Shafted again......

So, I know I said I just wanted to keep my head down at work and not attract any attention. That way I could bumble through the next 12 years until I'm 55 and with any luck The Company would then decide I was surplus to requirements and let me have early retirement. Of course , my hypocrisy where work is concerned has been well documented on this site (the future of which I am considering simply because my anonymity has been lost and therefore my freedom to write and say what I really want has been compromised) as I veer between Corporate Arse-licker and covert rebel.

An identity crisis I think its called. But, in my case it seems mixed in with a mid-life crisis. Who am I then? The rebel who doesn't give a shit or the arse-licker who secretly wants to get on and "develop" his career? The blog writer who wonders why his hit rate is not what it was, or the blog writer who doesn't care about "ratings" and writes in order to preserve his sanity in a dull and corporate, soundbite, homogenised, risk averse world of work?

Yesterday, the Mysterious M, a man I have grown to like,respect and admire announced he is leaving. Belive me, I never thought I'd work for someone who could make me like, respect and admire them again. The Mysterious M has been promoted to a level 3 role in another part of the Company. So, all the good work I have done is now in the "objective" hands of New Manager, the Bespectacled Guru, and the reason possibly why my work related contentment level has increased is leaving. I feel betrayed, as if The Mysterious M has been disloyal in some way.

And I wasn't even considered. 3 years of Operational shite working under pressure, taking the kickings and the brickbats, delivering exactly what I was asked to against all the odds, rewarded with a fucking planning job which stretched me for....ooooh ....a week back in November perhaps, and further rewarded by that cunt The Sandman with a wave of his hand and "Jack has potential and experience, but I need someone to hit the ground running in this role" bullshit brush off. The rebel wouldn't care, but the other half just thinks What Have I Done That Is So Wrong?

Is it a sulk? You're damn fucking right it is. A big fucking sulk. My fucking sulk. A sulk caused by a simple change at work that has me considering just about every aspect of my life. Christ, is this what happens as you get older? Is it the subconscious realisation that as I get older I have less time to make my mark? Has this simple act of apparently beoing overlooked just stirred those feelings of mortality and lack of fulfillment?

I always recall the lines to The Who's song "Won't Get Fooled Again" ..."Meet the New Boss, Same as the Old Boss" a line designed to hit out at how things never change for the better, but in my case all I can hope for is The Bespectacled Guru is the same as the The Mysterious M, but I'm not going to hold my breath. Today is a bad day.

And so I will consider if Grocerjack should resign the commission on this blog and restart everything with the vengeance and frustration on a completely anonymous site. Or perhaps Grocerjack is the good side of my increasingly Jekyll and Hyde character. I may use this site to comment wryly on things, whilst venting the darker stuff elsewhere.

Time to think.

PS - Manchester Utd will tonight form a guard of honour for my beloved Chelsea when we walk out onto their pitch as newly crowned Champions tonight. Bloody Hell, thats the most magnanimous sporting act I've known in football for some time. Hats off to Sir Alex Ferguson then. You've just gone up a few notches in my estimation.

Later, who knows when, Grocerjack

Points of View

It wasn't a goal

We need a striker - Kezman should be selling kebabs at Chelsea not playing for them

Milan will beat Liverpool in the final

Liverpool haven't won anything this season yet - so stop crowing until you do you scouse gobshites

We haven't "bought" the premiership - we've spent the equivalent amount of money as Manure and Airline FC's just in a shorter period of time

Do I care where Abramovich got his wealth? Do I fuck! Are you telling me the owners of the other clubs didn't "exploit" people in some way to get their riches?

Tradition and history count for fuck all - just because your past is glorious does not give you the right to a glorious future, nor do you have any divine right to win trophies

Mourinho is arrogant - nothing wrong with that as long as you're right - and he is most of the time

Everyone else is just fucking jealous

The Tories will lose the election

Michael Howard DOES have "something of the night" about him

Labour will win with a reduced majority (around 50)

Robert Kilroy-Silk - why, just fucking why?

Because a labour vote is lost where I live I will vote for Lib Dem - plus she's a babe which is a bonus (yes, I know its shallow but thats what comes of being a member of the GoGB)

I will update the rules of the GoGB shortly

WMD or no WMD the war was justified. Saddam is a cunt and needed to be removed. Otherwise we have learnt nothing from the Holocaust or WWII

Hasn't America been quiet about our election - or is it that they just don't know we exist?

Give Question Time to Paxman - Dimbleby is too slow and polite.

If several thousand IBM employees lose their jobs as looks likely - will the government set up a similar aid package as they gave to MG Rover (what do you think?)

Sky News - is it me or could this be called The Sun TV?

ITV Sport - just fuck off and leave sport to those who genuinely can cover it.

