So farewell then Jack

And so it ends.

After 5 years or so of trying to express to others, the the ups and downs of my life, the things I've liked, loved and hated, the things that have angered, frustrated and inspired me and the various characters who play a part in my life, I'm off.

It all started through the boredom of a job I hated and the wasting affect it had on my annoying, questioning, challenging mind. And it was anonymous. The mistake I made was letting those close to me in on the secret, and that immediately closed down an avenue of writing as I could no longer truly write what I thought of people, despite keeping them anonymous. As word grew it became obvious to the the readers who knew me who others were and it just took the sting away a bit. If I ever do this again, it will remain my secret and that's that.

Now I'm in a job which is a crossroads point for me, the fun has worn off and I'm battling to move the team forward and the choice for me is coast through life moaning but accepting my lot, or keep bashing away annoying the fuck out of Billyboy, The Tub Thumper (now my boss again) and all of the rest of the Ivory Tower inhabitants it is my misfortune to have to work for. I can't write about that forever though.

I keep busy writing occasional articles for Chelseablog, and am looking now at how to sate the creative aspects of my life as technology changes. Podcasts fascinate me and there's a Chelsea fans one I might try and gatecrash.

The social media and networking phenomenon is fast rendering blogs as less and less relevant and it's no coincidence that the blogs people want to read are now focused on specific topics, be that sex, football, politics, media or whatever. When I started , blogging was new and exciting but the blogosphere has become so huge and so full of similarity and mediocrity it's hard not to get ground down. I find myself rather enjoying the challenges of middle age and Facebook and Twitter. Facebook I've cracked, Twitter is still to be proven to me as a useful way of communicating or keeping in touch.

I still want to write, but am serious about drafting a novel, or a play....or even scripts, but for me the blogging adventure is over...not dead....just asleep and who knows when or if Grocerjack will ever wake up. All good things must end and right now it feels like that to me. The site will remain for as long as allowed without being updated and well...never say never....but as far as I can tell, this is it.

As The Dragons would say, "I'm out"

Thanks to everyone who's ever read or commented. It was fun.

Au revoir mes amis, GJ

Way to go Sting

I like The Police.

I don't much like Sting's solo stuff.

I did quite like Fields of Gold mind. And the one about the nuclear bomb.

His rain-forest posturing and general liberal wet arty farty ways are a bit annoying as well.

But he's absolutely dead right in his criticism of The X-Factor.

It is a Karaoke competition and nothing else. It is about generating cash for Cowell Corporation. It is factory pop of the worst kind since....oh.....a few years back when Stock, Aitken and Waterman ruled the airwaves. It has fuck all to do with proper real music. I don't deny that Leona Lewis, Alexandra Burke, JLS et al.... have technically near perfect voices. That's all they do have though. Music and song is much much more than just showing off your vocal power and range everytime a microphone is shoved in your face. It's more than dance routines and sparkly outfits. It's more than being a performing seal.

It's about soul, passion, spirit, individuality and creativity and that little something that sets you aside. Good music and good 'pop' music have something intangible that works. Talented artists really do have an X factor. That special ingredient that emanates from them and what they perform that gets into the soul of the those , like me, who love music. It's the same for painters, sculptors and writers.

Look carefully at the X Factor and ask yourself how many of the following artists would have survived to win the alleged competition. Rod Stewart? Sinead O' Connor? Randy Crawford? Kate Bush? Would the current George Michael or Elton John versions get past Cowells critical eye? What about Engelbert Humperdinck with his crooning ballads? If Sting turned up with his guitar, would he make it? Come to think of it would Michael Jackson have got very far? Kirsty Maccoll perhaps? Nah, not pretty enough. John Lennon.....Freddie Mercury......John Lydon........the list goes on. None of them would meet the pre-packed, pre-moulded, sanitized production line pop criteria needed to be a 'star' through the X Factor route.

If it's all the same to you, I'll stick to Jools Holland's Later and the Beeb's Glasto coverage for my TV music.

A plague on the X-Factor house and all it's occupants!

Later, GJ

Why I love the 80's.........and the 60's and 70's...and bits of the 90's

This is weird. What started off as a retrospective 'weren't the 80's actually rather good' spiel turns into 'aren't I lucky to have lived through music's most golden ages' piece.

It started a few weeks back during the enforced absence when I was wading through weeks of recorded programmes catching up on all the 'must see' stuff I'd recorded in a delusionally desperate attempt to prove the value of the new TV . The truth is most of this 'must see' stuff ends up being deleted through boredom/lack of time/better things to do. But when you're immobile there is very little that's better than lying flat, propped into a comfy position with fluffy pillows, surrounded by remote controls, medicines, an iPod, mobile phones and bags of Minstrels and Midget Gems. Not the most active or healthy of lifestyles I grant that, but something everyone should do occasionally just for the good of the soul. A break from the strife of normality one might say.

One of the recorded programmes was called Synth Britannia, yet another excellent piece of contemporary cultural history from the rather good BBC4 stable. I started to watch this thinking it might be worthy but dull, but instead revelled in a nostalgia-fest of the birth, flourishing, maturation and eventual record industry homogenisation of electronic music.

Setting aside that bands like Pink Floyd, Tangerine Dream etc had dallied with electronic sounds for some years, the programme gave a wonderful overview of the emergence into the charts from the late 70's in the shape of Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark (OMD), through the fringe elements of bands such as Cabaret Voltaire and the transition of The Human League from failing electronic/synth geeks into pop-tastic leaders of synth dance music so synonymous with the 80's. Of course the nostalgia was where it worked the most, and it set me reflecting on my own almost covert love of this stuff, the fashions and the post punk evolution of music through arguably its last truly avant-garde era of mixing the independent with mainstream appeal. Until Stock, Aitken and Waterman came along and strangled it with their ruthlessly efficent factory model producing electro-pap instead of electro-pop.

For 2 glorious hours I lay on the sofa revelling in clips from Gary Numan, Depeche Mode, Yazoo, Pet shop Boys, Human League, Heaven 17, OMD and even some Kraftwerk lobbed in for good measure. From some BBC treasure vault they included video clips from clubs and concerts showing the transition from punk fashions including the goth eye make-up and quasi-bondage outfits into the refined versions so prevalent at the time and which in turn heavily influenced the whole New Romantic fashions seen at the time. Men wearing make-up then was outrageous, but who really bats an eyelid these days? For me it was covert because of the image I'd woven for myself at the time, the jean-jacketed long haired pseudo Motorhead look was my way. But although a dyed in the wool rocker, underneath it all beat the heart of a wedge haircut, make-up wearing, be-suited Spandau Ballet fan. I envied the guys in my local pub off to the clubs wearing this immaculate outrageous gear, spangly, sparkling women adorning their arms. It was circa 1983 when the hair finally got cut and the wedge appeared. I had two ear piercings but was never brave enough to don the make-up despite being just about the only one in that group. We all fancied the Human league girls, and some even fancied Alison Moyet (I've never been a weight fascist). Watching the programme reminded me of the prime of youth I guess, those years between about 17 and 25, prior to any really serious relationships or marriages, when a fuck or a fight at the end of an evening was a result (the fight obviously being the lesser prize), an age when school was done and you had very little in the way of responsibility. And as usual a time of our lives that we were too young to appreciate fully.

As I sat down to write this I realised that being born in 1961 has meant that I am so fortunate because I have lived through the best decades humanity has known. I got a taste of the 60's, like a young boy's first taste of Dad's beer. You pretend to like it but can't be sure because you're too young. But you know you'll love it when you grow up. The 1970's, a much maligned decade politically, culturally, artistically and musically, were in retrospect like the first few seconds of the Big Bang, where the Big Bang was the 60's (the decade that spat on post-war austerity, where the teenager was finally acknowledged by society). The 1970's gave us colour TV, FM radio, vcr's, glam rock, Queen, disco, new wave, punk, David Bowie, Dame Elton John. Rod Stewart, The Clash, T Rex, Sweet, Slade....the list is just too big, but suffice to say the 80's needed the 70's fashions and influence and they succeeded just as spectacularly. As the 90's came along the inevitable ageing process removes you from the cult of youth and you lose that touch with what's 'in' and what's relevant to the incoming generations.

