjack

Bits

Notes on a few things.........

Jailing Terrorists

So MI5 are alleged to have missed vital clues that might have prevented the 7/7 bombs from going off are they? It seems to me that this occurred at a time when the UK was just getting used to the idea that terrorism on our mainland was restricted to Animal Rights madmen as the threat from the iRA had declined somewhat. Even if MI5 had the resource to follow up and further investigate the actions of the bombers it is quite likely someone else would have got through. The fact is , MI5, like the Police, like the NHS, like the Armed Forces will always be under-funded and under-resourced. Its the way of all public services, in the past, now and in the future. In fact it might be Organizational "law" as most private business are always seeking to cut costs whilst paradoxically improving service. It rarely happens.

MI5 did however do enough to get 5 potential terrorists banged up yesterday and that is good. I'm sure they're not perfect and who really doubts that these utter cunts (sorry no apologies) who parade as Islamic Fundamentalists will strike again. All MI5 and the supporting services can do is their best.

I, for one, am grateful these wankers are going away for life. I hope they get life as well. A rotten life of beatings and deeply unpleasant sexual abuse. I hope thye get fed bacon, pork and they're food is doused in pig fat. They don't eve deserve that, but whilst they're away I hope the old lags make their lives worse than if they'd died.


Young Drivers

News reaches me today of another near fatality in our village. A girl of 17 now lies in an induced coma after being hit head on by someone on the wrong side of the road. This barely 3 weeks after a young 16 year old lad died after the car his mate was driving lost the road on a bend and hit a tree head on. I'm not sure of the full circumstances of either crash, except both involved young drivers. I'm not daft, I was young once and I look back in complete horror at my ignorance and bravado. Driving home from the pub after a skinful? Yep done it. Racing mates in their cars? Yep, done that too. Burnt the tyres to show off? Yep. All of which is to my eternal shame. But that's what a lot of young blokes are like. In my day it was harder to afford a decent car, let alone insure it. The best I could afford as I started was a Vauxhall Viva (as pictured). It was a ripped off joke from Jasper Carrott that the Viva couldn't go fast enough to kill anything, which was of course wrong. But the style and engine size hardly encouraged speeding. But it was a slow lumbering beast of a car, and my version, the 1.3L was so bad it barely made it up a decent hill.

But that's what's needed today. New drivers, and those under the age of 25 should be forced to drive "governed" cars. These cars might have a top speed of 40 and be banned from Motorways. They could be of any make as long as they are governed. It could be a bi-annual check that's obligatory as well, so any budding mechanic would have to remove the "governor" and add it back. Or it could be made tamper-prood using seals. it wouldn't be 100% but maybe it could cut down on some of the needless deaths caused by the younger persons sense of immortality and bravado. Either that or raise the minimum age to 25.


Tony Blair

Just fucking go, you're a dead duck and you're presence merely hinders any change of policy on Iraq. Let Gordon Brown take over and then let the country decide who the next PM is going to be. if Gordon wants respect then he needs to change to government policy on "nanny-stateism" for one, and remove the continual knee-jerk "bring in a new law" mentality for the slightest and most trivial things that people moan about. Oh, maybe shut the constant stream of "information" telling us that everything we do or eat seems to be bad for us in some way. Sometimes ignorance really is bliss.

And finally.....good luck to Chelsea tonight. I am reviewing the game for The Chelsea Blog and after this weekend it would be nice to write something good!

Later, Grocerjack