Black Holes........

My house has become a black hole for various objects. By this I mean that the very things I want to use are never there. They have disappeared. They have ceased to exist.

Pens:

I bring home pens from work. Yes, I know technically this is stealing, but we're talking a dozen or so Bic biros so for fucks sake get real. I then place some in the container by the phone in the living room and some in the "desk tidy" (thanks Betterware) in the study by the main PC. So how come when someone calls and I need to note down a number or message I can never find a pen! The lovely fully working Bic Biros have all been replaced by blunt pencils or dried up gel pens. Are Teenager and baby running a pen racket at school? Is GMD giving them away to friends and neighbours?

Batteries:

I buy batteries for things such as remote controls, toys, cameras etc. Sensibly I buy in bulk so as to assure the presence of spares when required at a vital TV Channel turning over moment. Yep, you've guessed it, when I need one they've all gone. Mysteriously no-one else in the house knows where they are. Why is this?

Brita Filtered Water:

I bought one of these because I am tight-fisted. I want filtered water, but not something that needs attaching to the plumbing of the house. I fill it up, leave it for two hours to chill the water nicely for subsequent pouring into a long glass, with a dash of lemon juice or some Blackcurrant squash (because all other squash is crap). But when I go to the fridge, all that is there is an empty, but very cold water container. Again, no-one seems to know why this has happened.

Remote Controls:

Nine in total – 3 downstairs for the TV, DVD and Cable plus 6 upstairs for the various TV, Cable and DVD bits of kit. So why is the one I need always missing? Why does no-one else in the house know anything about the whereabouts of the one I want?

Sweets, biscuits and chocolate:

I know there are copious amounts of these dotted around the house. I also know I buy some to munch at a quiet moment. Something like a nice Plain chocolate digestive, or a packet of wine gums….or a bar of Fruit and Nut. Yep, you’ve guessed it. They disappear into the black hole existing somewhere in the core of my house.

I’ve now got to the point where I hide pens and batteries, stash biscuits and sweets. I buy bottled mineral water because the kids don’t like it. I am turning into this miserly person who resents buying things that are consumed by others, leaving none for me? Is this normal?

Later, Grocerjack.

This is another truth about women - this picture denotes Control Settings. Would anyone really deny this? Later GrocerJack

I have one or two of these - its nothing personal girls...honest.....Click on the picture to enlarge it and make it easier on your eye.

Later, GrocerJack

Diseases II

Time for a whinge.And this time its about an additional disease that is plaguing the country and for all I know the world. Its the disease of Apologism.

This disease is spread by sanctimonious journalists and do gooders suffering in a lot of cases from the previously mentioned Hypocrisitis. The symptoms of the disease take the form of hysterical rantings about the descendants or successors of people or organisations to apologise for the actions of people or organisations which have gone before us. Personally I find this disease nauseating and am sick of the clamour in the press and broadcast media for apologies for previous actions. Here are some examples

Twat poet Benjamin Zepheniah demanding apologies from the Queen and/or the Government for slavery. Slavery was a heinous method of control and suppression, but what the fuck has it got to do with us in modern society? It was abolished hundreds of years ago as sanity and reason won the argument against those who sanctioned it. But todays monarch and todays PM weren't born then. Neither was I, so why should I feel fucking guilty about it. I wasn't there, I didn't do it..honest. What power is divested in them or me to apologise on behalf of dead people? Slavery was regrettable, but we didn't personally sanction it or take part in it. So no apology please - if those who are guilty want to apologise then let them visit us from their spiritual existence and do it.

German politiicans demanding The Queen apologise for the bombing of Dresden during WWII. Hmmmm....so they start a war, kill millions across Europe, instigate the genocide of 6 million Jews and then 50 odd years later want us to apologise for giving them the same tratment they dished out to London, Portsmouth, Coventry............See where I'm going here?

Jews demanding apologies from the government for NOT bombing Auschwitz during the war. Hmmm...even if it could be categorically proven that the British Government did know of the atrocities, one can only wonder what these very people would be saying now. Probably berating us for the bombing and killing of innocent Jewish people already living a hellish existence in a concentration camp. Again, why should we apologise fo something our forebears did NOT do? The decisions taken at the time were weighed up and taken honestly. If they wrong then so be it...but they were not anti-semtic or malicious. IT WASN'T OUR fAULT.

The Guildford Four/Birmingham Six. Appalling miscarriages of justice which have undoubtedly wrecked lives. But what is it to do with Tony Blair? The government didn't sentence them, the judges did. The government didn't find them guilty, the juries did. The government didn't arrest them, the police did. What the governement did do was re-open the cases when the new evidence was uncovered. I have no doubt someone should apologise, maybe the Lord Chief Justice of the time if alive, or the investigating officers and jurors if still around. But NOT the government, and not Tony Blair, who was barely out of school when this happened. I would have thought the respective families should be thanking the government for allowing justice to take its course as compelling evidence became available.

Ken Livingstone should apologise to the jewish London Evening Standard hack who decided to have a pop at him. Why? Ken Livingstone is a popular Mayor, elected by substantial majority and likely to do so again. He has campaigned tirelessly against racism, sexism and inequality etc for years. He has suffered the bile and poisonous diatribes from this rag and its national daily sister paper - The Daily Facist for 30 years. Yet like the hypocrites they are they howl with indignation the minute they get some of their own back. And they accuse him of being anti-semitic! I would question any journalist who is jewish and works for either rag when you consider the papers histories and links with facism. By the way, if I insult someone who is jewish, perhaps calling them a useless cunt based on their total fuckwittery at work ....does that automatically mean I'm anti-semitic? Are jewish people so saintly that they never do any wrong and can never be criticised? Or is that what the press want to stir up? The use of the phrase "anti-semitic" is too easily banded about ...as is the racist tag applied to anyone who questions or criticises someone of colour. Some Jews are thick, some Christians are ignorant, some black people are prejudiced. The conditions are human, not colour or creed based. It's the nature of the Homo Sapien beast I'm afraid.

Boris Johnson apologising to whiny scousers because he had the temerity to state what a lot of people thought about the unswerving ability of Liverpool to oversentimentalise when a son or daughjer of the city dies. This was brought to the fore by the events surrounding Ken Bigley, an unfortunate man beheaded by terrorist thugs in Iraq. But lets get one thing straight - he was there for the money, not for the good of the Iraqi people, and he spurned the security arrangements offered to all foreign workers "helping" rebuild the country. Boris may be a bumbling fuckwit but he got this criticism of Liverpool spot on.

I could go on, but I feel my point is made. We have become a world where we can only accept our own victimhood culture, a world where we demand the sympathy and apology of those who contribute to our circumstances as if it makes any difference to the events gone previously.

We have to find a scapegoat. For all I know one of my distant ancestors may have committed some horrendous acts on less fortunate people and in todays society of apologism and it's associated victimhood culture perhaps I am expected to bear some responsibility to those families to whom this may have happened. Yeah...right. Should I apologise for that now they're dead? Someone would be waiting a long fucking time for me to do that......

Later, UnashamedUnapologeticJack

Diseases.......

Further to my day with The Sandman and my invite to the top table, along with the other Company Nomarks it appears that the disease I have of Hypocrisitis is complicated by another condition which I shall call Arslikhan Arslikhan itself complicated by Desperandumitis. Hypocrisitis is easily explainable as the schizioid personality of someone who moans, whines and knows he is better than the fools he works for, but smiles and does exactly what they say in order to preserve the system of employment that pays large(ish) sums of money each month in order to fund an increasingly leisure oriented lifestyle. It can be confused with Mercenary Syndrome in which all moral judgements are cast aside in pursuit of filthy lucre.