And so it should be. What my generation, with all it's inherent grumpiness' has managed to do a million times better than our parents and grandparents generations is to accept what our kids like whilst reserving the right to dismissing it as rubbish either in jest or for real. We do not seem to embrace outrage or resistance to cultural change as they did in the 50's and 60's. And with any luck the next set of 40-something parents will be even better this, accepting the gap and encouraging the kids to do their own thing, to dress their own way, to listen to and like their own music. But I'll say this, boy have they got their work cut out in doing better than us. Something tells me that kids of today might not be looking back quite as nostalgically at Jedward, Rhydian, Mika, Acon and the stuff around today. Although Lady Gaga might make the cut!

Sound like a parent don't I?

Later, GJ

Heartbreaking inspiration

I'm heading into the last few days of sick leave after the operation, now confident of a return to work next week. A month off, just the sort of break required for a bit of thinking as well as switching off. Wednesday was Tarantino day with back to back showings of Quentin Tarantino's finest movies. Then yesterday I treated myself to a day of Shakespeare Retold, the marvellous series shown 3 years ago by the BBC. I followed this up with yet another minor masterpiece in the form of the directors cut of Blade Runner, the first time I've seen this format. On the big TV in full cinema sound it really was quite spectacular.

I decided on this because I needed cheering up. I had a few pieces of news yesterday that made me feel a bit down. Not Grumpy Bloke down, but just a little sad. A friend at work has been diagnosed with Breast Cancer. She's 29 for fucks sake. And it's the worst kind apparently.

Some God huh?

Following that came the news that the trial of a friend I worked with who was killed last year had ended. The killer got manslaughter and 9 years. For 30 stab wounds and an attempt at sawing her head off. In front of her kids.

Some justice huh?

After the film finished I flicked through the channels and came to rest on Channel 4 +1 - the electronic guide simply stated a title of Katie: My Beautiful Face. I immediately assumed it was yet another sycophantic celebrity obsessed programme about Katie Price aka Jordan.

I couldn't have been more wrong. This was simply the most heartbreaking, tragic and yet ultimately warm and inspiring thing I've seen on TV. And I probably mean ever. Maybe it's having Kid and Pie, two lovely teenage daughters but this fantastic documentary seems to have had a major effect on me.

Katie Piper was attacked in March 2008 by an accomplice of her boyfriend. Not just an attack, a vicious and unbelievably cruel attack. He threw industrial strength sulphuric acid straight into her face. She was on the phone to her so called boyfriend at the time who was able to tell his friend what she was wearing to ensure he got the right person. It was all captured on CCTV, which was included in the documentary. It made me cry. As did the photo's taken after the event, as did the video of her in her hospital bed after being woken from her induced coma.

Katie Piper was attractive in a typically 21st century way. Blonde hair, petite figure, flashing white teeth. The sort of person I'd normally label as vacuous, self-centred and dull, and I would have based that judgement purely on her look. Look in any lads mag, or celebrity magazine and you'll see so many like her. Walk though any shopping mall and you'll see the same. Behind this attractive face was a bright young chirpy woman trying to make a name in TV presenting and modelling, as yet seemingly unsullied by the sleazier side of both industries. No doubt this was down to a decent upbringing from her wonderfully grounded parents and younger sister.

The film showed how this girl.....no sorry.....young woman has had to learn to live with terrible disfigurement, through 30 operations, being fed through a tube, being scared to answer the door, barely sleeping through the night without nightmares, having to wear a mask at night on top of the perspex mask she wears for 23 hours a day, with various anti-scar treatments being applied 4 times daily by her parents, having to constantly apply drops into her eyes every few hours and to try and walk down the road and ignore the stares and leers from the Great British Public, She lives this life every day and is still very much on the road to recovery. She has lauded the talents of her NHS doctor, Mr Jawad, who has used pioneering techniques on her to try and reconstruct a face that was literally dissolved of her skull. It was so bad it destroyed all 4 skin layers in places and just left the fat layer that sits over the bone. It dissolved some of her throat and part of her chest and shoulder as well as her wrist. It was truly utterly shocking, At one point when she was at a specialist treatment centre only available in France (a trip funded by a charity) when her Dad called to break the news that the scumbag who'd done this had been found guilty. The consequent filmed breakdown as she collapsed into mixed tears of pain and happiness was utterly heartbreaking. I defy anyone to watch the film and not find themselves gaining a sense of real perspective.

Katie Piper. You are a truly remarkable and brave young woman. The film showed me what real beauty is all about, and disfigured or not, yours shone through. I found myself inspired by your personality, attitude and a level of courage that I'm not sure I could ever reach. I hope you find someone good and kind to hold your hand through life, to support you and make sure the rest of your life is both long, rich and fulfilled. I doff my virtual Guild of Grumpy Blokes cap in your direction.

Later, GJ

Things I have liked.....and things I haven't

Sitting around for 2 weeks now has meant loads of time to watch TV and try to learn French through new technologies. I've watched near enough everything on my V+ box plus quite a few DVD's and it's been good to catch up on some of the latest stuff.

Some Good stuff:

Cloverfield. Rather excellent 'monster ravages New York' movie with interesting perspective, being as it is shown from the perspective of someone witnessing events through a video camera. Only downside is it yet again centres around teenagers with virtually nobody over 20 in it. I know the makers have a target demographic, but really, would it have hurt to include a few adults?

The Dark Knight: The best Batman film by some distance. As far from the cartoon-like versions seen before, and yes that does include the Tim Burton ones.

Ironman: Superb super hero film laced with humour and menace. How could anything that plays in with Back in Black by ACDC, with the best US actor ever, Jeff Bridges, and the rejuvenated Robert Downey Junior be anything but good?

Holby City: OK, I'm coming out here. This is my guilty secret. I hate soaps and so for me this can't ber classed as a soap, but it just draws me in with the characters, the plots and arcs and its recent transformation to a filmic quality makes it eminently watchable.

Hancock: Drunken waster superhero film with Will Smith. Surprisingly enjoyable as I find his films a little rubbish. He's similar to Jim Carrey in that he irritates me in most films, but maybe this has started to redeem him in my eyes. Carrey did it with The Truman Show, but since then it's all been the usual crap.

Facebook games: Easy ways to while away the hours.

Quake Live: Yes, Quake, the game, online and free! Great fun for an hour or so.

The Wright Stuff: Yes, thats right, the daily Matthew Wright vehicle. He can be smug and arrogant, but to be fair its his show, but this is always striking the right balance between fun and serious, with interesting guests always willing to contribute.

BBC Breakfast: Well, why woud I be surprised. The BBC doing a great job of keeping me up to date. Plus it has Suzanne Reid and Sian Williams so whats not too like?


Not so good stuff:

Loose women. Great idea. Shite execution. Shite guests. Trivial trite bollocks.

This Morning: Competition TV with the odd human interest slot.

Jeremy Kyle. Seriously, if he's good enough for TV then why am I not doing my own programme.

Gold adverts/Loan shark adverts: Need I say more?

Childrens TV: Dear God, patronizing, simplistic, safe, bland rubbish. Yes, I know its not for me , but my memory is good enough to remember that it was never so bad in my day.

And thats it. 3 weeks condensed into good and bad. What a fucking saddo!

Later, GJ

*PS....coming next, why I love the 80's

Offensive....moi?

I am offended by many things.

Nick Griffin for example. His attempt to put a veneer of respect on a political party based in violence, repression, bigotry and viciousness is an affront to everything I believe in.