Later, GrocerJack

The Review – Doctor Who episode 6 - “Dalek”

Well, I know I’ve been harping on about this for a few weeks now, but the truth is that if you’ve missed this series in favour of anything other than fantastic sex, bloody good booze up or because your TV has packed up then you’re a twat. If you’re bored by Doctor Who (or at least by my comments on it) then fuck off and read another blog.

(Jack waits while the fools who are bored go and read something less/more interesting)

This weekend saw the 6^th episode in the continually high quality, well written return of this iconic TV series. Like a lot of people I am often dubious about the merits of re-vamping old TV series, but in this case the scope for imaginative and compelling storylines was always massive. I described the series as iconic, and within the series there are probably a handful of iconic villains – the Cybermen, the Ice Warriors, the Silurians and The Master spring to mind, but none are as iconic or as popular as The Daleks. Ever since their first airing back in the days of the first Doctor (?) played by the now deceased William Hartnell these metal machines of death and hatred have always been a welcome part of each series, and in some cases have positively been the saviours of the series in terms of ratings.

So, on Saturday we had a single episode simply titled “Dalek”. The premise of the story was that the Doctor’s TARDIS is pulled off track by a distress signal into a former nuclear bunker in Utah. They are 53 levels below the surface allegedly, lending credence to growing view that the TARDIS is an organic and distinctly maverick “time horse” that goes where it wants. Sometimes the Doctor is the rider, and sometimes he merely hangs onto the reigns as it bolts off to wherever it fancies. Anyway, the bunker is a museum of alien artefacts (including the arm of a Slitheen from Episodes 4 and 5, and the head of a Cyberman) bought and displayed by Henry Van Statten, a megalomaniac entrepreneur who owns the internet, and uses his endless wealth to determine who is President and to invent cures for the common cold and withhold it. He has, of course, one living specimen, and this turns out to be a Dalek. The Dalek has fallen from the last great Time War and is being tortured by drills etc in order to please its “owner” by talking.

The first scene with the Doctor was chilling and superb, with the Dalek becoming aware of its mortal enemy in the same (locked) room. The Doctor is patently petrified by his nemesis and tries to get out of the room, but the Dalek is “impotent”, its weapon does not work because of its depleted state of life. Some cracking acting from Eccleston ensues with superb dialogue between the mutual enemies, joy from the Doctor when he realises the Dalek’s impotence followed by his taunting of the captive hate machine of stories of how he destroyed the Dalek Empire, with his own race, presumably for what he believed would be the greater good. He then tries to kill this last Dalek, but is pulled from the room by Van Stattens henchmen as he tries to preserve his exhibit. I will not relate the whole story suffice to say the Dalek escapes thanks to Rose, rejuvenates courtesy of the US National Grid, downloads the whole internet, and then proceeds to negotiate stairs and kill 200 people with stunning ease before undergoing an identity crisis and questions it existence.

The Dalek upgrade from the BBC is wonderful, a real mean chunky beast with armour impervious to any human weaponry, computing power vaster than the sum of anything on Earth combined and seperate swivelling head and torso, giving it a mini-tank like action. What they have also added is its ability to logically reason and plan the most effective death policy with no hysteria or screaming its intentions. This Dalek no longer resorts to just hysterical hate filled screaming, this Dalek plans and thinks. It takes its time. Its chilling cry of “Exterminate” is still there, but the scene where it is taunted about its lack of stair climbing ability becomes chilling when it swivels its eye and ponders for a second, before simply stating “Elevate”. The view then switched to the Dalek eye view used throughout the episode (very nice touch) as it slowly ascends the staircase in pursuit of its prey. Other nice touches were the new deadly use of the sucker to kill someone by shrinking their head, and the use of it to calculate a combination code to break an electronic lock in 2 seconds.

But the story itself was made by the superb script, and the excellent dialogue between the Dalek and the Doctor, between the Dalek and Rose, and a fantastic moment of realisation by the Doctor on his feelings for Rose, highlighted to him ironically by The Dalek. At one point the Dalek actually says to the Doctor “You would make a good Dalek” and the horror of this truth etched on the Doctors face was superbly portrayed by Eccleston, an actor who in this one episode bought more gravitas to the Doctor than any predecessor. Another scene where Rose believes she is about to die, but absolves the Doctor was both powerful and emotional. Billie Piper is an actress with a very big future in my view. The story had an ending which actually made you feel sad for the Dalek as it realised its lonely existence, and its changing feelings on its existence as it mutated from Roses DNA. This was in any context a very dark episode, but worthy of high praise indeed from being both well written and well acted, to superbly filmed in very convincing surroundings.

If you missed it then you missed a genuine TV treat. Once again the BBC have justified every penny of the licence fee by producing good drama that can be genuinely watched by the family, although no doubt some younger children would have been massively frightened by the Dalek. Cue the complaints form the moronic bleeding heart, sandal wearing, leaflet distributing shitneck parents with fuck all better to do than complain about the potential long term psychological damage to little James and Arabella OakTreeLemonGrass.