Arslikhan Arslikhan is an ailment whereby the sufferer starts to agree profusely with his peers and bosses in order to make his work look better and to be seen as a "bloody good bloke". It increases in intensity closer to annual appraisal time, pay rise time, or before annual leave is requested. This has been happening a lot to me lately.

Desperandumitis is a condition where the sufferer decides that he or she does want to get on in their job, despite their better nature. It is uncontrollable because the sufferer is normally at a reasonable level of cynicism and independent thought but then finds themself agreeing with and understanding "performance drivers", "process improvement initiatives" and "company strategy".

Oh my God! I have been guilty of writing and publishing a strategy recently! I have also inititated two very high profile "process improvement inititatives". I have been explaining and evangelising "performance drivers" to my team. This is all happening despite my inner real thoughts. Before I know it my cynicism will be spent.

Fuck me, I'm even stepping into the breach for 3 weeks to deputise for The Mysterious M as he flies off for some Florida sun. I will be at The Sandmans table for 3 weeks.

Grocerjack is becoming GlobalEfficienciesJack.

I am becoming corporatised.

I am being assimilated.

Resistance is futile.

Later, BorgJack

The Real Story?

A Copy of e-mail received by B&Q customer services:


Dear Sir/Madam

My congratulations to you on getting a yacht to leave the UK on 28th November 2004, sail 27,354 miles around the world and arrive back 72 days later.

Could you please let me know when the kitchen I ordered 96 days ago will be arriving from your warehouse 13 miles away?

Later, SailorJack

On the way up?

Today I was invited to The Sandmans top table. This is the occasion when we the lower orders of middle managers get to sit and feed on the scraps of information that has been held back from us all year,. and to contribute to the progress of the culture and the team......yeah....whatever.

I think I'm supposed to be grateful, especially as tonight we all get to actaully eat with The Sandman as well. Whoopee-fucking -doo.

So, today has been a thrilling experience of discussing the following

Six Sigma Black belts
Six Sigma Green Belts and volunteers - (Yeah my name was right in the frame for that)
Horizontals
Verticals
People Development (or how to get them out of the compnay)
Cultural Change
Evolution Plans
Release Plans
Operating Plans
Development Plans
Technical Plans
Global Plans
Global Domination (no...really.......we want the world)
Consolidated Plans to contain all the plans
Roadmaps
KPI's
KPI enhancements
Communications Initiatives
Global Plans to dominate us (yes.....those dastardly Europena members of the family want to rule us like some crazed despots hell bent on assimilating us.....or in other words they want to share their vision with us....nice wording huh?)
Leadership initiatives
Innovation

Yawn......and I'm supposed to be grateful am I?

So why does it feel quite nice to be included. Why can't I stand by my cynical priciples and just take the piss?

Because I've got a fucking mountain of debt, a huge mortgage, money sucking kids, expensive hobbies and life plans that need money to be achieved.

I am a fucking hypocritical, spineless, turncoat, mercenary shit.......... and I have no problem with that.

And tonight I'm fucking driving so I can't even get pissed to let off some steam. Just as well, because GobbyJack tends to come out and play after a few drinks, and I'd rather keep my inner self very quiet in front of The Sandman.

Later, GrocerJack

The Review…..

Past Mortem by Ben Elton

This is by my calculation Elton’s 9^th novel and probably his best yet. I have followed Ben Elton’s career with interest since the 80’s because quite simply I am a big fan of his Motormouth comedy style. I loved his satire in the 80’s and his tirades against Thatch and her gang seemed to sum up the futility of my generations feelings about what was being dismantled around us – little things like the manufacturing industry, the mining industry, community spirit, whole communities and introducing s dividedness into Britain which exists to this very day – the huge gap between the Haves and Have-Nots. Over the years I have been to see him on stage several times and each time he has been superb and left me with tears running down my face. PC? A bit. Toilet Humour? Absolutely! One thing is for sure, he has settled into a softer middle aged with the inclusion of marriage and kids in his life, but as a comedian of my generation I expected this to occur to him, as it did to me and my loyalty remains undimmed.

Sure, he has written some musicals with Lloyd Webber, and wrote the scripts behind the Rod Stewart and Queen musicals, both of which were savaged by the critics but are still raking in full houses and loads of money to the theatres staging them. I never really understood the criticisms of these shows. Its as if the Theatre is the sole preserve of “new” stuff by Lloyd Webber, whereas quite frankly I’d much rather have a night out listening to songs that I know and love, and have played a big part in my life especially during the growing up years. I haven’t seen either show yet, so I will not comment on their respective merits or otherwise. This type of criticism just reinforces my bemusement at people my age who rave on about how good the “new” stuff is whilst denigrating the stuff they grew up with in some sad desperate measure of their desire to be “down with the kids”. These are same sort of knobbers who criticise The Manic Street Preachers or U2, whilst parading their faux indie-ness and street cred by wearing badges of The Fall or other dull arsed wannabee untalented musical whores like The Libertines – yeah very original them, that’s never been done before has it?

Anyway, I digress, back to the book. Elton has a fantastic knack of writing stories around contemporary issues and his novels have covered topics such as the environment, globalisation, media and entertainment, drugs, reality TV and now with this one the phenomenon of Friends Reunited linked with the increasing worry of bullying. He covers this topic very subtly, and you’re halfway through before you realise it’s bullying that’s at the heart of the plotline. In effect it’s masquerading as a good old fashioned serial killer being investigated by cynical and methodical copper, albeit a short arsed ginger haired one who’s working relationship with his partner is complicated by the fact the he has fallen in love with her. He finds himself at the very heart of the serial killers incredibly sadistic methods of murder and apparently unrelated victims and the unrelenting build up to the climax means that in the excellent tradition of murder mysteries, any one of about 5 people are the suspects as you head toward the last few pages. Elton keeps the chapters at the right length and the ease of the read is in his skill in not chopping and changing between scenarios in between chapters. In fact I found it very hard to not read the whole thing in one sitting, such was the pace and intrigue set up in the plotline and writing.

One thing that is lacking in the book is the usual level of wry humour expected from Elton and in this respect this is a step up for him, although personally I hope he does keep the humour going in future books. Being able to make people laugh is a real and rare talent and one which he shouldn’t jettison too freely. All of his previous books have contained several laugh out loud moments, including some that have made me look like a right nutter in embarrassing places like trains or hotel restaurants. It is also the most adult of his books so far by virtue of the first real attempt at writing sex scenes and the first time that sexuality is really covered in any of his books to date. As you would expect though Ben Elton does not write the scenes as the most romantic and rose tinted scenes ever, and gritty realism is a better description of how he writes them, and in this case openly describing the rather extreme acts (in my view) of …ahem….fisting and felching. The latter being a new one on me, and ….errrr…quite an eye opener as well!

Overall I’d give this book 9 out of 10 and this just pips ahead of his previous 2 books Dead Famous and High Society. The real test will be if I enjoy it second and third times like all of his previous books.

A great book for those whom like to be entertained without being lectured or bored into submission.

Later , GrocerJack

The Politics of Girl Guiding and The Brownies

The cast of the Brownies trip to Paris

GMD – you know who this is

Fletcher Christian – The Kings Wife, GMD’s friend and the overall organiser of the trip.

TMW – The Majors Wife, GMD’s friend and another confirmed Guider

BOU – Another guider but with barking mad tendencies and an adeptness for telling some might fine porkies

Captain Bligh – The District Commissioner, old bag, born again virgin, part of the Mary Whitehouse brigade and freeloader extraordinaire

The Admiralty – the girl guiding hierarchy who have succeeded in pretty much preventing this movement form joining the rest of us in the 21^st Century.

