Executioner or Undertaker?

Yesterday was one of the single worst days at work I can remember. Hatchet Tuesday saw 500 people lose their jobs, some immediately, some through the torturous uncertainty of 3 months in 'risk pools' . I actually think the instant redundancy option , although seemingly brutal, at least gives the 'victim' the chance to grieve quickly and then get their life going again quickly. For the others it's just 3 months of apathy, fear and inertia...after all why put any real effort in if your number is going to be held up anyway?

Yesterday, one of my team was made redundant. I knew about it but her meeting wasn't until 10. She came in, fresh from a weekend in Germany with her new boyfriend to find the email waiting. Everyone knew on Monday what that meant, but she's only been in the Company for 13 months and naivety meant that she was unsure what the ramifications were. The email is worded ambiguously to 'discuss your future in the new organisation' and one poor soul even took this to mean he'd been promoted, consequently replying with an enthusiastic email about how he was looking forward to the role and the challenges it would bring. he crumbled badly in the meeting by all accounts, spirit and hope crushed and worsened by his own optimistic misinterpretation.

In my team members case, the penny dropped at about 9:30 when the UK CEO sent a blanket email confirming the job losses - a bit insensitive in my view seeing that many people weren't scheduled until later that day. She put her coat on at 9:55 picked up her bag, logged her laptop off and went downstairs. Just prior to this I had been approached by a Member of the 'leadership team' to confirm I wouldn't be handing out the letter and that my boss would do this. This guy was merely the chaperone to escort the unlucky ones off site or to their desk to collect personal belongings. I had planned to wait near the commandeered meeting room wing so she saw something resembling a friendly face, but Chaperone said it wouldn't be necessary. To be fair to him he did indicate he was offering the chosen ones the chance to have a friend or their line manager do the last bit. As she went through the door to go to the meeting I called the team together to explain the situation and to ask them for some sensitivity should she come back up. My team are quite special and their reaction was both compassionate and sympathetic. When she came back Chaperone (a former boss of mine) told me she'd asked if i could help her clear her desk and copy personal stuff from the laptop. And this is the point where the title question comes into play.

Although I didn't hand out the envelope, I did have to 'rate' my team in descending order from top to bottom, and supply commentary on each one of them in terms of delivery and performance. She came bottom. In all truth she is a bright girl but stuck in a student mentality. Immaturity was at the root of all her inconsistency when compared to the rest of the team, but in my defence every manager was asked to do the same. At no point did we ever conclude that redundancy might be the result. I did help her out in a private room set aside for those impacted. A sort of ante-chamber for those being marched to their fate. The shock was palpable and she tearfully tried to copy her stuff, but was in such a state that she couldn't even do that. I completed the job for her, talked to her to try and help her through that short period. In the end I had to be careful not to patronize her, but to try and give some encouragement and help clear her thoughts. It seemed to work and as I walked her to the car the tears had stopped and a small but visible change had taken place.

Either way I felt part executioner, part undertaker. Billyboy, the head of the department came and spoke to me to thank me for the compassion....like I was going to behave any other way! I'm glad she asked me to see her off because it means I didn't just shirk my responsibility for the part I played in her being selected to leave. That said, it was emotional and stressful so fuck knows how it felt for her and the others that left.

My close friend also went, but she did play a delightful game in the meeting she had. She actually opened the document and read through the whole thing in awkward silence. her boss and the HR person were squirming nicely and telling her she could do that outside. But she refused, using the full allocated time of the meeting to read everything carefully and question certain parts. She then got her spreadsheet out to check against her calculations, cross checked them all on her calculator and then 29 minutes into a 30 minute meeting. She thanked them very much, told them where her laptop and building pass was, got up and walked out.

Smiling.

She had style.

I'll miss her.

So, I'm safe, at least for a few weeks when the merger with our Ireland operation kicks in. What that means is a closely guarded secret but things like that rarely bring good news. I suppose they could relocate us to Dublin........a bitch for getting to Stamford Bridge, but OK for Guinness fuelling.........watch this space.

Later, GJ

Hatchet Day (update)

It would appear that I'm safe. It's around 600 that will be departing tomorrow. There will be two types of envelope handed out to those selected tomorrow.

I am likely to be handing out one such envelope.

The first basically says you've underperformed and so The Company doesn't want you any more. The pay off will be minimal if not zilch, zero, fuck all. And you leave right there and then. Escorted off the premises with some monkey security guards on each arm. You collect your personal stuff but you can't get your files off the PC.

The second envelope will say that The Company is now moving to the next level and that they don't see you as being the sort of person who can help them get there. These will also be walked off site there and then. These people will be given a compromise agreement, but no-one knows if the packages match what has been dished out before. It would be a real blow if they've cut those severance payments.

The Company locks Dignity in a cupboard on days like tomorrow.

