Chav Jokes……

I’m feeling a little lazy this week, and am still exhausted from The Mighty Blues fantastic, thrilling and enthralling victory over the arrogant Spanish whingebags of Barcelona the other night. Rarely does anything evoke as much emotion within me as watching my beloved Chelsea in action, but don’t worry I’m not going to spout on about it here. I may well put an article onto the Chelsea Blog about it though (for those interested).

Anyway, here are a few Chav jokes to lighten up the day, apologies if you've already seen them.

1. What do you call a Chav in a box? Innit.

2. What do you call a Chav in a filing cabinet? Sorted

3. What do you call a Chav in a box with a lock on it? Safe.

4. What do you call an Eskimo Chav? Innuinnit.

5. Why are Chavs like slinkies? They have no real use but it's great to watch one fall down a flight of stairs.

6. You're in your car and you see a Chav on a bike, why should you try not to hit him? It might be your bike.

7. What's the difference between a Chav and a coconut? One's thick and hairy, the other's a coconut.

8. What's the first question at a Chav quiz night? What you lookin' at?"

9. How do you get 100 Chavs into a phone box? Paint three stripes on it.

10. Two Chavs in a car without any music. Who's driving? The police

11. What do you call a Chav with 9 GCSE's? A liar.

12. What do you call a 30 year old Chavette? Granny.

13. How many Chavs does it take to clean a floor? None, "That's some uvver fellers job innit."

14. Why did the Chav cross the road? To start a fight with a random stranger for no reason whatsoever.

15. Two Chavs jump off beachy head, who wins? Society.

Later, ChavJack

Good to see that after all that searching they finally did find Nemo.......  

Sad old queen......

Did you know Elton John is gay? What a shocker huh? Blimey, will the bloody sad old queen never cease to find ways of telling us?

This week he appears in a Little Britain sketch for Comic Relief with Matt Lucas's Dafydd and gets the chance to utter the words "I'm the only gay in this village"............OK, thanks for that Elton, but I'm disappointed that the Little Britain guys have allowed their irreverant show to be come yet another marketing model for Sir Baldness of Eltons gay agenda.

But now to my utter frustration he is now the face of mobile telecommunications giant and bitter rival of The Company, Orange. In this ad he is being lauded by two "marketing" types on the joys of 3G and the fact that Orange will give you an additional 3G handset free of charge when you buy one of theirs.

The advert, which no doubt some Nathan Barley type thought was highly witty ends with the truly cringeworthy strap line of Sir Elton Bald saying "I'm gay" and the the marketing bloke saying "Your gay? We're delirious!"

I don't question the mans right to be gay, or his right to make a few (more) bob from featuring in ads , and even having one of his latest piss-poor tunes as the backing music. But frankly I'm fucking tired of being told that he is gay. I'm tired of his playground like double entendres in every chat show. Does he really think he's championing the cause of gay men by constantly spouting on about his gayness? Why is he so proud of that, and yet so fucking vain as to wear piss poor wigs that give him the hair of a 10 year old. Have you ever heard him say "I'm as bald as a coot and have a massive collections of syrups" (wigs in rhyming slang to the uninitiated). No, course not.

Elton, take a leaf from George Michaels book. Shut up, live your life as you please but stop telling everyone you're gay. What next, a concerted leaflet campaign through everyones letterbox explaining your passion for some arse action? Full page ads in The Times announcing the truly amazing fact that you like a bit of cock?

Lord Elton of Wigness, You may be a very rich man, but your behaviour underlines the point that dignity is not something you can buy with cash.

Later, GrocerJack

You couldn’t make it up……..

My thanks go to Dee for sending this to me. The fact that all of these people are from the US should not be treated as a reflection on the collective intelligence of that great nation…..no really come on………they’re not like this at all…….seriously….just look at The President……..OK perhaps that wasn’t the best example ………

1. WILL THE REAL DUMMY PLEASE STAND UP?
AT&T fired President John Walter after nine months, saying he lacked intellectual leadership. He received a $26 million severance package. Perhaps it's not Walter who's lacking intelligence.

2. WITH A LITTLE HELP FROM OUR FRIENDS:
Police in Oakland, CA spent two hours attempting to subdue a gunman who had barricaded himself inside his home. After firing ten tear gas canisters, officers discovered that the man was standing beside them in the police line, shouting, "Please come out and give yourself up."

3. WHAT WAS PLAN B???
An Illinois man, pretending to have a gun, kidnapped a motorist and forced him to drive to two different automated teller machines, wherein the kidnapper proceeded to withdraw money from his own bank accounts.

4. THE GETAWAY!
A man walked into a Topeka, Kansas Kwik Stop and asked for all the money in the cash drawer. Apparently, the take was too small, so he tied up the store clerk and worked the counter himself for three hours until police showed up and grabbed him.