So GMD and Fletcher Christian disappear with TMW and BOU and other assorted women who are kind enough to give their time to run the Guides, Brownies and Rainbows. This trip has been planned for 128 months because if nothing else Fletcher Christian knows how to plan such events meticulously because frankly taking 36 kids of varying ages from 9 to 14 is such a taxing thought that only near military precision can make it work successfully. Plus to be actually allowed to do this the Guiders have to study and take exams that would frighten most of us away muttering “fuck that for a game of soldiers”, especially when the only gain is pride and satisfaction but NO money! . She even took the exam to be a lifeguard and to do that had to overcome a general fear of water.

The trip leaves from the Coach pick up point at 06:00 and by 15:00 I have received the “we’ve arrived safely” message and all seems to be going well. I received a few updates during the trip but to be frank they were only away for 2 nights and synchronizing calling times rarely works so conversations with GMD were infrequent at best. But it transpires that Captain Bligh was operating a “whispering” campaign throughout the weekend. Yes, the type of thing that has done for many a politician was happening here, on a Brownie trip!. The “smear” campaign being run by this pseudo Guide supremo was targeted at Fletcher Christian. It was just like Maggie Thatcher damning John Major or any of her successors with faint praise or generally just criticising them in general. In the end she did for all of her successors with some mistimed, misinterpreted or probably just deliberate comments on their abilities. Now, if this happened to me I’d be inclined to confront the person there and then, maybe clock ‘em if necessary with an unfortunate one, but then that’s what blokes tend to do. Violence is not always the answer, but fuck me sometimes it is exactly the answer. That’s how I stopped myself being bullied at 13 and having the fags I nicked from my mum nicked off me at school. I just smacked the geezer concerned and we ended up in a fight but that’s another story for another day. This is not meant to be sexist in any way but women do tend to be softer about this type of thing and consequently end up suffering more and so Fletcher Christian put on the brave face during this covert personal assault.

On the way home this seemed to be continuing and Captain Bligh was operating from the back of the coach even before they got to the Ferry. With any large group of course the more in the group the more chance of a mishap and so, as fate would have it. BOU’s daughter fell on the very last step on the ferry staircase that leads to where the coach was parked. She appeared to have sustained a broken arm and was obviously very shocked and upset, as was BOU. However if nothing else BOU is a competent guider and so knew not to panic. Her daughter was taken to the nearest A&E unit and Fletcher Christian dispatched The King to drive to the hospital thus ensuring that BOU and casualty could get home that evening. BOU’s husband is a sea-farer and is currently in the middle of some god forsaken part of the world waking up every day and looking out of the window and thinking “Yup, that’d be the sea then”.

Of course this incident was a godsend to the poisoned tongue of Captain Bligh who elevated the smear and whispering campaign up a notch to make it plain that she was not happy with the turn of events and the way they were dealt with. All of this served to undermine what Fletcher Christian had done in organising the trip, and to bring her down and perhaps question her own handling of everything. Classic bully tactics - make the person feel bad about themselves and you’ve won the battle. Despite the best will in the world Fletcher Christian then rang Captain Bligh after the trip and actually confronted her about the whispering and smearing. Did Captain Bligh back down? No, from what I gather she went back at Fletcher Christian even harder. GMD spent a good hour or so on the phone trying to support Fletcher Christian and devise a strategy going ahead. At this time it seemed that Fletcher Christian had the support of TMW, GMD, The Lone Rangers Wife and the rest of the volunteers, although oddly BOU was keeping right out of everything. The next day Fletcher Christian then rang GMD and said that the Admiralty had called her and had asked her to hand in her warrant card. Bloody hell, this was serious and immediately GMD was on the phone to the local Admiralty explaining what had really occurred. Since then all I’ve heard is that whispers are continuing and that cliques are building. Another phone call from Fletcher Christian to Captain Bligh resulted in Blighs own daughter matter of factly saying that Bligh was not in and that even if she was she would not enter into any dialogue with Fletcher Christian anyway.

Does this end up nicely? Did the full crew mutiny and join Fletcher Christian? I had hoped it would, and that mass resignation would bring about the downfall of the Hierarchy at the Admiralty when no-one was able to run the brownie and guide packs for the surrounding area. Of course the real victims would be the girls who attend each week and actually gain valuable life skills instead of hanging around the local shop, listening to rap, smoking fags with spotty twats whose ambition is to be part of a boy band or get a good steady job in MacDonald’s

Does Fletcher Christian find peace on an idyllic island inhabited with beautiful natives? Well not quite. She has actually resigned her commission, after all who needs this shit when you’re not getting paid for it? She did this against most people’s advice to be honest but perhaps like some sort of Mandelson figure this will act just as a stopgap in the Guiding career of Fletcher Christian and that like a phoenix she will rise again to glory.

What confuses me is that an organisation with a faux military hierarchy does not have any sort of disciplinary or arbitration process. When things like this occur, it becomes whispers behind closed doors, rumours and counter rumours and the soft shuffling noise of things being swept under dusty old carpets. And they wonder why they struggle to recruit volunteers?

Watch this space.

Later , GrocerJack

In case you hadn't noticed....

...I'm having a break from blogging for a few days to try and refresh some parts. I am rooting through things to write about including salacious events from my colourful past and possible the political machinations and Machiavellian scheming of the Girl Guiding movement....yes honestly...Parliament has nothing on the politics of Guiding! It's been part of my life since GMD got back and some of it defies belief. Watch this space.

Now breathing freely and without any nasal ejaculations or glass particles in the throat. See, I told you I was hard.

Later, GrocerJack

A washout......

I tried a large Glen Moray on Friday night for the throat before my normal visit to the pub. A 20 year old single malt seemed the perfect answer. It ripped the throat apart as it washed over it, but the anaesthetising affect was almst immediate. So off to the pub and 5 pints later the feeling of malaise was receding . Hometime came and the next morning everything was back....with a vengeance. Still I refused to let it get me down and despite a temperature of a 100 went off for a game of golf. A shit front nine was tempered by a good back nine (why does that always happen? Why can't I just have a good 18?). It seemed to work and despite being the deliverer of bad news to Shotts and The King that Pompey had successfully snatched defeat from the jaws of an honourable draw in the FA cup against sworn enemies Southampton, I thought perhaps the fresh air had worked. One hour indoors and thins went back, temperature, sore throat, blocked and painful sinuses, and just for good measure a whhezy groaning chest. Another Dads night out was scheduled for Saturday and in my desire to not let anyone down I went along anyway. Again, temporary alcohol borne relief seeemd to help, but again when I got in things seeemd to go down. Sunday was spent sweating, coughing and feeling like shit. Even watching my beloved mighty Chelsea trundle past Birmingham in the FA Cup didn't lift the mood.

And so today has been the first day off sick from work for over a year since I last got real flu. I know what real flu is and this is just a cold bug, but still its enough to knock you over a bit. Today, so far I have watched around 16 episodes of Friends from my box set collection. Say what you like about Friends, it may not be cutting edge, but it makes me laugh and has helped me feel a bit better on a thoroughly miserable day.

Onto Series 5 now.......

Later, GrocerJack

Finally struck down.....

Is it flu?
No

Is it Man Flu?
No

Is it in your imagination?
No

Are feeling sorry for yourself?
What do you think fucker?

Have a nice weekend Jack
Oh yeah, with this bastard cold, thanks for fuck all.

After avoiding all the bugs over this god forsaken miserable gloomy fucking winter, within 30 minutes today I went from feeling fine to feeling shit. Sore and itchy throat was the first symptom. Blocked and painful nose was the next. Now the eyes are fucking starting to ache. This is why God doesn't exist, at least not in any benevolent form. You see if God exists and dictates to us all everything that happens under his allegedly all seeing will, then why give me the present of a fucking cold in time for a weekend when GMD is away in Paris and I have the house to myself? The world, or at least the village I live in should be my fucking bastard playground this weekend and yet it seems destined to be huddled on a settee drinking hot drinks, taking Beechams Flu Plus tablets to alleviate the discomfort and feeling downright sorry for myself. And now the throat is covered in shards of tiny razors every time I swallow, each one cutting yet another lump of tissue away. I might have to try the Glenmorangie 20 years old tonight.