The first option as I've said in the previous post does seem fair, especially if the people affected know they been under-performing, and haven't done anything about it. The second sounds like weasel words to me to get rid of people they see as disruptive, but who are good at their job. The message this seems to give is don't question the management, don't challenge poor managers and don't complain.

It's the culture of fear that was last seen in Thatchers heyday. In fact it's been there ever since, but in recent boom times, losing a job in our industry wasn't the blow it could be as it was quite likely that you'd get another job quite quickly. But times they are-a-changing and for some people this will dramatically alter their lives.

I have one close friend who is seemingly on her way out. She's bright, clever, fun, sharp and yes, opinionated, but always diplomatically so. She's just about the only person at work I consider a real friend.....the sort I'd happily go for a drink with. The sort of person you can talk to about things that aren't work related. And after tomorrow she's gone. She's my 'coffee-buddy' at work and now that's going to be taken as well.

It really is a huge shit sandwich we'll be biting tomorrow, even for those who remain behind, but are expected to continue as normal. The Stepford Managers will deploy the Party Whips to force us to give out positive messages.....to keep the troops spirits up so to speak. The patronizing cunts.

My boss is excluded from that because he knows my thoughts on this stuff, and he knows to leave me well alone so I can discuss it with my team. In my own inimitable Jack way, with compassion and honesty. It's time to slip the Emotion Cloaking Mask on and grit my teeth for the whole day.

Later, GJ

Hatchet Day (reprised)

The weekend has gone, the kebabs eaten (I only had one in the end), the beer drunk, the golf played and life returns to normal. Here's a mystery......I swim twice weekly (around 60 lengths of the pool each time), I cycle twice weekly (about 15km each time) and I go to the gym periodically. So how can 2 games of golf in 2 days make every single muscle and joint ache? Last night I was hobbling around the house like an 80 year old. Anyway, I played some good stuff so it's worth it. I think my golfing Mojo has been re-discovered.

On Friday at work it became clear that something was brewing. The Company has not reacted to the current financial crisis by jumping on the job shedding bandwagon, but neither has any of its competitors. But, I've always sensed that it was just a matter of time. The new Global Big Cheese is an accountant renowned for cost cutting via job losses. The blades are being sharpened for announcements tomorrow. Meeting rooms have been commandeered in our building and across the company's other sites.

Tomorrow, if the rumours are right, will be Hatchet Tuesday. No-one rreally knows how it'll work this time, with rumours going from 2.5% of the UK workforce to a whopping (and unlikely) 25%. To put this into actual figures, 2.5% is around 325 jobs, whereas 25% is around 3,500.

The Company is still very profitable, seemingly like Tesco's, MacDonalds and the utility companies it looks like we may be recession 'resistant' as opposed to recession proof. This leads me to belive the upper figure would be ridiculous. There appears to be two trains of thought on how this might be done. The normal re-organisation and loss of role method, or the the performance based method. Several of the worlds largest companies remove their bottom 5-10% of performers every year. Call me old fashioned, but surely that is THE fairest way of cutting staff. Why keep the duffers and let the good ones go? If you need specific savings then by all means offer some of the good people redundancy on generous terms but I've never understood how I've watched good people leave The Company whilst the morons remained behind.

This year, all of our annual appraisals have been bought forward to this month. I will have done all mine by the end of this week. Being a cynic , of course, I would link the new completion dates for annual appraisals as part of the plan to remove the bottom 5% or so of The Company. I assume that as long as this meets the target cost reduction then this is the way they will go. They may also decide to cull a few of those at the top end of their pay bands..........ooops......that's would put me in the line of fire then.

I have concluded that there is fuck all point in worrying though. If I am to get the chop, then I'm just going where better people than me have gone before. I have a plan in progress and hopefully this will help. If, yet again, the bullet with my name on it hasn't been manufactured then the plan will always be useful should this happen again. And lets face it, this will be a regular feature of UK life won't it? Employers can shed workers so much more easily here, than in any other EU country. It's our flexible work force culture isn't it? Or should I call it exploitable work force? We really did sell ourselves down the river when we let Thatcherism destroy basic working rights. But that's another subject.

For now, its squeaky bum time.

Can I hear someone shouting 'Timber' in the distance?

Later, GJ.

Result

Hellsbells is away for the weekend at The Grand Master and Queen Bee's place. So what are my plans I hear you (not) ask? Well, for any bloke who lives in a house full of women weekends like this are like little mini-breaks.

Bloke-time mini-breaks. Hmm......the seeds of a business idea for the Plan?

To be fair to Hellsbells, she rarely goes away and leaves lengthy lists of stuff to be done by the time she gets home. In true female logic style she saves those lists for the days when I elect to work from home.

These little breaks are just perfect for us Dad's to have some 'bloke time' and do all the stuff we used to do as singles and discover it isn't as good as you remembered, because just as the house seems too quiet they arrive home and normal service is resumed.