Bankers offend me for taking huge bonuses whilst others lose their houses and jobs, if not their lives.

The government offends me for fiddling expenses, allowing the banks and financial institutions to ruin the country and then telling me, the taxpayer that after bailing them out, my taxes must rise to pay for all of this.

Gordon Brown offends me for his bumbling attempts at leadership and his constant need to try and gain credibility by spouting soundbites based on the success of British artists or sportsmen.

Jeremy Kyle offends me for his bear baiting nasty programme exposing the domestic problems of the more vulnerable and ill-educated of society.

The X Factor offends me for being a platform for rich and famous people to mock misguided wannabees. Yes, I know Leona Lewis and Alexandra Burke are very good singers but how many were humiliated in order to get to those two?

Ditto Big Brother, Britain's Got Talent and all the other reality shows designed to emulate the Victorian freak show mentality.

The point is everyone gets offended every day. Some people seem to have taken it to the point whereby any opinion that differs from their own is offensive. We now live in a culture where the slightest criticism of anyone is deemed offensive, where anything funny that's said about anyone is seen as offensive and in extreme cases, bullying.

So, the fuss of the Jimmy Carr story fits in with yet another probable witch hunt headed up by an indignant and angry press on our behalf. The truth of this is of course Carr's humour is well known by those who pay to see him. It is adult humour that steps very close to boundaries of good taste and undoubtedly in some cases oversteps the mark for some people. But you get what you pay for. Even if he did offend me I wouldn't feel the need to complain about it. Why extend the feeling of being offended by making even more of a fuss. Do people who complain feel they are protecting someone? In this case it seems pretty clear that the soldiers feel he might have nicked the joke from them anyway. Plus anyone who has ever met a soldier will know that dark humour is very much part and parcel of soldiering life. It keeps them grounded. Plus, there is a subtext to the joke as well which praises the types of people that soldiers are that the loss of limbs is no obstacle to them achieving great things in their lives.

And the irony of a potential campaign of injured feelings from the Daily Mail after the Jan Moir article on Steven Gately isn't lost on me either.

Similarly those people who tried to stop Nick Griffin last week, and have slated the BBC since then, have no right to be offended on my behalf. I'll make my own mind up thanks very much. In all of this, the one fact remains that you can't extol the virtues of democracy and free speech and then try to block certain views and thoughts no matter how heinous they are, nor can you stop people making bad taste jokes or overstepping boundaries of decency. What is funny is like music or art.....they are too subjective to put boundaries around them.

So, I say this to Griffin, Brown, Cowell, Tatchell, Wenger, Ferguson, Kyle, Cameron, Carr, Ross, Brand, Thatcher, Du Beke, Osborne, Miliband, Benitez and anyone else who says or thinks things that I find offensive, carry on. Carry on with doing those very things that offend me because I'd much rather live in a society that allows you to do that, and implicitly that includes my views as well, than one that bans it and consequently suppresses the people.

And yes, I did read 1984 on holiday, and yes I can see exactly what Orwell was forecasting for the future. With political correctness and suppression of protest and freedom of speech, just how far are we from having a Ministry of Truth dealing in lies, A Ministry of Peace dealing in war, a Ministry of Plenty dealing in hardship and a Ministry of Love dealing in the propaganda of hate?

Later, GJ

How to under-estimate .....Part II

Along came the cheerful nurse. Yep, a nurse who seemed genuinely cheerful and unburdened by the job, pay and conditions they work under.

She was young.

She must have been new.

So she walked me down to the ........hmmmm.......reception area seems strong, but basically the place where you wait before being taken into the theatre. By this time I had a tag attached, presumably telling them who I was and what I was having done. I didn't look at it. By this time I was shaking in my sock-less trainers as it finally dawned on me I was about to have an operation whilst awake.

Then came the walk into the theatre. It seems an odd name really. Why not garage? Or workshop? Then you realise that there is a lead actor (the surgeon) , a supporting actor (the other surgeon) supporting cast (the nurses and anaesthetist) and then the audience (you, the patient). Of course a lot of the time the audience is asleep which presumably guarantees there'll be no calls of 'Encore!'. It also means there'll be no heckling, which must be a plus point for the 'cast'. Mind you it would be a peculiar audience /patient to shout at the surgeon 'Oi, its rubbish mate' or 'Get another job' wouldn't it.

So I was one of those who would be a proper audience, awake, alert, aware but not actually able to see what was going on. Just as well really, the thought of seeing my stomach opened up holds about as much appeal as seeing Anne Widdecombe in a see through negligee wearing stockings and suspenders.

I apologise now for planting that last image in your minds.

Anyway, as I laid down on the bed, I took the deep breaths I was convinced would help me through something I had now upgraded from a doddle to an ordeal. Dr Evil started the 'act' with some barked orders at the nurses. A greeting for me, in much the same way as the villain in a Bond film greets 007.

"Good Morning Mr Bond, we meet again" .........yep just like "Good Morning Mr Jack...we meet again' . And this villain would have knives and cutters and needles and all sorts of weapons of evil with which to maim and injure me with.

Yes...I know he was a doctor there to help me, but at this point I was starting to reel mentally. Why does the mind do this? Even as I stared up at the smiling nurses the image of Laurence Olivier standing over Dustin Hoffman in the Marathon Man famous chilling scene sprang to the forefront of my thoughts.

At first it seemed chaotic, the team not knowing where anything was, the surgeon barking orders at them. It was like the first 5 minutes of any Chelsea match. Trust me, they appeared like strangers.The needles went into the back of the hand after some 'encouragement' , my torso painted with iodine and then the words "You'll feel the needles entering as I administer the local, sorry but this will hurt."

He was so right. But being the macho, bravado ridden type I decided I'd had worse so this was merely greeted by a nod and some tightening of the knuckles as I gripped the side of the bed even harder. It would pale against what was to come. The next words I remember other than the Colour Sergeant Major barkings of Dr Evil. Then I saw the smoke.

Yep, smoke.

Smoke from me.

From my flesh.

And what did Dr Evil say? Only this ...." I'm cutting in now and using something to stop the bleeding as I do it. You'll see some smoke and steam rising and you might smell something like barbecue pork chop. That's you that is"

And that's where the decline started. After this I could feel the tugging, pulling and the odd minor twinge. Nothing bad, but still the psyche works in funny ways and every horror movie involving the slicing open of the captive victim was now in the mind. Then the first of the pain. Something was snipped or cut and the pain reverberated through every nerve ending in my body. I have never felt anything like this before and I hope I never do again. The reaction from me was a sudden rigidity which must have looked to the 'team' like instantaneous rigor mortis. Dr Evil asked if that hurt and through near tears I muttered a muffled "Yes".

"No points for bravery" he said "You have to tell me if it hurts so we can administer more local"

So in went more. 10 minutes later, the same happened again. Within minutes of that I felt the sweat pour, the breathing labour and the pulse treble in speed. I was going to pass out. Weedily, I managed to speak the words " I think I'm going to pass out" and within seconds a kindly nurse put the oxygen mask on. During all of this Dr Evil barked questions at his team.

"What is a hernia?", "What is the cause", "What is the alternative to surgery?" etc , and each of the team stumbled over an answer. Unsurprising really given the nature of his questioning. It seems he does it to keep everybody on their toes and to concentrate on the operation.

After 55 minutes he closed me up. 55 of the longest minutes of my life. Despite the nice nurses talking to me the sense of relief was massive. The tugging, the pulling, the tension and the flashing blades were all over. They took me down to post op, the nice Nurse chatted away to me, laughing at how Dr Evil made her feel, and that even if he asked the names of her kids she'd freeze up. Little Sis greeted me and after Hello, her first words were "You look like you've had a bit of a shock".

She was so, so very right. Some tea, toast and a visit to the loo confirming bladder function and I was off home. Feeling like I'd had my guts removed and replaced with a medicine ball with spikes on the outside.