Are you sulking?
Yes

Are you 5?
Mentally at this time .....yes

Is there anything I can do/
Yes, stop fucking asking stupid questions and piss off and leave me alone.

What God wants God gets, God help us all.

Later, BabyJack

Beer Hell......

These are my choices for the beers (sic) that should be consigned to Hell. It's fairly obvious I don't drink much lager except after golf, but that would never include any of these disgusting examples of decomposing chemical based piss . I have also included the incredibly toxic nerve agent Merrydown Cider, similar to Diamond White and a dead cert way of accelerating early Alzheimers by destroying brain cells more efficiently than if you poured neat sulphuric acid through a hole in your skull. Bollocks to bombing Iraqi insurgents, just fill em full of this stuff for a week or so and they'll be so fucking wasted you could sing them a lullaby into submission. Good lagers do exist but very few are on draught, but hats off to Becks, Dab, Hoegaarden (not a lager but a wheat beer and fucking gorgeous), any German beer served in Germany, Budweiser (the Czech one) and Grolsch. Of course real ales and my own tipple, the marvellous Guinness don't count in this because they do include malt, hops , yeast and barley.

Carlsberg, faux danish piss brewed in Putney
Circle I Limbo

San Miguel, Spanish faux Fosters piss. Revolting after one pint
Circle II Whirling in a Dark & Stormy Wind

Fosters and Castlemaine XXXX, Australian piss and vomit agent
Circle III Mud, Rain, Cold, Hail & Snow

Budweiser, yank tasteless watered down piss. Untrue
Circle IV Rolling Weights

Merrydown Cider, apple-less piss with violent attitude to brain and stomach
Circle V Stuck in Mud, Mangled

River Styx

Carling Black label, piss guaranteed to keep you sober but still make you vomit
Circle VI Buried for Eternity

River Phlegyas

Hofmeister, Bears piss. Not a hop or barley grain in sight
Circle VII Burning Sands

Harp Lager, vile chemical piss that didn't stay sharp to the bottom of the glass
Circle IIX Immersed in Excrement

Kestrel Lager, 29p a can, piss with added chemicals
Circle IX Frozen in Ice

Design your own hell

Later , GrocerJack

A Correction.......

Bill Gates has been removed from my personal Hell created below after his incredible donation of $750 million towards vaccination programmes in developing countries. I will post a revised version later and I might add a few into it or just change it after re-considering the entries. He might have fucked me over a few times, he might have fucked some of you over from time to time and he may be villified by IT departments the world over, but this is generous by any standards. Read the interview on the link in this paragraph that he gave to The Grauniad. A fascinating insight into the mind of someone I had always taken to be the greediest and most selfish uncaring man on the planet. I was, apparently, wrong.

Later, GrocerGates

New Words for 2005…….

My thanks to Priceless for this little nugget.

TESTICULATING - Waving your arms around and talking bollocks.

BLAMESTORMING - Sitting around in a group, discussing why a deadline was missed or a project failed, and who was responsible.

SEAGULL MANAGER - A manager who flies in, makes a lot of noise, shits on everything, and then leaves.

ARSEMOSIS - The process by which people seem to absorb success and advancement by sucking up to the boss rather than working hard.

SALMON DAY - The experience of spending an entire day swimming upstream only to get screwed and die.

CUBE FARM - An office filled with cubicles.

PRAIRIE DOGGING - When someone yells or drops something loudly in a cube farm, and people's heads pop up over the walls to see that's going on. (This also applies to applause from a promotion because there may be cake.)

MOUSE POTATO - The on-line, wired generation's answer to the couch potato.

SITCOMs - Single Income, Two Children, Oppressive Mortgage. What yuppies turn into when they have children and one of them stops working to stay home with the kids or start a "home business".

STRESS PUPPY - A person who seems to thrive on being stressed out and whiny. We all know at least one.

PERCUSSIVE MAINTENANCE - The fine art of whacking the crap out of an electronic device to get it to work again. Works especially well on TV’s.

ADMINISPHERE - The rarefied organisational layers beginning just above the rank and file. Decisions that fall from the "adminisphere" are often profoundly inappropriate or irrelevant to the problems they were designed to solve. This is often affiliated with the dreaded "administrivia" needless paperwork and processes.

ADMINISTRIVIA – The bollocks rubbish needless paperwork and processes you have to complete before you’ve lifted a finger to actually work.

404 - Someone who's clueless. From the World Wide Web error message "404 Not Found," meaning that the requested document could not be located.

OHNOSECOND - That minuscule fraction of time in which you realise that you've just made a BIG mistake (e.g. you've hit 'reply all'). Goalkeepers suffer a few of these.

GOING FOR A McSHIT - Entering a fast food restaurant with no intention of buying food, you're just going to the bog. If challenged by a pimply staff member, your declaration to them that you'll buy their food afterwards is known as a McShit with Lies.

AEROPLANE BLONDE - One who has bleached/dyed her hair but still has a 'black box'.

AUSSIE KISS - Similar to a French Kiss, but given down under.

BEER COAT - The invisible but warm coat worn when walking home after a booze cruise at 3 in the morning.

BEER COMPASS - The invisible device that ensures your safe arrival home after booze cruise, even though you're too drunk to remember where you live, how you got here, and where you've come from.

BOBFOB – Body off Baywatch, Face off Baywatch

BOBFOC - Body Off Baywatch, Face Off Crimewatch.

BOCFOC – Body off Crimewatch, Face off Crimewatch

BREAKING THE SEAL - Your first pee in the pub, usually after 2 hours of drinking. After breaking the seal of your bladder, repeat visits to the toilet will be required every 10 fucking minutes for the rest of the night.

JOHNNY-NO-STARS - A young man of substandard intelligence, the typical adolescent who works in a burger restaurant. The 'no-stars' comes from the badges displaying stars that staff at fast-food restaurants often wear to show their level of training. Brother to TRACEY-NO-STARS.

MILLENNIUM DOMES - The contents of a Wonderbra, i.e. extremely impressive when viewed from the outside, but there's actually nought in there worth seeing.

MONKEY BATH - A bath so hot, that when lowering yourself in, you go: "Oo! Oo! Ho! Aa! Aa! Aa!".

MYSTERY BUS - The bus that arrives at the pub on Friday night while you're in the toilet after your 10th pint, and whisks away all the unattractive people so the pub is suddenly packed with stunners when you come back in.

MYSTERY TAXI - The taxi that arrives at your place on Saturday morning before you wake up, whisks away the stunner you slept with, and leaves a 10-Pinter in your bed instead.

SALAD DODGER - An excellent phrase for an overweight person.

SWAMP-DONKEY - A deeply unattractive woman

Later, GrocerJack

My Hell.....

Thanks to Crox for this excellent little link for creating your own personal hell. This is just my version1 so expect to see more of these from time to time.

The Sandman
Circle I Limbo

Arsene Wenger
Circle II Whirling in a Dark & Stormy Wind

Davina McCall
Circle III Mud, Rain, Cold, Hail & Snow

Robert Kilroy-Silk
Circle IV Rolling Weights

The Pope
Circle V Stuck in Mud, Mangled

River Styx

George Bush
Circle VI Buried for Eternity

River Phlegyas

Margaret Thatcher
Circle VII Burning Sands

Saddam Hussein
Circle IIX Immersed in Excrement

Osama bin Laden
Circle IX Frozen in Ice

Design your own hell

Later, GrocerJack

The Review....