Of course, 10 minutes after that arrival and with incessant 'Then we did this, then we did that...isn't such and such a cute kid, look what I bought...' chatter one starts to miss the little break very quickly. In fact like all holidays, you seem to think you've had a decent break, but then within 5 minutes of stepping through the door of work that holiday then seems a very dim and distant memory.

There is a small difference this time as well. Kid isn't going. At nearly 17 and seemingly attached to her boyfriend, Marine Boy, she has decided that trips to 'Grandma' are no longer her thing. So, the mini-break now has a possible interloper skulking around the house. Plus as Hellsbells will be away it means some mug has to drag his sorry arse out of bed Saturday morning after a night at the local hostelry to take her to work. And it won't be Marine Boy.

But hey, that's just a minor infringement on the mini-break.

And so, with this in mind, here's the schedule. Starting Friday after work.

Kebab
Pre-pub DVD on Home Cinema system (Zeppelin or Floyd)
Pub
Sleep
Taxi service for Kid
Pre-golf sleep
Golf
Post golf beer
Kebab
Mindless TV and newspaper catch up
Match of the Day (only if Chelsea win or earn honourable draw)
Sleep
Bacon or sausage sandwich
Sunday papers (pt1)
Golf
Post golf beer
Welcome them home
Football (TV)
Sunday papers (pt2)
Sleep.

Not paradise, but not far off.

Later , GJ

Pond Life

You may all be aware of the fact that I have a pretty low opinion on the city of Liverpool. Not the actual physical city itself, which I imagine is just like any other dock city, but because of the hypocrisy that emanates from the people who occupy it.

I had already thought the nationwide stereotype of them being scallies and hub cap thieves was a bi-product of grim TV dramas such Boys from the Blackstuff and Brookside, but the antics of their football fans from the red side at the Heysel stadium was a key factor in my own reinforced poor image of the people.

Highly unfair I'm sure, but then the Rhys Jones murder happened and whilst I heard local Archbishops and Bishops praise the sense of community from the city, like many others all I was aware of was a wall of silence from those who knew the killers and were protecting them. And so it transpires that the mother of the killer Sean Mercer, Janette Mercer, did in fact lie to the Police in order to throw them off the scent of her son. Similarly the parents of his main accomplice and the supplier of the gun, James Yates, did a similar thing.

In Janette Mercers case she even tried to claim off the insurance for the mountain bike her son rode as he pulled the trigger. It defies belief doesn't it? Is it any wonder our society is going down the pan when parents believe that getting their son or daughter off a crime is more important than seeing the grief stricken family of the victim see justice done? Whilst the family of Rhys Jones have been in the most unspeakable pain and under the most unimaginable pressure, these parents were only concerned that their children, their murdering children were protected from justice. Presumably they could then get on with their lives as 'happy' families whilst the Jones family continued to grieve and in all probability would not be able to move on because without any justice there would be no closure.

How very moral of them. In fact I'm sure there are people out across the country who might even probably do the same, such is the love they have for their children. But it's wrong and misguided. and indeed very sad that they put themselves first. Janette Mercer and Francis and Marie Yates are nothing more than Pond Life with no moral compasses. They are indicative of the cowardice and moral vacuum the people of Liverpool projected during that time. And yes, I know its only a few, but those few who were protecting these murdering shitbags knew other people, who knew other people - the web was potentially huge but no-one wanted to say anything. The fear of the gang no doubt featured in this, but the parents must have also known. The police could have protected people. The silence from the people of Liverpool whilst shedding their crocodile tears to the rest of us was truly shocking. The parents deserve nothing less than custodial sentences for their part in the cover up and lies that prevented justice being done.

5 years wouldn't be too long now, would it?

Later, GJ

Something for the weekend

Here it comes. Our weekly ration of days off in the marvellous 5:2 work/life balance ration, although I suspect as more and more companies jump on the 'excuse to cut jobs' bandwagon, more and more people are having a 0:7 work/life balance.

Rumours are rife within The Company of impending job cut doom as the end of the financial year hove’s into view. It’s hard to walk past a Director or Head of Department without hearing the sound of knife sharpening steel. The 'redundancy plan' continues to be built slowly but surely with a highly eclectic..........no ................insane list of options being added day by day, rather reflecting the random twisted mind of the writer. The latest flight of fancy for the plan is for The Company to lay off my whole team, we pool the redundancy money and we offer what we do to other small and medium sized companies who might be interested in what we offer. Knowledge is power after all. Yep, a bonkers idea, but aren't they often the ones that take off the best?

Of course all rumours are based on tissues of information bonded together to produce bigger and better rumours, and of course they also produce little side rumours that act as offspring to the main rumour. From the "there will be cuts" rumour comes the “it’s 15% of the workforce rumour" (how could anyone possibly know that?) to the 'they're halving the redundancy payments' rumour. This last one, despite my ability to apply reasoning most of the time, is the most worrying for me. The last lot of redundancies on my pay band and below was paid at a whopping 4 weeks pay for each year of service, capped at a years salary. Additionally for those over 40 they got 6 weeks for each year of their age over 40. Hence with 15 years service at 47 years old (fuck!) I would get 5 lots of 4 weeks salary, and 7 months of 6 weeks salary.