2 weeks later and I'm able to walk and nothing else. No driving, no lifting, no cycling and no swimming. Dr Finlay and his Casebook, my GP, checked today and said it was looking good despite the continuing pain. Apparently age slows the recovery down and a 100cm cut is similar to what women get on a Cesarean, and its often 6 weeks for full recovery.

And there was me thinking the op would be 15 minutes, I'd be home in an hour and back at work in 2 days.

That's the art of under-estimation, executed with skill of the highest order.

Later, GJ

*PS - in hindsight Dr Evil was more like Dr Efficient. Maybe Dr Blase. Or Dr Routine. I'm sure that he's done a good job and maybe we should expect these people to be like they are. After all, there's nothing wrong with being arrogant if you're right.

How to under estimate ........

I've never been good at guesswork, or estimating. Hence my aversion to gambling, not on morality grounds but merely on grounds of my own utter fuckwittery when it comes to guessing scores, or winners or losers come to that. And ultimately, no matter what others say, gambling is guesswork!

So, about 18 months ago I went to see the doctor about something trivial....so trivial I can't remember what it was.

However he spotted a lump just below my belly button. Immediately worried he sent me to the hospital suspecting a hernia and of course worrying that this could lead to complications if it twisted and got strangulated. He actually referred me to his 'good friend' who for reasons of anonymity we'll dub Dr Evil.

In fact he ticked all of the Holby City stereotypical consultant boxes. Brash, yes. Arrogant, yes. Confident, yes. Blase, yes. Contemptuous of patient, yes. Subject matter expert, of course. Able to feign interest in patient, absolutely. Strangely likeable, weirdly yes. Anyway he said it was umbilical and therefore no threat and besides they don't like doing them in adults because of the reasonable recurrence rate and the chance of infection. Apparently the belly button is an unhygienic area full of germs and bacteria. Think of nthat the next time you engage in a bit of oral foreplay with your partners cute navel. Apparently its a warm hive of filth and disease carrying mega bugs.

As the year went by and I lost some weight it didn't get any better and after cycling or swimming it was arguably worse, and when ot protruded it bloody hurt which can't be right. So I went back. This time he said that as it hadn't settled down it would be a good thing to repair it. He also stated that this was routine and so a local anaesthetic would be sufficient.

So, a couple of Tuesdays ago I went for the op. I'd been MRSA tested in July and all was Ok there and the appointment letter simply stated it would be done under a local and that I was to keep to an ordinary light diet. Fine by me. On the morning of the op I was a tad subdued based on an underlying morbid fear of hospitals and the premature death of 2 friends in 2 years both with 'routine' ailments. So, wearing some 'comfort' clothing of tracksuit bottoms and footie shirt off we trekked. W|e arrived nice and early and so were the second to check in. As we waited I noticed everyone turning up had a bag with them, mostly supermarket carrier bags but the odd sports bag as well. My first thought was that I was in some sort of Chav Central and that these people were off to the local shops right after their treatment. Then this happened.....

Nurse Ratched: Grocerjack?
GJ: Yes, that'd be me.
Nurse Ratched: Oh. Haven't you got a bag?
GJ: Errr...no...why?
NR: So you have no dressing gown?
GJ: Errr....no...why...do I need one?
NR: Well what do you expect to wear to the theatre?
GJ: Theatre? I was expecting a quick procedure in a bed in a clinic.
NR: (Laughing)....you do know what you're having done?
GJ: A hernia op.
NR: Exactly, an operation. You should have read the letter which would have told you to bring a few bits.
GJ: (hands over letter which stated NONE of the stuff she had mentioned)...
NR: So you'll need a sick note then.
GJ: Huh? I'm going back to work on Thursday, so no thanks.
NR: (Laughing harder)...ooh no, its a MINIMUM of 2 weeks recovery and up to 6 weeks depending on age and fitness etc.
GJ: (gulps)...what?
NR: So you'd also better warn your partner you'll be about 2 hours in post op and about an hour in theatre...
GJ (the sound of a large penny dropping)...so this is a proper operation then?
NR: Oh yes. Oh yes indeed.

If she'd cackled at this point it wouldn't have been amiss in the midst of the day surgery ward reminiscent of every mental hospital drama you've ever seen. Spartan beds in a room of spartan walls, with grumpy nurses growling at patients and mad looking and sounding porters chatting away about the most inane bollocks in the world.

To me and you, a completely alien and intimidating environment. To them, just another day in the office.

Anyway, I had to undress...completely and wear a gown and another one backwards to ensure no-one saw my arse. Yep, how very dignified.

NR: When did you last eat?
GJ: Last night
NR:..and drink?
GJ: A glass of orange juice this morning.
NR: Oh dear, You're not supposed to have anything other than water before an operation...
GJ: What? It's only a local anaesthetic!
NR: What? A local? For something like this? Blimey, you're brave
GJ: (gulping) .......am I?

Anyway, convinced at this point that certain death was looming because they'd leave a blade inside me, or my cholesterol laden blood would clot instantly on the arteries and veins exposed, I sat listening to Pink Floyd's Wish You Were Here album whilst waiting for Dr Evil to show up. Typically, as I listened to the title track, he arrived. He barked a few things at me about nmy holiday without listening to the answer. Then made me sign the disclaimer form. Then he looked at me and said

DE: Oh, you've opted for a local then?
GJ: Opted? I wasn't given the choice.
DE: Oh well never mind, too,late too change it now. You're first on the list. See you in 15 minutes......

And off he strode. The word 'shit' just kept coming back to me..................

to be continued..........

Later, GJ

Cashsploitation

Unbelievable.

Amongst all the ads from shark dressed men (sic) begging for our old gold was another one for a company doing 'pay day' loans. The idea presumably is that if you need what we used to call a sub until payday they will lend you the dosh and then you pay them back on payday.

Yep, I used to sub off my first employer, maybe a tenner here or a fiver there......I was taking home £25 a week back then. But he never charged me extra for this and it wasn't something I used that often.

Anyway, Quickquid as they're called, are now advertising on TV, during the bleak landscape of daytime TV, presumably aiming at the unemployed, low paid, debt stricken amongst us. Sounds innocent enough until you read the not-so-small print on the advert that shows the equivalent APR. That would be the one that had me and Little Sis pondering if a decimal point was missing from the displayed figure. A good hard stare unveiled the fact that no, we weren't hallucinating. Nor was it a misprint, Nor has the TV pixellated the picture causing distortion. Nope, the figure was there, large as life on the screen.

An APR of .........2356%. Yep, check that, but I can assure you it is no misprint.

2356%.

Unbe-fucking-lievable.

Jesus would weep if he were alive. I recall the halcyon days of Thats Life which used to regularly expose loan sharking like this. It used to be considered a bad thing once upon a time....but now........hey let's advertise on TV! I'm sure its all above board and legal.I'm sure the ads are legal and honest. On that basis I look forward to ads for the BNP, Al-Qaeeda, Opus Dei, or for Dignitas (had enough of life, fancy a trip to the mountains of Switzerland?). Maybe you could sell your gold to pay for the trip to Dignitas, you stupid debt ridden old person....go on......leave all your finance and health problems behind...... Blimey, the convergence of these could be a big business opportunity.

As for Quickquid, I'm sure you'll never have windows broken on non-payment. I'm sure there won't be thugs at the door threatening your various limbs with some sort of impact injury. Nope, but you can bet there'll be tons of phone calls, letters and knocks on the door as they try to get their cash back with interst of course. These days the pressure is psychological rather than physical. Letters contain veiled threats, phone calls come at 7 in the morning or 10 at night. Its much more subtle these days but equally invasive and equally pressurising.

And equally vile.