Wankers.

Marks out of Ten though for this episode, the Beeb and everyone involved?

Ten!

Later, GrocerJack

The Pro's and Cons of ........Car Sharing

Pro's -

It saves you money
It saves wear and tear on the car
It saves you parking
It saves the environment
It saves you from stress because CarSharer can take the flak on alternate days
You can catch up on sleep - because you can kip when CarSharer drives
You can text on your mobile when CarSharer drives
You can play games on your mobile
You can daydream on the way to work
You can plan your day
You can switch off
You can letch at the young women in other cars or walking down the road without fear of crashing your car

Cons

It makes you late - because CarSharer is "not a morning person" and is always late
You do not control the vehicle
You cannot deliberately drive through puddles fast
You cannot choose the music
You have to listen to his "ambient " shite bollocks wank crap music played at almost zero volume
You cannot listen to 5Live - you have to listen to PowerFM aka FunkDanceHiphopBoyBandGirlBandManufacturedTossAren't we zanyAren't we coolAren't we YOUNGFM - at almost zero volume
You cannot control the volume
You cannot leave on time
You cannot leave early
You have to leave early
You have to leave late
You cannot fart
You cannot pick your nose
You cannot letch out loud because he is either a.) gay...b.) mummys boy or c.) PC
You can't eat a whole bag of wine gums to yourself

I'll stick with it though because I'm a fucking tightwad.

And I'm skint

Later, SharerJack

10 days of bedlam......

As I have stated before, this period of the year is badly planned on my part. Especially in light of my new found role at work as a planner. In the space of 10 days I have

GMD's birthday - now completed with no major issues but severe money spent

Baby's birthday - now completed, large amount of money spent, party over for kids and adults (both expensive), damage limitation to bank account now in progress. Of course she really is no longer a Baby. She is now in double figures, a proud achievement for her, a momeny of fleeting sadness for me as she inches inexorably towards another phase of her life when wonderment stops and cynicism starts.

Wedding Anniversary - today! We are going for a meal at lunchtime in the pub, so it'll cost around £40. We have mutually agreed that in the best interests of our bank account and our combined desire not to have bailiffs visiting us we will forego cards, flowers and prezzies. This is especially relevant being as her birthday flowers are still fresh, and the fact that her prezzies are still new this makes even more sense, and the fact that cards are just another mechanism for grabbing money from pockets to keep card companies cash flow running seems eminently. Plus I wrote Happy Anniversary on her birthday card this morning and re-presented it makes things OK. Surely?

Teenagers birthday - this is next week, the money has been spent on prezzies, plus a day out for her and her friends (snotty-arse boys included) at Thorpe Park. She becomes a real Teenager oon this date, with even more attitude, more brainless mind wandering, more crap music and more statements such as "I didn't know" , "I didn't hear you" , "Why are you so mean?" "Leave me alone (accompanied by slamming of bedroom door)" , " Can I have some money?" , "Can I have more money?" "Dad, can you fix this?" and of course the two stalwarts of her conversation ...."So what" and "Whatever". Oh deep joy.

This then sees an end to a part of the year when barely recovered from Christmas, along comes a load of other genuine events, to sit alongside manufactured ones such as Easter, Valentines Day and Mothers Day, as well as a couple of Bank Holidays all designed to part me, personally, from my hard earned cash.

I am a cash cow, nothing more, nothing less. A device for bringing in money for others to spend with barely any for me. If I want something new, we can't afford it. If they want something new then they only have 4 months after Christmas to wait, although they rarely do. In fact most times they go out to the shops, they come back with more clothes, more make-up, more accessories and unbelievably....more fucking shoes. What is it with women and shoes? What is the fascination with footwear. I have 2 pairs of shoes, one pair for work, one pair for the pub....ohh and a pair for golf. You can count my footwear in pairs on one hand. You can't count the amount they have each on two hands and two feet!

And I'm supposed to keep smiling?

Later, SkintJack

An oddly warm welcome back......

"You are The Doctor - You will be exterminated.......nothing can prevent the Daleks from victory" ....words that put the fear of God into every Who fan as a kid .Yes, a very warm welcome back this week to the nemesis of Doctor Who and 40-something fans of the series who remember these evil fuckers the first time round. One of the things with nostalgia is the warm feeling you get from the things that both frightened and fascinated you as a kid. I look back at these preposterous pepperpots and think how scary they were, with that electronic but brilliantly cold and emotionless voice barking orders, making statements of pure logic and yet built in hate (they were designed to use logic by Davros thier creator, but in some way or another it is projected as the emotion of hatred) or screeching their war cry of "Exterminate". Yup, as a kid you didn't worry about the obvious difficulty they would have with stairs, after all they did not become an evil universal force of death and domination without overcoming uneven terrains, nor did you worry about the most obvious disablement in throwing a blanket or jumper over the heads. After all that would be too easy. You didn't question this because they were so fearsome and merciless, and all they wanted to do was conquer and kill.