A new periodic feature whereby I spout my own biased and bilge like observations on things I have seen, read, heard or experienced......

The Airbus A380

Big, Beautiful and Bold. A truly magnificent piece of engineering and a glorious looking machine. A gleaming, shiny tribute to European technical and financial collaboration. Apparently even when loaded with its usual quota of 555 passengers, it will use about 3 litres of fuel per 100Km per passenger. Thats about the same as a Ford Mondeo, except of course the Mondeo would require around 7 refuelling stops to cross the Atlantic and if pulling a trailer full of luggage would see its consumption drop by around a fifth. I know the bleeding heart, limp wristed, sandal wearing, leaflet waving, vege-fucking-tarian conservationists are now pointing to aircraft as the root of all evil and the cause of global warming (yet to be proven), but air travel is now a part of life, so fuck off and tend to your plants you knobbers. Stay in your crummy little towns and in your own tiny minds. Live like fucking cavemen if thats what you want. Me...I want planes, sun and technology, no matter how shite it might be. If I want peace and quiet and tranquility then I'll find it in the Highlands, but after a week I want my civilisation back. Air travel is no longer just for the rich, but for everyone. It has broadened minds by allowing travel to distant places where other cultures can be seen and experienced. It educates us if we choose to allow it, and of course it satisfies one of Man's great fantasies - the ability to fly. Yes, I know the Chav population use it for a two hour hop to shitholes like Fuengirola where they can "enjoy" a bit of Britain in a sunny land. And undoubtedly air travel has encouraged some of the vilest parts of our culture to be exported, like Lager Louts, Slutty pissed up girls, "real" British pubs (yeah, they're so fucking real), street vomiting, piss poor cuisine and bad dress sense. But without it, we'd have to put up with this shite and these wankers all year round, so why not export it away for a while. Just a tinge of sadness though regarding this beautiful flying dolphin.....it is subsonic, so you'll not get there any faster than if you were on a Jumbo or an Airbus 333. If Concorde had a grave it must be spinning in it. The money grabbing, thieving fucks that are the Airline industry is the only example of a business where the technology has gone backwards and the sale of something that actually takes longer is cherished. When I see this machine, as I did Concorde, I just think that by the grace of God and the pressures of the market place, the human race has civilised itself.

Amused to Death - Roger Waters

Some of you may have noticed that my recent "I'm Currently Listening to.." was set to the above album. So I thought that like my sporadic display of great (in my view) Art I would add the odd Jack review on music, film, books or TV or whatever I fucking fancy. So it starts with this magnificent offering by the God of Great Writing. He who should be honoured and cherished. The one that is Sir Roger of Waters, The King of The Floydness that was Pink. As you may have guessed I have always stated my favourite band is, and always will be Pink Floyd. Masterpeices like The Wall, Dark Side of the Moon, Wish You Were Here and Animals will be held up and revered in future generations in the same way as works by Strauss, Bach, Beethoven and Mozart are today. When they split I was as devastated as a young teenage girl who was in love with The Bay City Rollers the day they "quit" and had lost her first pube on the same day. Why would this supreme band, who stood above all others, had ignored the Singles Chart without a flicker of an eyelid, had swatted the punks aside with a contemptuous swipe and had written music so angst ridden that the covers should have had warnings on them about not being sold to unhappy people with access to a gas oven, split up? The answer was because of Roger Waters ego. The man had a chip the size of an Airbus A380 on his shoulder. He hated the world and everything it had done previously, everything it did now, and everything it was going to do. Manna from heaven if you're a songwriter. So he disbanded Floyd, threatened to destroy the master tapes of The Wall to ensure the others didn't get any money and recorded the aptly named Final Cut with his nemesis David Gilmour. The tension in that studio must have been electric. Since then they haven't spoken to each other, except by courier when producing the album Is There Anybody Out here? which is a live version of The Wall.

Because of this I have ignored his solo works and lived off the collection of Floyd albums from their Roger days, and the two studio albums made post Rog, and the two live albums made post Rog. Then last year I bought a music DVD of the man himself in concert. Skank had bought me a live Gilmour DVD taken at the Robert Wyatt Meltdown concert in 2001, which had Gilomour doing a "Floyd" unplugged type set and was simply stunning. I thought some balance was needed here as I always favoured Gilmour and believed him to be equal in Floyds success to Rog. The Rog DVD was a real eye opener. Great songs, including some live stuff from Animals which I'd never heard done live before. It was on this that I heard the song Perfect Sense, the lyrics of which I published last year as being very poetic, and very apt considering the hostage situations occurring at the time. As a result of this I asked Skank to buy me the CD's for Christmas, and so now I am the proud owner of Amused to Death, The Pro's and Cons of Hitchhiking and Radio Kaos.

On first hearing this album I thought...."fuck me thats hard going" but that was the exact reaction in 1979 when I first played The Wall. I persevered then and I did now and by the end of listen number two I had decided that some tracks were already growing. A read of the lyrics during lunch and I started to understand the theme. And now several listens later it is right up there in the list of my top albums. Covering topics such as the futility of war, the dependence upon TV, the media saturation of our lives, the globalisation of our cultures and a moving tribute to an old soldier and an imaginary girlfiend killed on TV in Tianamen Square, this album is stunning. The lyrics are sung ranging between Waters frustration and despair through to his passion and caring. Pointed lyrics as well and an ending 4 tracks which quite simply act as a moving and thought provoking diatribe on modern life. My favourite track is between Watching TV, It's a Miracle and the title track Amused to Death. The songs are very reminiscent in parts of early Floyd, with smatterings of elements of Echoes and Animals thrown in for good measure. Aside from the usual array of jets, dogs barking, cars driving byand detuned radio sound effect, the guitar features heavily as well, but using Jeff Beck instead of Gilmour. Yes, Jeff "Hi-fucking-Ho-fucking Silver Bastard Lining" Beck! This man performs easily as well as Gilmour, which disappoints me as I have always seen Gilmour as a guitar god and all round nice guy (he sold his London house for £4million and gave the whole lot to the charity for the homeless Shelter!). That aside I would recommend this to anyone who actually still likes to turn the lights down, put the headphones on, or turn the hi-fi up and read the lyrics, whilst playing the air guitar, singing every note and actually LISTENING to the music. If you stop the CD to replay the really good bits then this could be for you.

Not for teenagers or people who like dancing!

Roger Waters was the soul of Pink Floyd, not Syd Barrett. Roger Waters was the person who drove the band to produce their benchmark masterpiece albums. He is my lyrical poet and hero.

Doctor, doctor, what is wrong with me
This supermarket life is getting long
What is the heart life of a colour TV
What is the shelf life of a teenage queen

Ooh, Western woman
Ooh, Western girl

News hound sniffs the air when Jessica Hahn goes down
He latches on to that symbol of detatchment
Attracted by the peeling away of feeling
The celebrity of the abused shell, the belle

Ooh, Western woman
Ooh, Western girl

Ooh, Western woman
Ooh, Western girl

And the children on Melrose strut their stuff
Is absolute zero cold enough
And out in the valley warm and clean
The little ones sit by their TV screens
No thoughts to think, no tears to cry
All sucked dry
Down to the very last breath
Bartender, what is wrong with me
Why am I so out of breath
The captain said, Excuse me ma'am,
This species has amused itself to death
Amused itself to death
Amused itself to death

We watched the tragedy unfold
We did as we were told, we bought and sold
It was the greatest show on earth.. but then it was over
We oohed and aahed, we drove our racing cars
We ate our last few jars of caviar
And somewhere out there in the stars, a keen eyed lookout spied a flickering light
Our last hurrah
And when they found our shadows grouped 'round the TV sets
They ran down every lead, they repeated every test
They checked out all the data on their lists
And then the alien anthropologists admitted they were still perplexed
But on eliminating every reason for our sad demise
They logged the only explanation left
This species has amused itself to death

No tears to cry, no feelings left
This species has amused itself to death....