Of course, just like the gold sharks, these modern day loan sharks are targetting the most vulnerable and gullible in society. These are people at their most desperate and weakest, and yet apparently they are legally targetted without any apparent protection other than the woefully inadequate Consumer Credit Act. Its all within the law of course, but this must be stretching the law spirit or boundaries of the law in some way.

It's a disgrace, and as a society we sit back in our non interfering spineless way and allow all this crap to go on. Is it any wonder the Poles are all going home? Is it any wonder more and more retired people are leaving these shores. Its a bit early for the 'hell in a handcart' speech yet, but with an election looming and the choice being between a 'dying on its arse' Labour Party and the camoflaged New Tory party amounting to nothing more than a blue rinse Daily Mail reader wearing a blonde wig, heavy make up and using Botox, flaunting enhanced tits at the Great British Public. Underneath its still a big fat rich bastard who cares about no-one but himself.

It is damned hard to see a bright future, or a society where the immoral exploitation of the poorest is no longer allowed and encouraged through the medium of TV.

Later GJ

Footnote - I have no problem with what Dignitas do, in fact I support the choice of people to use their services if proven to be terminally ill. But I would oppose them being able to advertise on daytime TV........can you imagine how that would be received in retirement homes?

Cash for gold?

I'm in the throes of recovering from a hernia operation which has meant I've been immobile for a couple of weeks. This has meant I've been able to sample the delights of daytime TV. Using the word 'delights' loosely of course. Still, it also gave me the chance to catch up on all the stuff I've got on the V+ box. More of which is to follow.......

One thing that has struck me is the plethora of adverts that are being shown asking us to sell them our gold. That's right, apparently we can swap our 'unwanted' gold for heaps of lovely cash. Cue an endless stream of actors playing ordinary folk giving testimonials as to how great the service was and how good the feel of cash is.....one of them even got enough cash for an 'away game in Europe'. As I type this on comes an advert showing a tiny handful of gold jewelery in one hand, and a wad of notes in the other and a voice over extolling the virtues of using the cash for a trip abroad.

Is it just me or does this appear to be a final sign that the recession is biting hard? These sort of adverts seem to me to prey on the more vulnerable and desperate in society. I mean it will be the most desperate and vulnerable people who will respond to this. A field day for burglars one imagines as well, after all whats to stop this being nothing more than legalised fencing. You break in, or con someone out of their jewelery, go home, send it off and webuyanygold.com or whoever hands you a wad of cash, whilst conveniently melting down the swag to turn into nice bullion bars or reshaped trinkets. I just have to sit and wonder how this is being legally advertised.

I'd say its money for old rope, but in these cases it's money for old bling.

Later, GJ

Sick and tired....

Sick of politicians at all levels

Sick of indecision

Sick of celebrity culture

Sick of big business

Sick of banks and bankers

Sick of rampant ungoverned Capitalism

Sick of retrospective apologies for things we had nothing to do with

Sick of the wolves at the door sensing blood and growing in size

Sick of the law that crushes honest people and rewards the rich and ruthless

Sick of insurance companies using loopholes to avoid moral duty

Sick of utility companies jacking up prices

Sick of statistics used to define policies that affect our lives

Sick of studies used to smother us in a blanket of fear

Sick of a society where everyone tries to avoid accountability

Sick of blame culture

Sick of fear culture

Sick of the buck passing mentality that has invaded every aspect of our lives

Sick of technology that fails to deliver

Sick of being overlooked

Sick of living under veiled threats of job security

Sick of a future painted in shades of dark grey and black

Sick of being hounded.

Sick of being the victim


It's time to revisit the plan and change this life.

Later, GJ

Lazy bastard

That'd be me then.

I'm at the point where work is very much heading towards the same sort of state it was when this blog first started. Maybe that'll inspire me to write more about the mundane, the gobbledygook, the corporarte bollocks and the mind numbing shite I put up with every day. Isn't it often the case that the best songs are writen from pain? Maybe the best articles are written from frustration, anger, incredulityand boredom. So, on that bright note I'll look again at the blog and whether it's something I can pursue with fresh eyes rather than just regurgitating more moans and groans about the inequities of life. I'm getting rather used to other Web 2.0 (yawn) phenomena like Twitter and Facebook so maybe there's some links there as well. Plus the idea of writing a book grows stronger each day....but then I look at the market and think that every one is doing the same...so why would anything I do be special enough to be successful? If you're not a 'celeb' then being successful in writing books, plays or screenplays seems an increasingly unlikely route to inner satisfaction that pays enough to live on.

Oh, and I have a new gadget, the HTC Magic or G2 Googlephone or something similar. It's changed the way I look at a mobile phone in much the same way as those with iphones probably think. Thats why I've included a picture. A review might follow.

If I can be arsed.

Later GJ

Not long now......

Another week passes and GJ is too busy to write.....still with the football season now over perhaps there'll be less Chelsea stuff to write about on the Chelseablog to which I frequently contribute.

Giving me more time here!

So, we head into week number whatever of MP's expenses and maybe it's just me, but it seems the story has been milked to death. If I didn't know better I'd even suggest that press had a vested interest in keeping it going in order to avoid any scandal in their own back yard being uncovered. I mean surely no hack has ever fiddled their expenses.....or been known to frequent toilets with a mate called Charlie....have they?

It also seems to me that despite the morality issues being spouted the continuous reporting is detracting from the scandal of worldwide global mismanagement on behalf of the banks and financial institutions which has contributed to a global recession which has lost people their jobs and houses. In terms of priorities it all appears a bit out of kilter. However it has spurred me into looking at alternatives to the current system and the current parties.

And I don't mean the BNP. In fact the best thing I've read this week is the article in last Sunday's Observer which was one of the best hatchet jobs I've ever seen on the BNP.


I've become quite enamoured by Nick Clegg and his Lib Dems, who slowly, quietly but surely do seem to be setting themselves up as a genuine alternative to Gordon Brown's crumbling alleged Labour government. The trouble is until we get some sort of Proportional Representation system they have no chance of influencing the government. The Tories looked quite hopeful under Cameron's youthful and vigourous re-branding, but I can't be doing with their entrenched Euro-scepticism and desire (from the grass roots) to remove us from the EU, which of course most sensible people know would result in the utter collapse of this countries economy. Why? Because quite simply as China and India continue to grow as economic powerhouses, with the US sure to also remain a major player, and Russia's resurgence due to it's plentiful supply of natural resources the only weay the Uk could compete with these , as with any of the other European countries, is through the united trading block that is the EU. We're just too small and insignificant to operate successfully on our own. Others point to Sweden or Switzerland as examples of countries who have done it on their own....but be real...their economies don't come close to ours, and the Swiss economy is utterly dependent on sharp banking practices and dubious funding. So, no Tories for me thanks.

The Greens under Caroline Bellamy have some great principles, a really liberating drugs policy but for me fall down on their reluctance to embrace nuclear power. The french have been huge nuclear operators for years now without any major incidents and the cheapest electricity in Europe. I'm afraid the Greens arguments against nuclear just don't add up for me. it's a shame because like all of the progressive parties, they also support PR or some form of alternative to the patronising 'first past the post' system we use in this the UK. A system which means that around 60% of all votes cast in general elections are useless. Is it any wonder turnouts are down and people are disengaging from politics?

So, I'll continue to scour for a party to vote for, fundamentally socialist, with the will to reform and modernise parliament and the constitution, to change the voting system and to transform the tax system. A party that will genuinely try and tackle crime with stiff sentences for knife and gun carriers, whilst reforming drugs policy into something workable that doesn't put the proceeds into organised crime and terrorism. A party that embraces multi-culturalism but also understands the need for reasonable immigration controls like Australia has done. A party that wants students to be educated without being landed with huge debts. A party that genuinely wants to revolutionise public transport with huge railway funding programmes, that uses the road tax for roads and encourages home working through new technologies. A progressive party that is prepared for press and media backlashes against change that is necessary to bring the UK into the 21st century.