In the old Doctor Who series too often they were done away with a bit too easily by blankets, or conventional human weaponry, but apparently the updated one as pictured above is a meaner, chunkier version with none of those weaknesses. Even more so it's a killing machine with no compassion or mercy. Great, I can't wait for this. This episode only contains a single, not yet updated, but undoubtedly pissed off Dalek being held captive by a billionaire artefacts collector in Utah. But this will link to the denouement of this excellent return series, called Parting of the Ways (in 2 parts, so expect a cliffhanger) which sees an all out battle with the Daleks, which according to the series producer, the seemingly imperious and increasingly TV god-like Russell T Davies, can "fly like bastards". More congrats to the BBC as well for the Doctor Who web site, where a veritable smorgasbord of videos, clips, pictures and additional stuff can be found. Check it out - its quality and shows they really have put some fantastic effort into reproducing this fabulous series for the 21st century..

Later, getting the sofa ready to be hidden behind, DavrosJack

More Election Bollocks.........

Have I seen a single fucking knobber candidate yet? Has the Tory candidate been anywhere near my house yet so I could have the chance of tearing into him over the fucking Council Tax, which replaced their other wank-shite brainchild the Poll Tax? Or question them on what has changed their views on the NHS since the days of Thatcher/Major cash starvation and internal markets forcing cheap solutions into our medical care, pushing quantity over quality as nurses and doctors strived to do their jobs in a "best value/lowest cost" culture?

Not a fucking sign, why is that?

Here's why, because the local right wing Tory is a shoe-in for this area of the country, voted for en-masse by the blue rinse and grey vote. Any other vote is wasted as no other party will get close, not even the second placed Lib Dems, who finished 8,000 votes behind. They would need a swing of around 30% - which lets face it just isn't going to happen. He'll be voted in by most of the people in my local, who kindly refer to me as Red Ken. I don't think they like the fact that I stand up for my social conscience, and I don't avoid paying taxes. Still, it always leads to a lively debate with them, which is more than I can get from my local MP. You may have noticed I cannot bring myself to mention his name.

But on the other hand, have I seen my Labour Candidate? Not a hope - in fact the job I had finding her on the internet took several Google searches. The Labour Party's own web site only has her listed after drilling down several levels. Why this cloak of invisibility so powerful even The Romulans would envy it? I'll tell you why...because there is no hope, and therefore no point in wasting time, money, breath and effort in trying to turn a lost cause round. They finished 14,000 votes behind the Blue mob last time. I'm not beven going to try and work that swing out. I am Labour at heart, but more old labour (the socialist ilk) than New Labour I guess, being as New Labour is actually Old Tory, and Current Tory appears to be just slightly left of National Front, happily toting secretly racist and homophobic views (which are routinely discussed in hushed tones in Tory clubs up and down the country) , but they just don't seem to have the balls of the old days. I want my candidate on the streets every day, I want them on the news, I want them to be a pain in the arse because thats the way to increase support, not by sitting back resigned to defeat and relying on your hardcore support.

The Lib Dems are no better in visibility, and to date no single yellow person has visited this road, let alone village. The Lib Dem candidate has the best chance of causing an upset, because demographically we are probably close to Winchester. Remember what happened there? After two recounts the result was declared invalid because of the Tory whining in 1997. A by-election was called for November of that year convincingly confirmed Mark Oaten in the seat with a majority of 21,556. You see the electorate was so pissed off with the Tories who whined that after several recounts in 1997, each confirming Oaten the Lib Dem as the winner, by only 2 votes, that the result should be declared "too close to call" the voters went right back out and dumped the Tory candidate on their arse. It could, however unlikely happen here. So why no sign of the rather attractive Lib Dem candidate Ruth Bright?

At the very least she's good looking enough to attract the GoGB vote (see other blog) for those of us disillusioned with the politics, but sad and shallow enough to be bought by a good looking woman.

One other side effect of the election is the sudden growth in billboards, with people proudly declaring their allegiances, especially the Tory voting farmers, happily using their fields to promote their local candidate. Why is this? Why the need to stick a billboard in your garden (or field) come to think of it. Do these people really think that as I drive down the road I might be subject to the revelation that I want to vote for a name on a bit of wood? Just a name, with no picture, no details of how many sittings they attended if they are the incumbent MP , no details of personal views of whether they just blindly follow the party line,. Am I really lilley to think. "........blimey, theres the answer to my political dilemmas... a name on a billboard". And why just do it for the elction. Why not use similar boards to inform the passing world of who they are going to vote for in Pop Idol, or who they want to win I'm A Celebrity. Perhaps we might be influenced in who should win Strictly Come Dancing, or in what the all time best ever album was (OK Computer by Radiohead as it happens)