Later GrocerJack

Humble Pie anyone?

So, it appears Piers Morgan, erstwhile sometime editor of The Mirror was right, in principle, about "our boys" abusing Iraqi's then. His pictures may been fake, but those shown yesterday weren't and at the time of his sacking he did warn of the can of worms about to be opened surrounding rumours of abuse to Iraqi POW's.

So that grinding diesel noise this morning in Fleet Street was the welcome sound of the Humble Pie delivery lorry pulling up outside the offices of Britains finest (sic) daily publishing news journals was it?

I wonder how much Humble Pie is being eaten at The Scum and The Daily Facist today then?

Or by any of the other fuckwits who thought "our boys" were whiter than white?

Later, GrocerJack

Office Philosophy

1. I can only please one person per day. Today is not your day. Tomorrow is not looking good either.

2 . I love deadlines. I especially like the whooshing sound they make as they go flying by.

3. Tell me what you need, and I'll tell you how to get along without it.

4. Accept that some days you are the pigeon and some days the statue.

5. I don't have an attitude problem, you have a perception problem.

6. Last night I lay in bed looking up at the stars in the sky, and I thought to myself, where the heck is the ceiling?

7. My reality cheque has bounced.

8. On the keyboard of life, always keep one finger on the escape key.

9. I don't suffer from stress. I am a carrier.

10. You are slower than a herd of turtles stampeding through peanut butter.

11. Everybody is somebody else's weirdo.

14. Never argue with an idiot. They drag you down to their level, then beat you with experience.

15. A pat on the back is only a few centimetres from a kick in the butt.

16. Don't be irreplaceable - if you can't be replaced, you can't be promoted.

17. After any salary raise, you will have less money at the end of the month than you did before.

18. The more crap you put up with, the more crap you are going to get.

19. You can go anywhere you want if you look serious and carry a clipboard.

21. People who go to conferences are the ones who shouldn't.

22. If it wasn't for the last minute, nothing would get done.

23. When you don't know what to do, walk fast and look worried.

24. Following the rules will not get the job done.

25. When confronted by a difficult problem, you can solve it more easily by reducing it to the question, "How would Dirty Harry handle this?"

:Later, GrocerJack

De-toxing and Re-toxing......

Last week I had to work from home as the back problems have worsened recently. It's Sciatica so apparently there's fuck all I can do except fill myself up with painkillers, try and rest it and wait for the physio appointment.

Which is still 5 weeks away. Great.

So, last week GMD, MiddleSis and LittleSis decided to try a week on a detox diet. I was also duly invited as I had indicated a desire to shed around a stone and a half (21 pounds to those from across the water, or around 3.3kg for those metric heads from Europe). Not only that I also felt it might be good to purge myself of the crap ingested over the Christmas period. In a moment of apparent madness I agreed to the trial. So, the only living flesh allowed on the diet is "oily fish" such as Salmon or Tuna. Hmm, thinks I, that sounds OK. However I wasn't prepared for the fact that during the week, this gorging on the flesh of one of our water dwelling resources would only be allowed once.

"What, only once" says I

"Yup...look don't do it if you don't want to" says GMD in her best "your a quitter" tone.

"Fuck it, I'm working from home - how hard can this be?" I say in my best "I'll show you" manner

"Right, then you also have to realise, no squash, beer, wine, diet coke, chocolate, sweets, milk, cereal, bread (unless it wheat free), pasta, unless its wheat free, rice and cheese" comes the "I'm trying to intimidate you" reply from GMD

"No problem" comes the totally unconvincing reply from me.

And so, for 5 whole days, I ate delights such as Tomato and Courgette soup, sunblushed tomato, garlic and chilli pate, stuff aubergines, oat cakes (because they are so much like cakes!) and chickpea salad. I was allowed wheat free bread with the soup. Have you ever tried it? You could tile your bathroom with it its so tough! As a treat, I was allowed to have the odd handful of Pumpkin seeds. You can drink herbal tea, water or fruit juice, and only decaffeinated coffee (which in my view is as useful as alcohol free beer, chocolate teapots, one legged men in arse kicking competitions and left handed screwdrivers). This meant an almost constant level of being hungry...or so I thought. After a couple of days I started to stop feeling tired in the afternoon, slept better at night, and actually found my pumpkin seeds to be ....well..... acceptable. After 3 days, my arse was like a fucking sluice gate as presumably my body had started to flush itself of the poisons. It's just as well I was at home because from this point a trip to the loo (sorry frequent trips) was like a mercy dash, and any old people or children would have been brushed aside as I hobbled, in pain, but almost as fast as Kelly Holmes, to get to the loo. Had I been at work,, its debatable as to whether I would still be employed considering the likely embarassing mess that would have occurred. I'm 43 and have no wish to .....ahem...soil myself publicly. Come Friday and the gods honest truth was I felt fantastic, aside from the Sciatica but that's hardly going to be affected by diet. So much so that I decided to weigh myself because I genuinely though I looked slimmer. I'd lost around 9 pounds! So, at 5'6" I now weigh 13 stone and 4Ilbs I'm fairly stocky because I used to weight train and apparently my ideal weight is between 12 stone 4lbs and 12 stone 8Ibs. So I'm not that far off where I should be.

On Friday we had friends down from London and so we knew we were going to abandon the diet. GMD cooked up one of her lovely Lasagne's, and myself and Big M went to the pub. Within 15 minutes of eating the Lasagne, I was overwhelmed with tiredness, you know the "can hardly keep my eyes open" sort. Plus, despite the fact that it was a chilly night I spent the night in the pub sweating like someone on the verge of a coronary. It was like I was 20 stone and wearing the thickest coat possible. Each pint was a struggle....no....a battle even. When I got in it took another hour for this dreadful malaise to disappear....... eventually allowing me to sup Guiness copiously until 4 in the morning. When I got back from the pub GMD, was in a state as well. Absolutely as red as a beetroot and also struggling. Of course the battle to drink and enjoy ourselves was won in the end, but apparently LittleSis also felt as rough as fuck when returning to normal. She had also lost quite bit during the week and was feeling great until "re-toxing". I was up at 9, after 5 hours alcohol fuelled sleep to play golf. And I felt fucking great. No hangover, no tiredness, no nausea. I assume the diet and the detoxing had lifted the whole metabolism and so my cynicism and scepticism was dismantled. The Detox diet had pissed on my fireworks big time. GMD was right.

So I guess the warning is that re-toxing is far more painful than de-toxing. Which leads to the conclusion that if you don't detox, then you don't have to re-tox.

So why have I decided to go back on it this week, and to do it for another two weeks?

Because I'm 43, getting vainer and I want to at least get back to my fighting weight. Because I must also be a masochist at heart. Because I am that shallow ( a charge I've always pleaded guilty to) about my appearance as the years add up. Because age is catching up on me and things are starting to underperform. Because I want to feel young again.

Is this the start of my "mid-life" crisis? Will I be thinking of cosmetic surgery next to tighten everything up? Oh my God, even mentioning that means I must be!

Pass me another celery stick.

Later, GreenGrocerJack.

Proof.......

that the PC brigade are winning the battle and probably the war on how I (and you) live our lives. GMD works part time at the local leisure centre, and apparently very soon we will be forced into wearing swimming caps when we visit the pool. Are they fucking joking? Apparently its because of new Health and Safety legislation, although GMD's not sure what the specifics are and even the wonderful Google can't throw any light on what this might be. Apparently it's across the UK and possibly the EU, so its not even some local wanker making this rule. Perhaps there's an outbreak of dandruff that I'm not aware of, or some alopecia causing virus. Perhaps the bleeding heart liberal fuckwits have had too many bad hair days!