5. DID I SAY THAT???
Police in Los Angeles had good luck with a robbery suspect who just couldn't control himself during a lineup. When detectives asked each man in the lineup to repeat the words: "Give me all your money or I'll shoot", the man shouted, "that's not what I said!".

6. ARE WE COMMUNICATING???
A man spoke frantically into the phone: "My wife is pregnant and her contractions are only two minutes apart". "Is this her first child?" the doctor asked. "No!" the man shouted, "This is her husband!"

7. NOT THE SHARPEST TOOL IN THE SHED!
In Modesto, CA, Steven Richard King was arrested for trying to hold up a Bank of America branch without a weapon. King used a thumb and a finger to simulate a gun... Unfortunately, he failed to keep his hand in his pocket……..blinding!

8. THE GRAND FINALE!!!
Last summer, down on Lake Isabella, located in the high desert, an hour east of Bakersfield, CA, some people, new to boating, were having a problem. No matter how hard they tried, they couldn't get their brand new 22 foot boat, going. It was very sluggish in almost every manoeuvre, no matter how much power they applied. After about an hour of trying to make it go, they putted into a nearby marina, thinking someone there may be able to tell them what was wrong. A thorough topside check revealed everything in perfect working
condition. The engine ran fine, the out-drive went up and down, and the propeller was the correct size and pitch. So, one of the marina guys jumped in the water to check underneath. He came up choking on water, he was laughing so hard.

NOW REMEMBER...ALLEGEDLY THIS IS TRUE AND NOT MEANT TO BE A SLUR ON OUR AMERICAN FRIENDS……

Under the boat, still strapped securely in place, was the trailer!

Later, BritishJack (well OK Half-IrishJack)

Female Logic 1.........

An old chestnut I know, but I have to ask. I know that the statement "female logic" is an oxymoron, but I just do not understand the rationale.

A friend of mine today said that he always has to apologise after a row with his wife, no matter whether he is right or wrong. Because like most blokes we can't abide the silent treatment, or the sub-Arctic temperature being emitted from our alleged better halves. As soon as he said this the sound of a large and incredibly noisy bell could be heard inside my head. You see the same thing happens to me, constantly. If GMD and me have a row, whether a full war campaign, or a minor terriitorial skirmish, then the end result is ALWAYS the same.

And that result is this....I APOLOGISE.

Even if I am factually completely and utterly correct. I APOLOGISE.

Which of course means that I APOLOGISE, even when I have done nothing wrong.

And this ALWAYS happens. There are NO exceptions. Ever.

When nI think of the ramifications this could have I get a bit scared. What if a female copper mistakenly nicks me for a murder. I could protest my innocence, but all she'd have to do is give me the silent treatment for a few hours and I'd apologise. Which then implies my guilt and before I could say "GrocerJack Robinson", I'm doing a hefty old stretch in the chokey at the pleasure of Her Maj!

I thought I could sulk for England....nay GB.......nay Europe in any intercontinental sulking competition, but sulking is different to this absolute denial of wrongdoing, this utter pig-headedness, this steely-eyed stubbornness, this unswerving inability to accept that on occasions even WOMEN are in the wrong!

I bet a straw poll of the blokes in the office, or down the pub would reveal exactly the same

So, if you know the answer then please.....please.....pretty fucking please...for fucks sake ...let me know.

Later, GrocerJack

Briefly....

A great win for the mighty Chelsea on Sunday to end what had been a frustrating footie week for me.. Although the match went to extra time, we were good value for the eventual 3-2 win.

Back to earth today though with a seminar at work telling us all about the wonderful virtues of Global Performance Management. Yep, yet another load of corporate gobbledygook bollocks talk, which, if you're unlucky I might just tell you about.

In my own way of course (scheming laugh).

Apart from that I just don't have enough time to write.............maybe tomorrow huh?

Later , LazyJack

What do I know?

I’ve just met Screamer at the coffee machine where he decided to have a chat.

He’s got a wedding ring. He has a picture of his wife on his desk.

She’s fucking gorgeous.

She would be wouldn’t she?

I am the fuckwit.

As Martin Fry from the fantastic ABC once said

If you judge a book by its cover

Then you judge the look by the lover

I hope you’ll soon recover

Me?

I go from one extreme to another

Later, LoserJack.

The world of plans……

Yeah, I’ve calmed down….a bit.

Yesterday I went to a meeting, one of the ones you get invited to but have no real idea of what it’s about. One of teams in The Sandmans mini-empire has recruited a screamer from one of the The Godfathers (that’s the Sandmans boss….and yep….. he is Italian….so this pseudonym seemed apt) other mini-empires. This bloke has been bought in to help us improve our planning of resource and budget. A right fucking bundle of fun he sounds. Why do I call him a screamer…well to say he’s slightly effeminate is like calling Elton John slightly gay or even slightly bald. Now I’m NOT homophobic, but when you’re a bloke you can tell the screaming queens immediately and in my mind this bloke makes Dale Winton look as hard as nails.

