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

For the last time!!!!!

It's not

'....should of.....'

it's

'....should HAVE....'



It's not

'....could of....'

it's

'....could HAVE....'


It's NOT fucking

'....would of....'

For fucks sake it's

'....would HAVE....'

Now go back to bloody school and learn English.

Later, GJ

It can't be that far away can it?

Having flown once with this lot and reading about the plans to charge for the toilet.......well how long before this becomes real?


Later GJ

Moronic advertisers

Can someone answer me simple question? When did 5 year olds become the target for car advertisers? I'm just asking because the latest round of car adverts seems to consist of ads aimed at kids in their first year of school. Is it a subliminal effort to get kids putting pressure on Mums and Dads doing the school run to buy these cars? I'll give 3 examples, 2 of which are blatantly stupid adverts with background tunes you'd be lucky to hear in a modern day nursery school. The Audi Q5 advert with its irritating and baby-ish 'gonna go riding in the car car' tune The Land Rover Ad with some sort of Scat jazz shite in the background filmed in stop/start motion. The Ford Kuga advert, where the town is covered in paper and the earworm 'bong, bong' tune echoes in the foreground. And some idiot got paid to come up with this stuff. What did the agencies do.....recruit some kids in their playtime by wrenching them away from their Dairylea Dunker lunches with bags of Jelly Babies and ask them to draw some pictures and sing a song for the TV? Did the kids actually film the the Land Rover ad on a school video camera?

Please tell me if there any other ads as TV destroyingly irritating as these? I'm hoping that writing this is cathartic in some way but I fear I'm just giving myself 3 earworms for the day. They make me long for the days when cars were advertised by driving at high speeds on non-existent empty roads surrounded by mountains and lakes (actually go to Skye...they do exist there). Anything but these please!!!!

Apparently they call the ad designers 'creatives' in the industry. I have several other names for the twats who thought these ads were in any way relevant, innovative or attractive.

Mentals.
Fuckwits.
Morons....

...immediately spring to mind.

Later, GJ

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?