Not bad, not bad at all and something that would sweeten the bitter pill of rejection that accompanies redundancy. Apparently though the rumour is that this will be halved! Which makes an almighty difference, because on the first formula there’s a good chance debts can be paid off, or that it’s enough working capital to get a bank to support a new business (although that’s the very cause of the whole problem isn’t it?).

Being an Unlucky Alf type of character this just the sort of shit luck that would happen to me. Avoid redundancy when the big payouts are in vogue, but cop an unfortunate one when they’ve been slashed.

“Bugger” as Alf would say.

Still it hasn’t happened yet and this rumour could well have come from Utter Bullshit Factory for all I know.

And so it’s also Valentine’s Day this weekend. Oh Joy.

Yet another excuse for the flowers and greeting cards industry to stripe loads of sad souls and convince people that you only really love someone if you send them a card/buy them flowers/take them for a meal/go away for a break. Now, here’s the Jack view.

What a crock of utter shite! Why the fuck do we need a special day in order to profess our love (or lust) for someone? Shouldn’t that be something we do anyway, whenever it suits us? Are we so full of guilt that we think that spending money on overpriced flowers or going for a special (i.e. more expensive than normal) meal is the true mark of how we feel? We really are a sad, fucked up society if that is the case. I kind of understand the principle at 14 years old of secretly letting someone you fancy know about it semi-anonymously (admit it, you always left some clue), but when you’re married…….in your …ahem…40’s?

I told Hellsbells I loved her on our Wedding Day. What more is needed?

Of course I bought some flowers……..my life would be hell otherwise

*puts tin hat back on and waves white flag in air*.

Its worth mentioning that Pie cooked dinner last night. Monkfish Nicoise. Monkfish with peppers, onions, and sun-dried tomato’s with Wild Mushroom rice and a lemon, white wine and garlic sauce. She’s 13 for fucks sake! And it was simply one of the best things I’ve ever tasted. I’m so proud of her it almost brings a tear to the cynical old eye. I did Parents evening the other night and saw 6 of her teachers. In the end the gushing praise was embarrassing.

I still maintain I would like to know when it was that teachers became nice people. Humans in fact. Because they weren’t like that in my schooldays.

Some poor Friday jokes (an occasional series when I can be arsed)

I see Supermarkets are offering bags for life.
I don’t see the fuss.
Churches have always offered this through marriage

A young man is walking along a pier when he sees an old man with his shoes off, trouser legs rolled up, legs dangling in the sea and fishing with an imaginary rod.
Puzzled, the young man asks “What are you doing”
The old man replies “Fishing for cunts”
“Sounds good, can I join you?”
“Of course you can, pull up a pew son”
The young man sits down and casts an imaginary rod out, turns to the old man and says
“So how many cunts have you caught today?”
The old man replies
“You’re the third this morning”

Statistically, 6 out of 7 dwarves aren’t happy.

And finally….I was in Tesco the other day when I saw a guy off Crimewatch who is wanted for sevral rapes. I tackled him to the ground and punched him unconscious. The police arrived and arrested me.

Apparently they use actors on the show.

I thank you.

Later , GJ

Toilet Crime

I've seen the odd weird notice in my time, and in fact there's a whole raft of them here

But we have one in trap 2 of the Gents on the floor where I work.


It simply says two things.

.) Please flush the toilet after use.

Fair enough because lets face it there are some dirty bastards who seem happy to leave all sorts of the digestive horrors behind in the pan. Whether this is laziness or just utter pride because their crap is such a work of art they can't bear to flush it away is a moot point. I can't ever understand why people don't flush. Is it how they're bought up? Did Mummy and Daddy actively say 'Never mind son, just leave it there .......someone else will get rid of it' ? .

Worse still are the ones where the deposit is in the pan, but there isn't any paper? What's that about? Are there really people out there who lay some cable, get up and think to themselves 'Fuck it, why wipe.....I'll let it dry and I'll chip the remnants off later'?

The next little part of the sign defies belief though. It simply says this

2.) Please lift the lid before use

WTF?

As if the non-flushers aren't bad enough, do we really have people working for The Company who can't be bothered to lift the lid of the toilet before using it? And do they discriminate between lifting it for a piss and taking a dump? Or do they do not lift it for either. Does someone really walk into the loo and just piss aimlessly over the closed lid toilet happily watching the golden shower wash over the pan and falling to the floor like some sort of Ornamental Yellow Fountain but happily opens the lid if their on number two duty? And as for what happens if they're the type who pisses into the pan with the lid happily open but then decides to 'lay some cable' ....do they just shut the lid, drop the old trolleys, park themselves a decent distance above the closed seat, open the bomb bay doors and squeeze away? Are they turd sculptors? And what do they do about the wiping process? I'm trying hard not to picture someone walking into the loo and crapping ON the seat and then topping it off with a nice paper hat and coat, semi blended into their masterpiece.