I read somewhere that Chlorine used in swimming pools bleaches hair and prospectively causes it to dry out and become brittle , but that was on a website for a company called Zoggs who .....errrrr...sell swimming caps! To the best of my knowledge no-one lost their hair through swimming, not even Duncan Goodhew (he lost his by falling out of a tree when just a young lad) for any smart arses who thought they might mention him.

Nope, I'm afraid the only real proper exercise I enjoy, and am reasonably good at has also fallen to victim to PC madness. As you might be aware, this is becoming a bugbear of mine and I will be looking out for even more examples of totally and utterly fucked up PC shite bollocks like this to whinge about.

Later, GrocerCap

Little (Minded) Britain.....

If ever there was a prime example of the piousness, political correctness and fucking pettiness that strangles this country, and is slowly choking it to death, then there can be no better one than the story of Prince Harry attending a fancy dress party wearing a swastika on his arm. Apparently he also wore a desert uniform similar to those worn by Rommel. Big fucking deal. The Prince has apologised for the offence he has caused, but is that enough? No, not for The Dirty Digger and his infected organ The Scum. No, forget the fact that it was a "Fancy Dress" party, forget the fact that this is a 20 year old man still finding himself and his place in life, forget that his mother was publicly hounded to her death, and that he was paraded as a sympathy victim for the world to see at the age of 12. Forget the affect all of this may have had on him, forget the pressures of being born into such a stifling and anachronistic system.

No, according to The Scum, Harry must be a Nazi sympathiser! Yes, he must by implication be anti-semitic and have the view that only a true Aryan race should inhabit the planet. That despite being rather gawky and ...errr.....ginger. Not only that, according to the former Armed Forces Minister, some virtually anonymous soundbite MP called Doug Henderson has now stated that this transgression should prevent Harry joining the Army. Why would that be? Why does this one single event exclude him from attempting to join Her Majesty's (his Nan's) finest? How does the attendance at a PRIVATE party in freely available fancy dress stop him from becoming a stuck up arsehole commissioned officer? What if he hadn't worn it but his best mate had, and he'd been standing next to him? Would that also make him a Nazi sympathiser? If Harry was emulating his ancestor Edward VIII, who was also allegedly a friend of the Nazis' , then why would he think that such a public display would go unnoticed? Even if he was the most naive and insensitive person ever, surely he would know, and the Court advisors would tell him that such a public display of sympathy would be deemed unacceptable. I have attended various Fancy Dress parties over the years (I fucking hate them personally but being the odd one out is a worse fate) as The Grim Reaper, A Knight, even an Arab. Does that make me a death foreteller, a crusader intent on killing muslims or even a supporter of Osama Bin Laden? Of course it fucking doesn't but the sensation seekers would imply all of them, if I were a celebrity or politician. The press in this country are continually finding stories where they don't exist. You only have to look at the story printed last week regarding the broadcaster Kirsty Wark, enjoying a mutual family holiday with Jack McConnel, the First Minister of Scotland. Apparently that would compromise her neutrality. So now we can't even choose our friends in cas ethey pollute our views. I have very different politicsl views to most of my friends, but that doesn;t stop them being my friends, nor does it mean I'm likely to compromise my views because of what they think or feel.

I can see that this choice of dress by Prince Harry was a tad inadvised, but really the hysteria levels are utterly out of proportion for such a minor breach of protocol. I am not a Royalist either, so I'm not defending that cause...in fact I am firmly in the Republican camp and would gladly see the abolition of The Royal Family tomorrow (err...by nice means, not by shooting them or anything similarly sinister), but for fuck sake he has the same freedom of choice and expression as all of us. After all, he is a subject of Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth. I am more encouraged by the fact that this young man is not treading the Prince Charles path of pretending to be a decent and honourable person, whilst hiding so many demons away and ultimately being a major contributory cause to the breakdown and downfall of a young naive and gullible woman.

But of course, he and his family will always shift newsprint. The editor of The Scum, the barking mad and extraordinarily thick Rebeka Wade is overseeing the decline of the importance of this paper, and the decline of it's sale and as such will publish any shit, no matter how true or false, no matter what the context in order to try and boost its flagging sales. You reap what you sow, and the days of The Scum are hopefully numbered as people start to get their news from less proprietary biased sources. The Scum, along with the Daily Fascist and the bleeding heart liberals have all contributed to, and are indicative a society which is riddled with PC bollocks, a society where freedom of choice and expression is merely a soundbite and doesn't really exist, a society of apologists whereby anyone slightly offended by anything needs some sort of public announcement of regret, or feels they can use this offence as a reason to harass, vandalise, maim or even injure the perpetrator of the offence. Witness, the fucking wankers burning TV licences outside the BBC before and during the broadcast of Jerry Springer : The Opera. Witness the storming of the Birmingham theatre showing the Sikh critical play Bezhkti. All signs of the growing hysteria and intolerance that is becoming endemic with the UK. In my view the root cause of this climate of intolerance and stupidity is the press and broadcast media propagating the view that everything is offensive in some way to someone, and then selling that as "news" and thus feeding the climate of paranoia and political correctness. If there is a God, then he/she must be on the verge of a nervous breakdown...which of course would be front page news to The Scum!

Later, GrocerJack

I shouldn't laugh......

But this is quite funny. Apparently the flagship Ocean Cruise Liner owned by P&O, called Aurora has a few technical problems. Nothing vital apparently, just a fault with the propellor! Well according to the BBC it has been stuck in dock for four days now and all the passengers have managed to see is the Isle of Wight. Amazing when you think that some of the passengers have paid up to £41,985 (yep, you did read that right) for this dream cruise. I'm not really into the politics of envy, but somehow the thought of those people forking out that sort of money for a view of the undoubtedly gorgeous, but not particularly exciting Isle of Wight is making me feel quite smug.

Yes, I know they'll be getting free drinks (didn't that come as part of the £42k package then?) and all their food, but by my estimations I could have done the same including a visit to the Island for £11.80 per day, or £47.20 until now. Throw in a B&B for those 4 nights at around £40 per night, plus food, say £80 and my grand total is £167.20. So far a saving of £41,817.80! The trip is scheduled for 103 days, so this comes to £4305.40 if my option is taken, so in the worst case scenario that the ship doesn't move, GrocerJacks Isle of Wight tour option would have saved them £37679.80!

Now I know that they'll miss out on many fantastic sights and places, such as Santiago, Buenos Aires, Sydney, Hong Kong and San Francisco, but as an alternative they could visit Blackgang Chine, Robin Hill Country Park, Fort Victoria Model Railway or even the very picturesque Godshill. For those with more exotic tastes, there is the Amazon Centre in Newchurch, or the Big Cat Sanctuary in Sandown, where a friendly game of Bingo can be had on the pier as a diversion from the somewhat flashy casinos' of Aurora. So they'd have plenty to do, although they might not quite get the tan because the weather being typically British is almost guaranteed to be rubbish (it's almost as if the UK weather was government owned, and only an injection of private cash could make it perform better, but thats another blog).

Of course, if they decided to they could always take the "value" option and stay at my place and I could run them down to Southsea Sea front everyday, with a checked blanket and Thermos flask of tea for their exclusive use whilst they sit and stare over The Solent all day.

Hmmm....perhaps a new career in the tourist industry beckons.