Looks like a revamp for the Liberation manifesto!

Later, GJ

Crock

Yesterday, The Company announced a worldwide profit of £4.2bn. On the same day, Marks and Spencers announced a profit of £604m. Both companies saw a significant downturn in profits from previous years. However, what seems to have passed the financial press and city wankers........sorry cunts........sorry analysts....sorry both the previous descriptions were more apt, is the fact that there is a GLOBAL RECESSION. Yep, in big fuck off letters that even the most apathetic person could understand. Money is in short supply, jobs are being discarded like toilet paper after a bad curry, people are tightening belts and companies are cutting costs.

The world economy is at the moment royally fucked.

Let me put that into perspective.


£4,200,000,000 profit for The Company. Another way of putting this is £479,452 per hour.


£604,000,000 profit for Marks and Spencer. That’s £68,950 per hour.


However, reading the financial press, and listening to the baying mob of so called financial experts being wheeled out across the world of TV and Radio, one might be foriven for thinking that this was nothing short of a catastrophe. I'll put that down to sloppy bandwagon jumping reportage provided by people with the sole intention of furthering their journalistic careers in the pay of the very proprietors who support the systems that caused this economic downfall. As for the so called impartial BBC, like the egotistical Jeff Randall and his ilk, they are all hoping for the big payday offer from Rupert Murdoch or similar to work for them and continue the propaganda machine's muck spreading of the slurry of New Capitalism.


Am I on a different planet? We get told there's no pay rise, and we stick £4.2bn in the bank? Marks and Spencer turn in handsome profit in the cut throat world of high street retailing and the shareholders wring their hands in dismay at the thought of poorer returns? The institutional shareholders at M&S then have the gall to start calling for the head of the man (Stuart Rose) who lest it be forgotten, rescued them from going under or being bought out and asset stripped and then returned this profit when shopping malls and high streets are emptier than Sir Fred Goodwin’s sense of morality?


How in anyones name can these results be construed as bad news? Yet due to the greed of the city gamblers, some pension funds will be affected, as their analysis and comment drives down the share price. Great results still lead to huge share price falls and all we can do, the honest saver or small time shareholder or employee or pensioner can do is watch as scumbag gamblers in the city act as judge and jury on how well a company has done.


All driven by how much they're likely to make.


And therein lies the problem. The word 'capitalise'. As in Capitalism, or rather the twisted excessive greed driven version allowed to run riot by cowardly left wing governments or power craven parasitic right wing governments. Spineless Chief execs, quaking in their designer shoes, unwilling or unable to tell these city parasites to fuck off for fear of losing their jobs are as guilty as well.


Capitalism, the nouveau ultra greed ridden version is far from dead.


Political change of the radical type is required. Our weedy, ineffective, inefficient and morally corrupt version of democracy will never change anything. Proportional representation might help as every vote counts in forming the final 'colour' of the government. Hell, I'd even accept 10 years of dictatorship if that’s what it took to change things and put the power back in the hands of the people.


How shit must things be to even entertain that idea?!


Later, GJ

Every day, in every way something happens to make me feel older. And not necessarily older in a good way. Usually it's some piece of nostalgia drifting into my consciousness via a song on the radio, a TV programme or an inadvertent reference to something from a bygone era. You know the sort of thing, when someone drops into a conversation the fact that the nearest phone box typically was out of action because someone had shoved a bent 2 pence piece in.

But yesterday was a real low in feeling old.

Kid had her first driving lesson. Yep, that scruffy urchin, that sweet natured little girl, that typically dozy teenager who now attends college, has a 20 year old boyfriend, comes in after I've gone to bed is now learning to drive.

The penultimate nail in the coffin of parental dependency is being rammed home.

I saw her pull the car up outside the house at the end and the feeling of pride was punctured by the feeling of wrongness and resignation that it's just a matter of time now before she flies the nest.

Oh dear.

Later, GJ

MP's expenses seem to be taxing (no pun intended) a lot of people lately. However, I'm not particularly one of them. Whilst I do see the ridiculousness of being able to claim for such items as horse manure, dog food, lawnmower repairs (the sit in type of lawnmower, not the kind that most of us have to use) it does seem odd to me that we, the taxpayers, seem to think that being an MP is something that should be done as some sort of altruistic vocation. There does seem to be this view that an MP should really serve the country because of a devotion to duty and love of the people he or she represents. And they should do it for free.

That of course is utter fallacy. The majority of MP's still come through the public school and higher education routes. The majority of MP's view the role as a job much like an airline pilot or Tesco employee does. It pays, they get some measure of enjoyment from it, and whenever there's a chance to loaf or make some extra cash, they're in just like anyone else. It appears that morality is the issue at hand here, not legality. No-one seems to have fiddled any expenses. The rules are in place and all they have done is exploited them to the max. Lets be honest here...who wouldn't? It's human nature to feather ones own nest first. Call it part of the survival instinct. There is no such thing as true altruism, MP's like the rest of us operate in a mutual back scratching society whereby the do gooders often benefit themselves. And I've no problem with that. if a band wants to appear at a Geldof charity gig and their performance makes a few quid for the charity, BUT they get increased album sales or a career boost then that's fine for me.They scratch the charities back, and the public re-scratch their backs. That's our society.

So, the only way I see of resolving the expenses issues for MP's is to pay them a salary commensurate with the position. The salary is £64, 766. I appreciate that's not a bad wedge but I think a lot of MP's are hardworking people who not only attend Parliament, but run surgeries, attend Party gatherings and much more. many independent reviews have recommended a much higher salary for what in essence could be judged to be in the group of jobs containing Judges, Doctors, Barristers etc. I would quite happily accept MP's being on £200,000 per year (so they get to pay the 50% tax) and from that they fund researchers and second homes. Cabinet Ministers and The Prime Minister could earn say £100k a year above that to reflect seniority and additional responsibility. They can then, like most organizations allow, claim for legitimate business/travel mileage, reasonable hospitality to a limited cost, but would be restricted to a maximum expenses claims pot per year according to the average allowed by the top 25 FTSE companies....all who most likely, if The Company are anything to go by, have very stringent limits on what can be claimed and how much. The taxpayer knows the exact cost per year and everyone is in the same boat.

We live in an age of Information Technology. Surely something like this could be easily implemented.


Later, GJ

Its Bike time

You may recall the shock of me finding out that apparently despite .....

a.) alternating between doing 45 minutes on the exercise bike and swimming for 70 lengths between Monday and Friday

b.) taking 2 lots of blood pressure control tablets

c.) and taking a nightly Statin and ......


d.) a daily high dosage tablet of Fish Oil, one with Garlic and another with Glucosamine

e.) eating mainly salads and fruit with white meat or fish (bar weekends)

e.) and being only 47.......

........I am an unhealthy lardy lump with blood so laden down with cholesterol that you could tar a road with it. According to the nurse when i went to my 'well man' check I'm lucky my heart can pump it around my body and that frankly even a Jumbo Jet engine might struggle to push the blood through my veins.

Well - 6 months on and some weight has been shed. But a shit luck would have it, its all gone from the wrong places. Arms and legs are nicely toned. Not much of a double chin in existence. When I swim, I have to remove the wedding ring lest it drops off in the water, showing that even my fingers have lost weight, But despite all this, what has been lost from the tummy? Thats right. just about Sweet Fuck All. I now burn around 700-800 calsories a day in exercise. Heck, even a round of golf burns 550 odd calories according to my pedometer. But do I look slim? What do you reckon? Further proof that there is no God. I mean why would he/she design a body so that despite the best efforts and reasonable exercise, not one fucking piece of tummy fat disappears. Oh, I've lost it off the actual waist...I mean all my trousers and jeans can be removed without actually undoing the buttons. And I'm at the last belt notch........but of course the tummy overhangs the waist doesn't it. Short of doing 3 hours exercise a day and eating rabbit food like some crazed American fitness psycho body fascist its hard to see what can be done.