In fact, this has given me an idea. Why not hold a reality show for this election. Lock Blair, Howard, Kennedy et al in a house for 3 weeks, set them psychological tasks to do from which we can determine their real views on social justice, employment, health and immigration etc. Then set them some "fun" tasks so we can see their sense of humour and their ability to interact. Throw in some distractions like.....some asylum seekers for a few nights. Get them to cook and clean for them, then remove them and replace them with some gay men and lesbian women (real ones.....not lipstick ones....kwikfit fitter outfits and all) and gauge their reactions. Make them all compete in a game of Truth or Dare...then we'll find out how they really feel. Then let them mix with some terminally ill people, a few disadvantaged children and disenfanchised teenagers. Then cap it off with some teachers and health service staff. All spiced up with games for them to play. Then all that is needed is a vote in which the remaining leader becomes PM, and the proportion of votes from each region decides the number of MP's each party gets. Would it be any worse than the circus we have now?

Later, GrocerJack

Who the fuck do they think they are?

Read this article that was published today in The Guardian. It's not too long so take a few minutes and read it. Then tell me who the fuck these Muslim wankers think they are. George Galloway is a prick I agree, but his guilt in my view is his misguided ability to see the good in everyone, including fanatical and fundamental (aka mental) Islamists. As mad and deluded as Gorgeous George is he belives in what he is saying, and he is committed to peace by whatever means. To himself he is honest. He doesn't deserve threats and abuse along these lines from a bunch of fucking lunatics denouncing OUR democratic process. It may be flawed (representational democracy without PR is inherently flawed) but its OURS and you either abide by it or fuck off. I don't agree with the BNP, but under our laws they are a legitmate party, but these Muslims are nothing but a crackpot lobby group with the agenda of conmverting the UK to an Islamic ruled country and all that entails....you know rule by fear, torture and oppression, with some mysogynism, racism and corruption thrown in as well. All I can say is that if the police are willing to arrest that BNP facist cunt Nick Griffin for "racist language" or whatever then why the fuck are these people still walking free? Do you really think that if I threatened to kill someone, along with my mates, in public I'd be ignored by the police? Of course not. I'd be banged up quicker than than Dirty Den can get his dick out on a webcam.

Of course this taints even further the tolerant and even handed muslims that form the majority of their presence within the community. But as can be seen in the widespread condemnation of the BNP by the majority of right minded ordinary people, which acts as a rejection of BNP principles and methods, then why doesn't the majority Muslim community denounce publicly their lunatic fringe as well?

Later, GrocerJack

Blowing my Trumpet

Another article published on my favourite Chelsea blog - and yes I am blowing my trumpet because I am really quite please with myself and the article. You'll find it here at Chelsea Blog, headlined "Jogging to the Line".

Later, GrocerJack

The Review........A very warm welcome back.....Doctor Who


I felt I had to comment at some point on the new series of Doctor Who. Rather than jump on the immediate euphoria surrounding both it's return and the apparent ratings success of episode 1 (although as we all know, the BBC doesn't chase ratings....yeah right!) I thought it best to wait until a few episodes had passed by in order to give a balanced judgment on it. So here it is.......abso-fucking-lutely su-fucking-perb. Marvellous. Fan-bastard-tastic.

There can be little doubt that the Doctor Who series suffered in the 80's as technology for special effects became prevalent, but only affordable by mega-buck Hollywood studios and their TV arms like Paramount. Thus the yanks produced Star Trek: Next Generation and ensured that good scripts and casting alongside the new CGI technology combined to make it more successful than the original Bill Shatner series. (don't get me started on the rather inferior follow ups though). During this time, we in the UK were subjected to piss poor writing alongside the series becoming a novelty show for jobbing actors to try and kick start careers by putting themselves in the shop window. The production and writing of the series had been commandeered by the "flowery shirt" brigade of yuppie wannabees just trying to get a foothold in the cut throat world of TV. The BBC hierarchy saw through this and did the decent thing by axing the show before it became a complete laughing stock. In essence the decline started after the last good Doctor, Peter Davison in his fifth regeneration left just as the idiots took charge. The following two actors, Colin Baker and Sylvester McCoy never really stood a chance and ended up being blamed for much of the series problems, unfairly in my view as such was the degree of the sows ear, no-one could have made the silk purse from what was going on. Another factor of course, was that the good old British public had been gorging on special effects movies and TV from the States, and had started to rebel against the notion that we were happy to accept crap, as long as it was our crap.