Of course the last bit won't apply to the serial toilet criminal, the ones who neither flush nor lift the lid. The serial toilet criminal is also the sort of person who picks their nose and thinks the inside of the door is a viable storage facility for their nasal detritus. I'd accuse them of being the sort of prick who uses the last piece of paper so that the next unfortunate victim (we've all been there) desperate to eject the main body in bowel clinching desperation then suddenly finds they're stuck with nothing to wipe up the left overs, except as serial toilet felons or just non flushers, lack of paper isn't much of an issue in their lives.


That's why hankies and underpants are useful.

Better to sacrifice one or both than suffer the discomfort of the soiled ringpiece.

You see the sort of dilemmas that run through my mind every day. Some say life is simple, but when you see little signs such as this you know that just isn't true and that even the simplest apparent things have so many different permutations when simple protocols and rules get ignored.

Something tells me this never happens in women's toilets though.

Later, GJ

BasketCase FC

Scolari is sacked and in my view as an obsessed Chelsea fan for 37 years or so it didn't come a moment too soon. The weekends display at home to Hull completely fucked my weekend up, which as any real fan knows is exactly how it should be.

If losing (or in this case drawing) doesn't fuck the weekend or at least the evening up then you ain't a proper football fan.

Since he took over the decline has been marked and if I performed in my job like that, taking a good, high performing team over and taking them into decline whilst driving morale down, then I'd expect my boss to be kicking my arse.

Nice bloke, but I don't want nice. I want my beloved Chelsea to be an snarling, spitting, arse-kicking, obnoxious, enfant terrible of the Premier League. Because we'd be winning again and in the end nice guys don't win.

But it could be worse.......I could be a Newcastle fan on Safari............have a look at the picture (click to enlarge).

Surely a load of bollocks....but bloody funny.

Later, GJ

Aaah the new week starts

I am, of course still very much after the idiot who decided the ratio of 5 days working to 2 days off was the best one for a good work/life balance. I've said it before but the weekend starts and you blink and Monday morning its back to work. And it may just be me, but the older I get the harder Monday mornings become. In fact the older I get the harder every morning becomes. Alarms are ignored much more easily and the idea of rising in the dark and coming home in the dark seems more daunting with each passing year. I'm a sun-child. I like daylight. I like bright sunny warm daylight. And all of that seems a very long way away.

I am quite fortunate in that The Company does make provision for remote working so that on mornings such as last Monday, when we had a rare coating of snow, I was able to follow the heed of The Authorities and not make the unnecessary journey into work but to log on from the comfort of my study. We can video conference with each other or conference call meetings. We use MSN to chat online and of course it is a mobile phone company so we can use that to keep in contact.

All very civilised. Plus you get to work in your PJ's which can't be a bad thing.

Blimey, I had something nice to say about The Company.

Is that another sign of ageing?

Today it transpires that my stupidity in oversleeping due to forgetting to set the alarm (another sign of aging?) was ultimately fortuitous as the main route along the A34 has been shut in both directions since the early hours due to an overturned lorry. Just what is it with lorry drivers that there lorries just seem to flip over periodically? The so called 'professionals' of the road seem to live under some other law of the road which allows them to pull out as they see fit or to engage in the perennially annoying game of driving side by side refusing to overtake each other and creating huge tailbacks behind them. I didn't have much time for lorry drivers before our accident, let alone afterwards. And on that note....guess what? It now transpires that because luck of the good variety rarely plays a big part in my life, Monsieur Fuckwit, the numpty lorry driver from hell was probably uninsured.

Yep, that's right - uninsured.

Somehow or another he was allowed to drive a 44 tonne juggernaut in this country without insurance. Staggering huh? Now everything has to go through something called the Motor Insurers Bureau. Apparently they MAY pay some compensation provided we have reported the incident to the police. In fact they want the name of the attending officer and the reference number. Which of course we don't have because despite calling 999 and requesting the police and an ambulance to check we were OK, it now transpires that the police only care if someone is seriously injured or dead! The Highways Agency Incident Support Unit attended at the time and closed the motorway for 10 minutes whilst they sorted things out. Despite being very helpful they only gave us a piece of paper with Monsieur Fuckwits details on them and ours. No names, no references, fuck all. I have told the solicitors dealing with our case that very simply, we did what was required and called 999. The accident was logged by an officer of HM Government and as far as I'm concerned the police didn't give a toss. We fulfilled our obligation by dialling 999 and requesting the two emergency services. The Highways Agency must have a record of attendance as must the Surrey Ambulance Service.

I've also told them this....if he was uninsured then the company operating the lorry must be liable as what were they doing allowing an uninsured driver to operate that lorry in a foreign country without ensuring he had the relevant documents? If they didn't authorise it, then he must have stolen the lorry in which case why wasn't it reported and why hasn't he been nicked?