Life is inherently unfair on a number of fronts but it does seem inevitable that as you age, the pounds stay on firmer and longer until of course some form of vile intestinal disease takes hold, or some sort of terminal illness takes over. Even then I suspect such people are walking around with stick thin arms, legs, slender buttocks and refined necklines but with a bloody great in built comfort pillow of fat billowing around the midriff. Perhaps the next life will offer the opportunity to reverse this and actually reward us for eating and drinking with superslim fit bodies.

Anyway - its the time of the year when the fairweather cyclist can come out of his hiding place, can cover the exercise bike with a sheet and take to the road. Starting last night.

And boy was it tough. I live in a rual area with loads of fantastic cycling routes through bridlepaths, across country parks and farms. I live within minutes of the Southdowns Way and these routres take you to fantastic parts of the countryside that you could ONLY see if walking or on a bike. hence there is virtually nothing in the way of flat routes. You're either cycling uphill or downhill. Thats about it. And so, on my first real outing of the year I got barely halfway along the first path when i decided my legs had failed to work. Now being the determined type who competes with himself regularly I did of course carry on. But the difference between a punishing 45 minute exercise bike ride, including an alleged uphill program, and a real cycle ride on real terrain, with the weight of a real bike and your own real weight to drag around is like the difference between walking to the front door and climbing a tower block with a fridge on your back. I did 8.5 miles in the end, which many would scoff at, but in my view this 8.5 miles across hill and dale equates to 20 miles on flat smooth roads. I'd prove it if there were any 20 mile smooth flat road routes anywhere near here.

Despite this , it was bloody good fun and I defy anyone not to shout '"wheeee" when going down a track at 20mph dodging the rocks and deep puddles. A quick and simple reversion to childhood and good exercise. Just what the doctor ordered...although the nurse will still moan like fuck next time I go in.

Later, GJ

Long waits

When you've booked a holiday, no matter how close the time is, why does it always seem like an eternity away?

Later, GJ

Well well. A flying visit from Jack. It's the usual excuse of lack of time that prevents me from regularly posting. I think I need to get away from the idea that I MUST post something daily and maybe just learn to do 2 or 3 per week. I also want to move away from it just being a whinge, despite the whole thing being about Grumpiness, Oldness and Blokeness and the seemingly unbreakable bonds between those 3 states.

So, let start by applauding the man who appears at the head of the blog as the type of bloke many of us aspire to be. Someone hard and tough, uncompromising, torn between what's fair and what's right and above all a proper bloke. Not a namby-pamby, sandal wearing, in touch with his femininity, caring, sharing New Man. Yep, the welcome return of Gene Hunt. The new Ashes to Ashes series is well in its stride and is hitting all the right buttons and delivering a hefty dose of nostalgia. It's such a refreshing change from the normal 'costume drama' we see. And doesn't Keeley Hawes as DI Alex Drake look utterly gorgeous, or should I say in a completely non-politically correct way....shaggable?

Not that New Man is essentially all bad of course. It's just that many of us disguise our 'New Man-ness' under a similar gruff exterior guise to that displayed by Gene Hunt.


Moving on and a celebration to tell you about. In the last 3 or 4 months young Pie has managed to get herself 3 GCSE's - at the tender age of 14 and some 2 years ahead of schedule. She got 2 C grades in Science (Physics and Chemistry) and her first stab at the Maths returned a B grade. Despite my own misgivings I went along with the schools view that she should retake the Maths to see if she could get the original projected A grade. And do you know what? She only went and got an A grade! I'd like to say it runs in the family but for me Maths was always a struggle, at least until I did the Open University's Maths foundation course, which merely proved my own theory that my failure in Maths at school was down to bad teaching and 70's Comprehensive School teacher apathy. They weren't always nice
people back in them days.


Last Friday saw the arrival of my own graduation ceremony at The Barbican to pick up my own hard earned BA degree. For once I was a bag of nerves, not having ever experienced such a day as a student or guest. Receiving it was even more rewarding than attaining it. The whole day was a really superb experience and made even more meaningful by the attendance of The Grand Master, Audrey Roberts, Kid, Pie, Hells Bells and Little Sis, who deserves a special mention for kicking me up the arse 3 months before the exam when I was thinking of chucking
it all in.


The day itself started with the registration to let them know that I was there, plus to actually receive the official certificate of achievement. After that came the robing bit where all the graduates collected their robes and are ....ahem....dressed by the company's staff. All very Mr Humphries. I don't do pomp and ceremony, nor am I comfortable with being in the spotlight when I've done something OK. But as the robes were being fitted, and i looked at the growing
number of people doing the same thing, a kind of individual and collective pride started to permeate around the venue. The girls took some photo's in the robes, and then we moved to the official photography site. By now, in the London Spring heat I had started to moisten a bit and by the time we'd got to the actual studio I was sweating from the head rather profusely. The good thing about women is they always have a stack of tissues in their bags, and this was no exception. I'm sure the photo's will look great, especially having removed the waterfall falling from my head.


The ceremony itself started with a 30 minutes musical performance from Westminster Brass which set the tone for the presentation section. The procession of the dignitaries followed the music, with several senior Academics from the OU and other Universities overseeing the event, and followed in by The Chancellor, Lord (David) Puttnam and the ceremonial OU mace. All very ceremonial and very ........formal. He then proceeded to make a lovely speech about recognising the achievements of the graduates and postgraduates. The only real bit I remember was Lord Puttnam saying that he expected to hear nothing less than 'thunderous applause' for each recipient, a tall ask for those watching a couple of hundred students walk across the stage one at a time.

Then it started in earnest for real, PhD's first, then Masters, then the honorary degree plus associated speech, and then us, the Bachelors.......a fantastically proud moment in my life, and a rousing cheer/scream hybrid from Kid, Pie and I believe all the others there to watch me. Lord Puttnam congratulated me on my degree and on my family! It's a moment that will live long inside me, and if the truth be told the whole event has inspired me to get the Honours attachment and maybe even look to the Masters degree further down the line. They had very attractive robes

The final moment, and the one that had me welling up, was in his closing speech, Lord Puttnam spoke of breaking pre-conceptions, using Susan Boyle from modern day freak show Britain's Got talent as an example of how people can always surprise others and themselves. It was very apt and very powerful, but what really capped it off was when he asked all the OU graduates to stand and then invited the audience to salute the achievement's in time honoured fashion. For 2 or 3 minutes we all stood around gazing up to the stalls, across the floor we were on, to the stage where we were raucously applauded and cheered. I can honestly say it was almost like a film, played in slow motion, students gazing open mouthed
and soaking up the noise from the watching audience. Just thinking about it has given me goosebumps.

After the closure of the event the procession lead the way out of the auditorium and all of the students joined in. Again, the applause was overwhelming.

To think that when the exam result popped in my email box, when I accidentally saw the mail notifier pop-up on screen with the words 'Your Exam results are ready' followed immediately by the same thing starting with 'Congratulations on your award...'I was prepared to just let them shove the certificate in the post and not do a ceremony. It was a good job that some common sense advice was proffered to me on the wisdom and enjoyment of attending, advice that prevailed and was of course absolutely right. I want more, simple as. And to anyone thinking that the award ceremony is not important or enjoyable, then my advice would be to seriously think again.

Days like this in life are few and far between. Enjoy them when they come. I know I did and hopefully will again.

Later, GJ

Are we living in a Police state?