Then BBC Wales decided that with the right budget, the right scriptwriters and the right producer (Russell T. Davies take a fucking huge bow for capturing this perfectly) , plus a new Doctor, the series might just be right for a reprise. They chose Chris Eccleston, a northern edgy actor, reknowned for taking on difficult parts. His pedigree included the fantastic Shallow Grave, the brilliant Our Friends in the North and Second Coming. He was the original young boss for Cracker, and his death scenes in that series were amongst the most powerful I can recall in modern TV. Alongside him they needed to cast an assistant - someone who could ask the questions in order for The Doctor to provide answers to help the narrative along. It helps us, the viewers, to understand the story better without asking awkward questions or spotting continuity failures you see. They rather bravely cast one time pop star, estranged wife of Chris Evans and budding actress Billie Piper in the role of Rose, and an inspired move it seems to have been as well.

I enjoyed the first episode, called simply Rose an introduction to Eccleston as The Doctor, and Piper as his feisty very modern assistant Rose. It also centred around the return of the Autons, controlled by the Nestine Consciousness, a nice homage to an earlier adventure featuring the late Jon Pertwee as the Third Doctor. If I had a criticism it was that the single episode format gave the impression that the whole thing was a bit rushed, however, the following weeks adventure The End of the World, set in the year 5billion a.d was perfect for this format, as was the the third episode The Unquiet Dead (brilliantly written by Mark Gatiss from The League of Gentlemen) . In fact this episode was so scary that Baby refused to watch it, and even Teenager had a few skin-jumping moments. I commented to GMD at the time that there must be kids all over the country running away from the TV during this episode, which featured corpses returning to life. In this weeks episode Aliens of London I thought a wobble had occurred when the "alien" was exposed as a running pig. A return to the bad old days perhaps? But no, the script brilliantly rescued this notion by revealing that the real aliens had surgically altered the pig in order to deflect attention away from their own undoubtedly evil intentions. It also saw the single episode format moved away in favour of a dual episode adventure, leading brilliantly to one of Doctor Who's former trademarks...the cliffhanger. All of these have also done one thing apparently.....scared young children. Apparently the third episode gleaned over a 100 complaints from apparently thick and stupid parents about the fact it was too scary - of course it was you fucking morons! It always used to be, and so may it continue. Has anyone forgotten that most kids secretly enjoy being scared? These parents should have their children removed into care by virtue of being too fucking stupid to be parents in my view.....the scared kid factor was always another trademark feature of the old Doctor Who series. It reminded me of my Dad, who used to revel in laughing at my discomfort, gently ribbing me for being a cissy, whilst knowing it guaranteed him a cuddle with his first-born. That's how deep the Doctor Who sting of nostalgia can go.

Eccleston and Piper are superb in their parts, with Eccleston playing the Doctor as partially sarcastic, wary, cynical, concerned, lonely and childishly fun individual with a penchant for the odd sulk. With a northern accent. Quite human in fact. The writers have also introduced a new slant in exposing the fact that The Doctor is now the only remaining Time Lord (as far as he knows) due to a devastating war his planet fought and lost - an allegorical comment on our small planet perhaps - with more detail to be unveiled surely later. Billie Piper as Rose Tyler is a departure from the screaming assistants of the past, and comes over as a typical young woman in today's society, both inquisitive and rather disbelieving until something happens and then accepting the unreality of it all and dealing with whatever imminent danger lurks nearby. She shows a talent for capturing the human emotions of being excited at this new life, but also the emotional wrench of being away from her family and friends in her previously hum-drum existence. I think my own Teenager would make a good future assistant if attitude was the only criteria.

The BBC budget shows the right level at last for delivering good effects without wobbly sets, and the transformation of the Tardis internally into a part mechanical/part organic machine is frankly superb, even the slight jazzing up of the dematerialisng noise with its whale like screams adds to the mystique of the machine. Apparently the producers wanted this effect of part machine, part organism and to show the Tardis as a machine usually manned by several people in order to be "flown" properly. This goes some way in explaining why it's also a bit crap and continually landing the Doctor in dangerous situations, or never quite near to the time and place he thought he'd programmed into it. He might think he controls it, but the Tardis may think otherwise.... a real nice touch from the current series owners and an idea that Hollywood and the US TV companies would surely die for. All of this whilst retaining the Police Box exterior due to the broken chameleon circuit, again outlining it's underlying occasional crapness.

It's a shame that Eccleston only signed for one series and has already decided not to continue, but perhaps that's all that was needed, a brilliant kick start with a far more street wise and in some ways mysterious Doctor. I am sure that another cohort of the producer, David Tennant will make a very good Doctor as well, fresh from his excellent portrayal of Casanova This combined with good stories, respect for the previous tradition and history of the series, with contemporary touches of humour and emotion and an ability to appeal across generations surely means a rosy future for this series. Of course the Chav community will religiously tune to Wank and Prick on Saturday evenings for the usual mix of crap and shite lowest common denominator TV which will dent the Beeb's ratings for Doctor Who, but ultimately the ratings war doesn't count according to the Beebs charter, and they are guaranteed to make a shit load of money from DVD sales and syndication.