So this was Screamers idea (I kid you not)

We are not Operationally effective or efficient.

We are performing well.

But we are not performing at our Optimal Operational Performance Ceiling

We need a plan.

In fact we need several plans.

We need a Project Plan showing in depth details of projects we are committed to.

We need a High Level Project Plan containing only high level details of the same projects

We need a Support Plan

We need a Business as Usual Plan

We need Team Plans

We need individual team member plans

We need a Strategy Plan which lists the strategies of each team function

We need a Roadmap Plan

We need a Skills Development Plan

We need a Contingency Plan for unknowns

All of these will then act as feeds into the Resource Pool Plan….

Which in turn feeds into a Budget Plan

Are you thinking what I’m thinking?

Does it rhyme with “he must be a right trucking banker”?

Or does it rhyme with “ stupid runt”?

I am now in the world of Planning. I am a Planner. Everything is fine if we have a plan. The world is good if it has a Plan. I need to sort out and update my Life Plan.

So do you….

So does everyone...

Plans are good. Plans will save me. Plans will save you. We need more Plans.

I need a lie down.......

Later, GrocerPlan.

Miserable bastard……

The mysterious Pen fairy is now plaguing me at work. When I want a pen I go to the pen pot on my desk…and there’s fuck all there. Perhaps there’s a national pen shortage I’m not aware of and therefore people are hoarding them with a view to selling them on eBay at enormous profits.

So, why am I miserable? Because a few pens have gone missing? Because I’m skint after the real Christmas cost is hitting home and the old bank account is looking very……sparse? Because The Mysterious M is on holiday and I can’t avoid receiving crap work from The Sandman? Because I live in a work world that is an utterly fucked collage of complete bollocks?

Nope – its because some Swedish cunt of a referee cost my beloved Chelsea a victory against Barca-fucking-lona last night. We lost to Newcastle in the FA Cup on Sunday – fine – I’ll take a fair defeat like a man, or at least as best a footie fan can, which means there’s always a whinge. But when some self-preening, photo happy, attention seeking, Napoleonic mannered fuckwit makes totally shite decisions like sending off Didier Drogba in the second half of a pulsating match then I get annoyed. Annoyed doesn’t cover it…red descended mist is more like 15 coats of red gloss over my eyes.....I am fucking furious.

Livid…..

Murderous…..

Boiling....

Raging….

The decision was scandalous because Drogba was going for a 50-50 ball with the goalkeeper. Drogba got the ball first but he and the goalkeeper collided each collapsing under the combined momentum of their efforts to get the ball. Cue Anders Frisk Prick, running over to brandish a second yellow card at Drogba, despite the first one being dished out for another innocuous challenge. I’m sure the fact that opposing coach Frank “Grolly Gobber” Rijkaard paid the ref a little “hospitality” visit at half time had nothing to do with it. He’s a striker for fucks sake – it’s his job to challenge for the ball. In the English premiership both challenges would have been dealt with by a ticking off from the ref AT MOST! But in the world of Euro-Ballet-Pansy-Gay-Amateur Dramatics football the goalkeeper goes down in a similar vein to Willem Dafoe in Platoon. Blimey the only thing missing was Barbers Adagio for Strings being played over the PA in The Nou Camp stadium. The balance of the game was changed after that, and despite leading 1-0, we were battered by them as they took full advantage of the numerical imbalance of 11 versus 10. Inevitably they equalized, and just as inevitably they scored to lead 2-1 and for 25 minutes they rained in attack after attack. It’s a credit to The Mighty Blues that we kept the score at 2-1. And in the cold light of day it’s a good result, because we have the away goal, and a return leg at Stamford bridge in which a 1-0 win will see us through. But the sting is that the magnificent Drogba will be suspended for that game, and we have no-one left who can score goals. It’s going to be tough, but if Frisk is the referee for the return game then I would suggest he gets a police escort in and out of the UK, let alone Stanford Bridge. Cunt is not a word I use often, but in this case it’s the ONLY word that can be used to describe him

Oh, and one last thing. Didier Drogba was very upset at the decision, understandably and for those who don’t know – he’s black. As he left the pitch he was subject to the usual Spanish Fuckwit Racist Bigot Shitnecks monkey chants. This despite the fact that 3 or 4 Barcelona players are black. So they’re fucking thick as well.

And what have UEFA said about this………..yeah….. Fuck All. So they’re cunts as well.

Spain has a long way to go to reach the level of civilisation that we enjoy. I am not saying we don’t have racists. But I can’t recall ever having heard a racist comment at Chelsea for many many years.

Not happy. And not apologising to anybody for this rant. Its cathartic.

Later, GrocerJack.

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.