Later, GrocerJack

Job Title - PARENT

Job Description Document

POSITIONS AVAILABLE:

Female Parent = Mum, Mummy (UK only), Mom, Mommy, Ma, Mama (US and Canada only)

Male Parent = Dad, Daddy (UK only), Pa, Papa, Sir (US & Canada only)

The Role

Long term, self starter, highly motivated team players needed, for challenging permanent work in an, often chaotic and pressurised environment. Candidates must possess excellent communication and organizational skills and be willing to work variable hours, which will include evenings and weekends and frequent 24 hour shifts on call. You need to be willing to work very unsociable hours in order to attend parents’ evenings and School shows.

Some overnight travel required, including trips to primitive camping sites on rainy weekends and endless sports tournaments in far away cities! Travel expenses not reimbursed. Extensive courier duties also required.

RESPONSIBILITIES :
These will last the rest of your life. Successful candidates must be willing to be hated, at least temporarily, until someone needs £5, or needs to be taken to and/or collected from somewhere.

You must be willing to bite tongue repeatedly. You should also possess the physical stamina of a pack mule and the speed of a Cheetah in order to be able to go from zero to 60 mph in three seconds flat in case, just this time, the screams from the back garden or bedroom are not someone just crying wolf.

You must be willing to face stimulating technical challenges, such as small gadget repair, mysteriously sluggish toilets and stuck zippers.

You should not be sensitive to blood, vomit, snot or other bodily seepages, and that will include the ability to handle soiled clothes when they’re older

You must screen phone calls, maintain calendars and coordinate production of multiple homework projects.

You must have ability to plan and organize social gatherings for clients of all ages and mental outlooks.

You must be willing to be indispensable one minute, and a total embarrassment the next. Advantage will be given to those whose dancing at weddings is acutely bad and getting worse.

You must handle assembly and product safety testing of a half million cheap, plastic toys, and battery operated devices. For this you must always hope for the best but be prepared for the worst. Must assume final, complete accountability for the quality of the end product and any further support for said products will be your responsibility!

Responsibilities also include floor maintenance, bedroom facility décor, constant monitoring and repair of the bedroom facility condition and general janitorial work throughout the facility, despite not being the main perpetrator of any wear and tear or damage.

When they have successfully applied to become parents themselves then you should be prepared for long and frequent stints of babysitting.

POSSIBILITY FOR ADVANCEMENT & PROMOTION :

None. Zilch. A big fat lonely Zero. In fact you’ve more chance of getting a wank off the Pope. Your job is to remain in the same position for years, without complaining, whilst constantly retraining and updating your skills, so that those in your charge can ultimately surpass you!

PREVIOUS EXPERIENCE :

None required unfortunately. On-the-job training offered on a continually exhausting basis.

WAGES AND COMPENSATION :

Get this! In this role there is a highly innovative scheme - you pay them! You will be forced to keep offering frequent raises and bonuses. A balloon payment is due when they turn 18 because of the assumption that College or University will help them become financially independent. When you die, you give them whatever is left. A further balloon payment is also required upon the announcement that they are getting married. The oddest thing about this reverse-salary scheme is that you will probably actually enjoy it and wish you could only do more (no..honest!)

BENEFITS

:
While no health or dental insurance, no pension, no tuition reimbursement, no paid holidays and no stock options are offered; this job supplies limitless opportunities for personal growth and free hugs for life if you play your cards right. Your offspring may decide to look after you in their own accommodation when you reach the other nappy age, but most likely they will put you in a nice residential care home, using the proceeds of the sale of your house to ensure you are cared for. One advantage if you have female offspring is that at least they will visit you in the home.

Later GrocerJack

Must be my lucky week because Jennifer Aniston has split with hubby Brad Pitt
All I can say is all of my best efforts NOT to look like him, or have his talent or money must have paid off. Whenever you're ready Jen, take your time love. I will be ready and waiting now that you have come to your senses. All I can offer is the freedom of not being fabulously wealthy, of being totally unknown (even in my own house), of not constrained by being fit or musclebound, or not having any discernible talent. Welcome to your potential new life with a real man. GJ

I don't get it.........

I do not feel the need to say much about the Asian Tsunami as it all seems a bit trite in comparison to the scale of what occured. What I will say is this......

1.) Why should Tony Blair have cut his holiday short? We have a deputy PM ( avery dogged one at that) and Senior Ministers to deal with events whilst he is away, and with his job surely he deserves some time with his family away from the stress of governing Britain . In any industry, the senior management delegate tasks to their deputies...how else would they develop if this didn't occur? And why have deputies if you don't believe they can handle any situation that may arise in your absence. Yes, a lot of Brits have been affected but would the effect have been different if Blair had returned? To me it just sounds like a buch of bleeding heart do-gooders out to blame TB and the rest of the Nanny Government for anything that occurs. I know this isn't very PC but it seems to me that people automatically expect the leader of the day to shoulder their misery with them, and in some way tio assume responsibility for what happened and how they are compensated. As badly as I feel for the victims relatives, the fact remains that this was an act of nature which is a timely reminder, yet again, of just how feeble we are when nature really strikes. and that NO-ONE is to blame. And lets not forget all the other Brits who die abroad throughout the year, either via crime, accidents or nature.

2.) How is the £50million donated by the Government not enough? When compared to the State aid dished out by other comparable states (in terms of GDP per head) then we seem extraordinarily generous, as is shown by the £80 million raised through appeals to the public. Again, it is a tragedy, but it is NOT our sole responsibility to fund the reconstruction and recovery programmes. I would have though this was prime UN territory and that they should be the sole administrators of the gaining and distributuion of aid.

3.) An event like this occured some 50 years ago, so I hear people shouting that an early warning system should have been deployed. Hmmmm....how exactly would the Maldives and the remote islands have deployed this when they barely have any electricity, and have to have supplies shipped in when things are normal? And whose responsibility should the deployment of such systems be? Ours? America's?. Plus, having the systems is fine, and ensuring they are maintained is fine, but does anybody imagine people actually heeding them? Sure, those literate enough may understand whats going on, but what of the Sentinelese tribe, or those so impoverished who refuse to leave their homes because thats all they have, no matter what the threat. It may have saved some lives to have such an early warning system, but by no means would the tragedy have been lessened by any great degree. Remember I saw Hurricane Charley fly over my head in Florida, and despite curfews and evacuation orders, people still stayed in their homes or sat on the beach to watch it. Its our nature.

Don't get me wrong, this is a huge tragedy and yes, I have dipped into my pocket with a fairly substantial donation, but what pisses me off are the lobby groups and politiicans and press using this tragedy to score cheap political points against an incumbent government who have NEVER had to deal wtih a natural tragedy on this scale before. Michael Howard should hang his fucking scabby head in shame for what he said about Blair not coming straight back. This sanctimonious Thatcherite embodiment of the "I'm alright Jack" brigade just showed what a cheap and nasty fucking politician he really is.

Stop sniping, dip your hand in and help out. Thats what the victims deserve, not hand-wringing, personality slights and cheap political shots.

Later, Grocerjack

What a struggle............

I've had a nice break, but of course the result of that is the difficiulty of getting back into the stride of normal life. This morning , despite working from home because I have a meeting with the Big Telephone Company in London later (errr....that'd be a meeting at Stamford Bridge around 18:00 then.......I wonder if there's a game on?) it was inordinately difficult to get out of bed this morning. When I work from home I usually rise around 7:45 so that I can get the kids up and take Baby to school . That way GMD gets a lie in and I get a bit of a lie in from my normal 6:00 start. But this morning the alarm went off at 7:45...and it was still dark! I thought the "shortest day" was past and that the nights and mornings would draw out a bit now. Certainly the "dark start" seems to have slipped to around 16:30-ish in my part of the worl, but dark mornings......is there anything more demotivating?

So. I'm tired, miserable and pissed off with not being a multi-millionaire who can do what he wants with his days. I must think of a way of changing that this year....

Later, Grocerjack