So top marks and congratulations to the BBC and everyone involved in this reprisal - a very good job, very well done and executed brilliantly.

Later, Grocerjack

Election Bollocks...........

Apparently, as if no-one had noticed, we’re going to have a general election on May 5^th. Now back in 1997 this was something that genuinely excited me. After god knows how may years of being governed by the Tories I watched, like a lot of people, helplessly as they single handedly ripped the UK manufacturing industry to bits, destroyed the mining industry despite it being a fuel we could use for over 300 more years and embroil us in a preventable war in the Falklands subsequently claiming the glory for having kicked Argentina’s arse big time. In 1997, the Labour party after many years in the wilderness primarily due to their own in-fighting and radical left wing factions seemed to have finally pitched themselves firmly in the centre of UK politics, a place that frankly captures most of the UK populace. In fact, they had moved themselves into a position of being slightly left wing on some points (public service spending), and slightly right wing on others (free market enterprise). This policy was so successful the Tories were effectively forced even further to the right, making them appear rather extreme for a lot of people, and nothing if not a very old fashioned party that seemed only to encapsulate the views of the blue-rinse, poodle under the arm, Mrs Slocombe/Captain Peacock brigade. Fine for those who wanted Britain to remain in the 1920’s – a society where working people doffed their caps to the upper classes in deference at their superior education and breeding, but an anathema in a disillusioned Britain, where youngsters were disillusioned and disrespectful of the natural order of things. A fresh faced youthful leader of the Labour Party in the form of Tony Blair had changed the face of politics and managed a rare feat, capturing the votes of “middle Britain”, the disillusioned young vote, and former Tories who had discovered they had a social conscience after all. Aligned with the fact that the Tories had stuck with John Major, an incredibly dull and non-inspirational man masking behind a façade of decency but whose cabinet had been whittled down bit by bit by lies and deceit, and in one case a death caused by extreme sexual deviance the majority in Parliament was unheard of, especially for a Labour government. Bunch of fucking hypocrites.

But things have changed in 8 years. We’ve had yet another preventable war, the economy is good but pensions are in decline, the health service is debatable, tax is either higher or lower depending on the stats you read, the roads are undoubtedly in worse condition and more crowed, public transport is still far from perfect, crime is either up or down depending on your choice of newspaper and its political agenda, and education is crap or good and so on and so on. All of which means that the Tories have a real chance of getting into power....god help us. Let’s deal briefly with some of these issues then……

The NHS is always a big feature of any election and usually there is some scandal of some poor soul who’s had to wait an eternity for an operation that features on one side or the other to score sympathy points. My own view is that the NHS is a huge money pit that can never be perfect and that as it stands it does a bloody good job a lot better under labour than it ever did under the unbelievable stupid “internal market” system deployed by Thatcher and successor. I don’t think many NHS staff who worked under the Tory regime would complain that it’s worse today. It MAY not be perfect but it is a lot better funded and run now than back then in the horror days of patients in corridors and underpaid/undervalued staff. Not that they are paid enough these days, but at least this government has tried to close the gap. It still happens of course because patient volume forecasts can be wrong, but very few people complain about the service they receive these days. And I’m of the belief that no matter how much money is thrown at the NHS, it will never be enough.

Education is better now than under the Tories without question. Schools are funded better; teachers pay has not been as neglected. League tables are controversial (as they are with hospitals) but in this performance obsessed society they do provide a measure of public accountability to us, the funding taxpayers. Surely it is good to be able to identify the poor performers? Won’t that allow us to target them for improvement, to the benefit of the pupils (ditto patients in hospitals)? Let’s also not forget that it was the Tories who sold off the school playing fields to developers and deprived them and the local communities of much needed sports ands play areas, to the detriment of today’s kids and future sports people.

Transport is another hot issue. The roads are deteriorating unquestionably. I, as a driver, doing around 15-20,000 miles per year have noticed that. Fuel costs are rising, and the tax burden has increased. There is no easy solution to road usage, but perhaps putting road tax on fuel thus ensuring everyone pays might help. What about the novel idea of spending all of this tax on our transport infrastructure instead of the measly 15% figure being used currently? Trains are still poor and overpriced, and buses…well if you can work out who runs them and when they’re due, and where they go then you’re a fucking genius in my view. However, trains are improving, both in rolling stock and investment in rail infrastructure. It is a slow job, but the damage inflicted on the old British Rail by the Tories inflexibility and hostility to the state run behemoth, coupled with a complex and overblown privatisation which succeeded only in lining pockets of a few institutional investors meant this was a big ship to try and turn round. But turning round it is with safety now being prioritised by Network Rail and the SRA, and less onus being put on profit and more on service. And after all the years of neglect and the refusal of the Tories under Thatch to allow the nationalised company to lease stock and borrow money from banks like any other company (after Thatcher had told them to run themselves like a PLC!) we are finally seeing some decent trains to travel on. The foods still crap and overpriced, but perhaps that’s what we like about it. As for the buses, my own answer is returning them to local corporation ownership, pay the drivers a decent wage, and put conductors back on the buses. That system worked fine for fucking years, why wouldn’t it now?