But doesn't all of this just seem to be heading in the direction of someone getting away with it whilst we live with the consequences?

Later, GJ

Clutter

How life changes. And not necessarily for the better.

It must be a teenage thing, or a girl thing.

Or a teenage girl thing.

Kid is now almost 17, Pie is now almost 14 and both seem to have simultaneously entered a phase of their lives whereby they believe that an invisible army of worker drones is following behind them clearing up their mess and making sure there is food for them, hot water for them to shower or bath in and that anything in the house is fully available for them to use without asking.

In Pie's case, she's always been a scruffy urchin type of child. But now she's a trendy and well dressed scruffy urchin of a kid. A year or so ago I decided she'd be better off in a larger bedroom. The basis for this was that in the smaller room she possibly didn't have enough space and hence her bedroom would always be cluttered with toys and clothes. Sound male logic I think you would agree. Of course even with my experience I hadn't catered for the tender aged blooming of female logic that had already gripped her. In this case its quite simple. There would never be enough space, even if her bedroom was the size of Wembley Stadium, Women don't do minimalism when it comes to clothes, make up and perfume. Hence at any one time the bedroom floor and double bed we bought her is covered in school uniform, books, magazines, clothes, underwear, make up , handbags, perfume and all sorts of sundry 'girl' related items.

In Kids case, although never an urchin, she was gripped with a similar ailment from the age of 2, helped nicely along with huge amounts of presents on birthdays, at Christmas, after peoples holidays etc lavished on her by kindly, well meaning grandparents, Uncles, Aunts and friends. Oh and at least one of her parents for whom the phrase 'cutting back' comes out of the female logic shredder as 'buy more'.......So, Kid's bedroom, of similar size to Pie's is also a sea of clutter. As she's a tad older there are other things included here such as DVD's and college stuff. But in essence both bedrooms are the sorts of places that would give the Health and Safety Gestapo a huge panic attack. Followed by taping the room off and placing a sign saying 'Unfit for human habitation' on the door.

Of course the clutter levels in rooms also means that, according to their freshly formed female logic, the upstairs landing, the main bathroom, the downstairs hallway, the study, the living room table and even my bedside cupboard and anywhere else is a viable 'overflow' clutter park. Despite various warnings from me and from Hellsbells (who displays the same characteristics but at least has a tipping point for clutter driving her mad) that whatever we find on the floor will be binned, they just happily carry on, seemingly accepting this as just a normal hazard and that anyway, Dad will never carry it out.

Sadly they seem right. I have become ground down by this over the years. It's almost as if I've been institutionalised into accepting that this is how women live their lives.

One other aspect though that I cannot and will not accept, is the female trait of simply borrowing from anything and anyone around them. Or in some cases not borrowing, just using, taking or consuming stuff. In my case they will use my shower gel (a specific type that doesn't irritate my skin), my shampoo, my towels, my socks (thick warm ones and tiny training ones), my skin moisturiser, my headache pills and in Kid's case even my bloody razor blades. I've lost count of how many times I've got up at the ungodly hour of 6am and hobbled to the shower only to get halfway through before realising there's no shower gel or shampoo, and then on completion finding there's no towel. The carpet is stained with footprints from where I've had to leave the shower to find gel or shampoo AND then again to find a towel, usually lying in a heap somewhere on the landing. If I buy myself a treat and leave it in full view it's a guarantee they will help themselves to it. Kid will drain the filtered water from the container in the fridge and replace it ...EMPTY. Prior to being put on Statins I could safely buy grapefruit juice for my morning drink safe in the knowledge that only me and Hellsbells liked it, but now I can't have that anymore and can only drink orange juice. If we buy 5 cartons the girls will drink it as a soft drink, not just for breakfast, but at anytime. They'll pour it for their friends as well, so that when I go to the fridge bleary eyed early in the morning I can expect to find it all gone, or worse still and EMPTY carton put back in the fridge. And on the drinks front..........they will pour a diet coke or glass of squash, drink half, disappear out and leave the drink where they were. They'll even pour themselves another and leave that somewhere half full. I spend my life picking up half drunk glasses of soft drinks, usually with a tell tale sweet wrapper next to it. In their world I genuinely think they believe the fairies clear everything away. We've reached the point in the house whereby for the girls there is an invisible force field around the dishwasher which prevents them from putting their dirty plates inside it. Apparently only me and Hellsbells have the right forcefield breaking powers to open the door and load stuff in. The bin, according to their logic, and I include Hellsbells in this, has unlimited capacity. Never mind that its overflowing with rubbish, just keep on ramming stuff in because somehow the bin mysteriously manges to empty itself to the main household dustbin.

