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