Why ask the question? I am guessing that since Sir Robert Peel first put our 'Bobbies' on the beat we've had various strains of civil rights campaigners asking whether we live in a police state, and with varying degrees the answer will veer between a vague 'yes, possibly' to a vehement 'yes, definitely'. I'm not really a libertarian in ther sense of being the hair shirted, sandal wearing vegetarian types who live in a pseudo-Buddhist fantasy world of man loving his fellow man, and people never being nasty to each other, but I've always been more than a tad wary of the police and the powers vested in them, and specifically how they use them. I consider myself a healthily objective sceptic. Who wasn't really scared by them.

Until now.

It is now apparent that there are clever people advising the police on how they might interpret new powers resulting from changes to anti-terrorism laws. What is also apparent though is just how willingly the police distort these powers and abuse them. We now have the spectacle of demonstrations being prevented on the grounds of cost to the police for overtime, of demonstrators being arrested prior to any actual march on the dubious grounds of 'tip off's' or hearsay as it used to be called. We have the downright abuse of individual freedom of movement arriving as a consequence of 'kettling' with people being kept in a single place for hours upon end and not being allowed to go home. Surely this is false imprisonment?

We also see the practice of police officers covering up their identification numbers and wearing full face balaclava's in order to hide their identity. Can someone explain reasonably why this is allowed? Why are their commanding officers allwoing these practices to take place? We are also seeing the confiscation of cameras when police are filmed or photographed, which is a civil liberty restriction too far when our lives are tracked almost constantly by CCTV.

Most worrying of the these new 'powers' being abused is the apparent acceptance of casual violence used against people who may be spouting virulent views in an aggressive manner, but who haven't actually carried out any violent act on anyone nearby or on a police officer. The Ian Tomlinson example being of course a prime example but also the girl being slapped and then hit across the legs with a baton for apparently not moving back quickly enough. Now what I saw in her case was aan obviously agitated policeman momentarily losing it. In the Ian Tomlinson case I saw an officer assaulting a man presumably because he wouldn't walk quicker and was prepared to argue his case. Totally and utterly unacceptable. In each case the officers should be suspended from their posts, and in the case of the cowardly balalcava wearing, badge covered copper who pushed Ian Tomlinson should be sacked immediately.

It all shows some of the claims in the past from football fans through to miners of unnecessary police brutality in a new light doesn't it? The laws on photographing and filming police officers should be repealed, and if not repealed then ignored by all of us. If we have to live on camera then they should expect the very same back.

I hope we're not moving inexporably towards a police state, but fear that their own actions are losing them the groundswell of the basic support from the law abiding public that they will need to survive. Serious actions and serious changes to policies will be needed and must be seen to be done if the 'summer of rage' is to be prevented.

Later, GJ

New media strikes home

Well well, the promise of more posts didn't quite come to fruition this week. Never mind, there's always next week. As it happens one can but wonder if traditional blogging is dying out to be replaced by other entities such as Facebook and Twitter.

On that point I am now on Facebook and on Twitter.......I joined Facebook last year when we went through a raft of redundancies as it seemed a quick and simple method of keeping in touch with people. At first iIreally didn't get it ...possibly like most ...ahem...40-somethings......probably due to the fact that like most of these new Web 2.0 technologies they're not aimed at my age group. They seem strictly designed for teenage and 20-something serial texters and people of a certain youthful age who seem more at home communicating through electronic or internet mediums than face to face. Let's be honest teenagers will text people they're sitting next to rather than speak to them. But is that so different from the email culture? I work in an office where people will email the person next to them to ask them if they want to go for a coffee. If you'd have explained that to someone even 10 years ago that would have sounded ludicrous.

But with hindsight, this is exactly the reaction from my generation with regard to Facebook and Twitter and having now signed up to and used both, i wonder why we're so reticent and dismissive. Stephen Fry, a hero of mine (first on the fantasy dinner party list) is a fervent Twitterer and to date has about 390,000 'followers'. Why is this? Is it another example of our celebrity obsessed society? Well, Stephen Fry is hardly the usual celebrity fodder, in fact he's a normal 50-something bloke with a bloke-ish passion for technology and gadgets. I would surmise that having a large number of followers is more akin to the fact that he is genuinely interesting (more than Quite Interesting) and amusing.

Like most things it also takes the 40-something generation to adopt something for it to really take off. We write better stuff, we eventually see the benefit and then we make it work better. And the younger generations, as is their wont, flitter off to pastures new. It just begs the question why these bright ideas are always aimed primarily at 'yoof' culture rather than tapping into the vast experience of us oldies who rally know how to exploit the technologies.

'Tis the way of the new world I guess.

Some crap Friday jokes.......

Here's my nomination for 'Protester of the Year' Award....outside my local school there is a lady who every weekday morning and afternoon protesting. She dresses in bright yellow and holds up a small placard that says 'Stop Children'. That's real dedication to the cause and she deserves recognition.

Christianity; One woman's lie about having an affair that got seriously out of hand?

Apparently clumsy people are more likely to be obese. That's because they keep walking into things. Like MacDonalds.

Is Welsh a language that was invented by someone who was just shit at Scrabble?

Later, GJ

A librarian says......

My my, the posts are getting a bit infrequent, but hey, it's because I'm doing other things like...errr.........hmmmmm......well stuff!

In the past I have written vaguely about the injustice of health and the genetic package left to me.


You know...... the lovely little pre-disposition to high blood pressure and high cholesterol that has now come to fruition despite trying to live a balanced healthy lifestyle. Well I thought I'd write a few lines on how the changes have taken and what, if any difference they've made.Well I kept to my word and instigated a programme of exercise designed to reduce my weight and increase my fitness levels. I didn't set any target dates, rather I set a target weight and have logged all the exercise details on spreadsheets to track progress. I also decided that a slow sustained exercise programme gradually building up strength and stamina would be the best way rather than trying to do too much too soon. I also decided that rather than get pulled in by the usual exercise obsession that envelopes a lot of people I would cap any exercise period at an hour per day maximum. The only exceptions to this would be when out on the real bike on a nice day.

So I chose a light gym programme of resistance exercises, along with swimming and cycling as the cornerstones of the move back to fitness. The first thing was to start swimming again. Swimming is one of the few things I consider myself to be proficient at. Back in October I slowly re-introduced myself to the pool and started at 22 lengths. At 25m per length that's 550m Despite neck and shoulder problems from my dalliance with Monsieur Fuckwit that has now risen to 70 lengths, which works out at 1750m. I've even calculated the number of calories burnt per length. On the gym front, this was going well until they either lost, or someone stole my record card. Both seem improbable to me, but hey, I have a new card which will remain with me from now on. As for the cycling...well it is on an exercise bike until the weather and additional evening light kicks in, but that has gone from 15 minutes on a low resistance setting to 45 minutes on a 'fat burn' programme which means I cover about 16.5km per session and burn around 650 calories.

And the how has this affected my weight? I don't have any scales but the fact that I'm on the last belt notch tells me something is happening. My watch now slides up and down my arm, and when swimming I have to put my wedding ring in the holdall as it has started to fall off with each stroke.

One mystery though.........why can't I lose anything from the gut area? Why doesn't the body burn and lose the fat evenly all over? My waist size has dropped but the gut remains firmly in position. At best it's only lost a bit of its size. Surely that can't be genetic as well. Surely the laws of burning more calories than eating has to kick in on that at some point?

Otherwise, whats the fucking point?

Some Friday jokes and a half arsed promised to write a bit more next week.

A man walks into a library and says 'Have you got any books on suicide?'
The librarian replies 'Fuck off , you won't bring it back'

A woman walks into a library and just before she speaks
The librarian says' Fuck off, the supermarkets over the road'

A Scouser walks into a library and says 'I want to read a book'
The librarian replies 'Are you sure? There's a whore round the corner giving free blow jobs'
The Scouser replies 'Whoa, Are you joking?'
The librarian replies 'Well you fucking started it'

I walked into library the other day and before I could speak the librarian cut the bottom 3 inches of my trousers off and put them on a shelf.
I thought 'Fuck me, that's a turn up for the books'

Later, GJ