Such is this now moving beyond a mere irritation I have now started to buy stuff suffixed with 'For Men', warning them that their skin will flake off if they use it. I now hide my razor blades and keep a record of how many I have left. I even bought some Chelsea FC branded training socks to use for golf and cycling explaining that this meant they were mine, only to find a pair in Kid's room within a week. I buy Orange juice with bits because they don't like it. Any sweets or treats have to be hidden way lest they decide that as its in the house it must be fair game. Just on Tuesday this week, they went to the local shop and bought THEMSELVES a pot of Ben and Jerry's each. No thought of the poor parents in any of this. My muesli was commandeered to make a cheesecake mix with the promise of full replenishment.......guess what? Yep, never happened and never will. Next will the acquisition of some towels, maybe Chelsea ones that will be MINE and MINE only. And Hellsbells moans about me spending money.....she needs to understand why. I need to buy my own stuff to stop the girls from using/eating/drinking/wearing and borrowing it.

Ultimately it may come down to having a cupboard with a combination lock that only I know. A system so high tech it would be easier to steal The Crown Jewels.

Either that or I move into the shed.

Later, GJ

PC Bollocks is back on the beat

And so I see my old friend PC Bollocks has been at work again in two incidents outlining the moronic and insidious nature of political correctness when taken to its extremes. Just when will the human race fucking grow up and learn the concept of CONTEXT. Words, phrases and gestures are not offensive, but HOW they are imparted can be offensive. I'll admit there are times when the recipient might misconstrue what was said and take offence. This often happens when our judgement filters are clouded by alcohol, hence the not infrequent disputes between friends over casual throw away comments.

But we now seem to have reached the point of such utter stupidity and fear being spread around by PC Bollocks and his brigade of hair shirted, sandal wearing, vegan, bleeding heart, wet liberal softie twats that anyone can be accused of racism, homophobism, sexism and any other 'ism' you care to think of because of well meant and well used phrases.

The two cases I'm thinking of are someone called Miley Cyrus (nope haven't a clue) being accused of racism by by some anal outfit called the Office of Chinese Americans. It sounds a bit jumped up anyway doesn't it? But whoever heads this pedantic group has decided he can get his name in lights, feel some of that celebrity sparkle, have his 15 minutes of fame by making out this girl is in some way oppressing Chinese people. Here’s what she did. She posed in a photograph with some friends, one or more who were 'Chinese -American' or Chinese as we usually call them. None of the group complained, after all they are friends, but some jumped up do-goody tossbag with the wit and wisdom of a dog turd decided this was unacceptable and that this girl (aged 16 for fucks sake) had grievously offended every Chinese/Chinese American....Chink around the world.

Oh...Jack....you used the word Chink........you're a racist!

Stone Jack, hang him, bang him up for life......Whatever.... you fucking morons.

Should I now apologise to morons?

I am regularly referred to as a 'Brit' in the press (well not me individually) ...should I take offence at that? Should all 'Brits' make a stand against having our nationality shortened? I'm 5' 6" tall...or short whichever way you look at it. All my life I've had the piss taken out of my height, and still people make jokes about it...."Oi Jack, does Snow White and the other 6 know you're here?" .....but you know what...I don't get offended, I don't think they're out to put me down or oppress me. I don't cry out about being 'offended' by these 'height fascists'. I laugh about it and get on with life. I see it from the positive view that at least I'm noticed by people.

Are the Irish (and I am half Irish) really worried about being called Paddy? If they are, then I've yet to meet one. I still refer to a shop in the village as a 'Paki' shop. Do I mean it offensively? No, it’s just a shortened term based on nationality. If anything it’s almost a term of endearment because genuine racists wouldn't even consider spending their money there.

The other PC Bollocks incident is the Carol Thatcher one for likening a tennis player to a Golliwog. I'm presuming he or she was black. Well, a golliwog was a toy when I was young. Just like a Teddy bear in fact. A toy that a lot of children were very attached to. A Golliwog appeared on the Robertson’s Marmalade jars for decades until someone decided it might be offensive. Why is it offensive to have a black doll? If this is the case shouldn't white people be equally offended by the caricatures of Cabbage Patch dolls? Shouldn't men be offended by the oddly lacking in genitals Action Man figures? Don't they equally stereotype and help enforce prejudices against those groups? I actually think Carol Thatcher is a rubbish TV presenter, but she was merely using the term Golliwog as a descriptive term. What should she have said? "Such and such reminds me of a black faced, wide smiled, red jacket wearing child's doll I used to have...' Is that acceptable?

I'm more worried about the person who overheard the comments and then like some East German Stasi thought police nark decided to go and tell someone. What a fucking society we're breeding here.... a society of thought police eagerly listening out for people to speak out of turn and use what they deem an inappropriate phrase. All so that they can either look good, or make themselves feel better. What utter wankers. What about the word 'cunt'? When I’m at football people often refer to each other as 'you daft cunt' or 'you stupid old cunt'...usually in a bar and usually between friends. Yet surely this word is the most offensive word in the English speaking language? The difference is the people saying and receiving it have understood the context. Some PC Bollocks thought police spy would undoubtedly interpret it as something far more sinister. And then tell a copper or something. There’s a big difference between ' get me a beer you tight fisted cunt' and ''you shagged my wife you cunt' ...don't you think?

So, all you PC Bollocks fans, and all you minority groups, be you black, brown, yellow, white, wheelchair bound, short, fat, tall, ugly, thick, clever, awkward, clumsy, short sighted, long sighted, deaf, blind, mute, here’s my message.

Learn the concept of context.

Walk out of the school playground.

Stop looking for things to offend you and for fucks sake grow up.

Later, GJ

Stop Press: Apparently the shop at Sandringham Royal estate has decided after 1 year to withdraw its sale of Golliwog dolls. Why? Based on that principle shouldn’t every mannequin be removed from shop windows lest they offend white people, or women? Is that the end for Barbie in case blonde women are offended? Frankly I’m now offended by all this PC Bollocks………but who do I complain to?

I've just about calmed down after Bloody Bastard Blogger decided to lose last Mondays hard grafted piece of blogging. From now on it'll be typed in good old Wordpad, saved and then published with fuck all editing being done in Blogger.


So, what happened over the week? Well first off was some physio for my neck and shoulders - yep, from the accident back in September. Against my initial judgement I decided to go ahead with a compensation claim aginst Monsieur Fuckwit, the French idiot who decided to try and kill a family of four by not bothering to check mirrors and blind spots. Since then my neck and shoulders and sides have got progressively more and more painful. Whether any money is forthcoming or not is a long way off but its a no win/no fee arrangement so I think the solicitors must be confident of getting their costs back otherwise they wouldn't have taken the case on.

The rest of the week was spent exiled to the spare bedroom as the cough was so bad. I haven't slept properly for over a week now and since the accident getting any quality sleep has been a problem anyway. Which makes me even grumpier than normal.Obviously I couldn't go to work when feeling so utterly shite, and my boss confirmed that he didn't want me in whilst I was that ill - his exact words were "if you come in and infect all the others then I'll have to punch you" which being as he's a bigger bloke than me was good enough reason to stay at home.

I went to football on Wednesday and sat there wrapped up in multi-layers of clothing, coughing, unable to shout or even converse, nose running and throat hurting. We won 2-0 but I can't say it was a wise move to go when feeling so rough. But I needed to get out of the house as I was on the brink of going stir crazy. Yes, it may well have been just a man-cold but the problem is as a man I was still fucking ill! I'm an asthmatic as well, so any chest infection suddenly ramps itself up to be a bit more serious just on that basis alone.

Mind you I did catch up on all my recorded TV programmes, including the excellent Being Human series just started on BBC Three - the premise being a vampire, werewolf and ghost sharing a house and simply trying to be normal. Funny and dark in equal amounts this has all the hallmarks of being a real cult series. I've also finally managed to watch the whole of Green Wing Series 1 and all but 2 of Series 2 - how the hell did I miss this the first time around? A truly inspired bit of hospital comedy and Dr Alan Statham is a comedy character to rival the likes of Basil Fawlty and David Brent - I can only imagine it didn't get the same level of publicity because it was tucked away on Channel 4 instead of the Beeb.

So, Thursday and Friday were days when I didn't move anywhere. Stuck under a quilt on the settee with medicine, cough sweets and hot drinks. It would have been bliss had I not been so rough.

But rest was the order of the day, so rest I did and it was needed if I was to get through the Saturday night beano we had to honour the 65th Birthday of The Grand Master. I hadn't had any alcohol for over a week and had planned to go easy on Saturday night, but we all know what happens to the best laid plans..... To be fair it was a bloody good do and everyone seemed to enjoy themselves and after a few Guinness fresheners I even began to feel semi-human. Sunday mornings hangover combined with the cough bought me back down to earth with a shuddering crash. Back to the settee with duvet and pillows all day. I also sat through the debacle that is the current Chelsea squad as they once again succumbed to one of our nearest rivals. 1 point from 15 in all games against the other 3 members of the big 4 is utter shite and yesterday, in muted frustration, I watched our slim hopes of being Champions get flushed down the toilet by a referee who I wouldn't trust to run a bath (unless there was a live toaster balanced on the edge of it whilst he was in it), apathetic poseur footballers on hideously inflated wages (Drogba, Deco and the pile of festering dog turd that is Florent Malouda) and a tactically clueless manager who is currently making former Chelsea fuckwit Claudio Ranieri look like Albert Einstein.

And today we have snow.

Proper, cold snow.

The normal thrum from the A3 is virtually silent as people finally seem to have listened to the authorities about staying at home unless absolutely necessary. People have been seen walking to the local park with sledges. Snow is a very rare beast down here on the South Coast and settled snow even rarer. Apparently we have more to come and even as I look out of the window I can see big chunky flakes falling to earth. Pretty, yes. Disruptive? Not to me..I can work from home!

I'm off to hunt the news sites for something to moan about.

Later, GJ