Crime is another hot potato. Crime is either up or down depending on your agenda and the paper you read. But undoubtedly the rise in petty crime can be attributed to the boredom of kids and teenagers, coupled with a total disrespect for the police, inherited through behavioural influences from friends, parents and relatives. There is no easy answer here but a greater police presence might help as long as it is based on engaging the disenfranchised. We need to provide things for youngsters to do. There should be adult supervised meting places (youth clubs?) like we had, but not of the type that will interfere and nanny them. The one I used to attend had pool, darts, table tennis, music etc. It was place to meet friends, chat up girls, and smoke fags stolen from parents. Not exactly healthy pursuits, but not forced pursuits with moral agendas either. We were treated as young adults, responded as young adults, made mistakes, got into fights, learnt painful lessons in love and war. But we’re here, relatively unscathed, having dabbled in right and wrong and for the most part having chosen right. In my village and the surrounding towns, no such thing exists. Youngsters group into gangs, peer pressure rules and with no occasional adult guidance or moral boundaries, they resort to crime. Drugs are available via unscrupulous adults, or other kids being run like Fagin’s pickpockets, but peddling their nasty product instead. All it takes is for some moral, but not nagging or heavy handed, adult guidance and protection. The police can play their part by engaging the communities they apparently serve, They can join in, run things for the kids (we have a police sponsored Disco for teenagers called SNAP which is very popular and works because it is run with a very deft touch), engage the adults and instead of nicking people for broken indicators on their car and other trivial shit, they can issue “yellow card” type warnings, giving the unintentional criminal a chance to rectify their mistakes. Wouldn’t this help people to help the police, wouldn’t the relationship become collaborative instead of adversarial?

Finally tax. I pay my taxes like any other PAYE person. However, I am fucked off about inheritance tax which now penalises so many more people. I am pissed off that my investment in shares will be taxed through Capital Gains, despite it being my money I risked. I take the risk, the government creams off some of my profit. Unfair! I am also pissed off with the gloating self employed who get good accountants and end up paying a fraction of the tax I pay by associating costs with their “companies” and exploiting every tax loophole available. Any government should review the system to ensure that we all pay our share, whether employed or self employed. The next self employed twat who brags to me about how little they pay in tax (thus cheating me and the country) will likely end up with a fistful of knuckles down the back of their throat and some pickled testicles they used to own in a jar. It isn't big, or fucking clever you wankers. You're essentially fucking everyone who pays tax in the arse! Add to that the heinous burden of Council Tax, very soon to rise in England as properties are “re-valued” without any proportionate change in the bandings and I am a believer in radical change. The revaluing exercise means that local authorities will be able to put everyone’s property up a band or two because as we all know house prices have rocketed in recent years. Next to the airlines, the local authorities are the biggest robbers of all, and this exercise is another example of blatant daylight robbery going. The Lib Dems are the only party brave enough to state that they will change this unfair tax by the introduction of a local income tax, thus relating the tax to the alleged ability to pay. Under this scheme I would pay more, but it would be less painfully removed direct from my salary – you don’t miss what you don’t have. My own view is that local sales tax system as used in the US would be better. This tax is applied to everything you buy, including food. The rate is set either nationally, and then redistributed from central government, or it is set locally by the county council. Everything purchased is then taxed at that rate and every checkout is clearly marked with the rate you will pay and receipts will itemise the product price and the tax contribution. Obviously the Internet purchasing trend throws a small spanner into the works, but perhaps a central rate could be set for just that. Come to think of it…..could income tax be replaced by such a system? That way, if you want an expensive item then presumably you can afford it and will contribute accordingly; paying more tax because you want the dearer item. Fuck me, even the bragging self employed couldn’t avoid that!

Go to this web site called Who Should I Vote For, answer the questions as honestly as possible, and find out who you should vote for. I answered all in my best Champagne Socialist way….and apparently I should vote for the Lib Dems! Strangely enough I may have been tempted that way anyway, because I Live in a Tory stranglehold, where any Labour vote is wasted until we get a Proportional Representation system in place……something I won’t see in my life I think.

Later, GrocerJack

The Plan (Update)......

So how is The Plan going then? Remember a few weeks ago I finally succumbed to the Plan in order to sort a few things out and now post-holiday I have started in earnest.

Errrr.....well sort of.....

My golf is the first part of the plan - and frankly it's never been worse. My grip was changed, my posture was altered and my set up routine was....well introduced because I never actually had one. The result? The worst single round of golf I've played in3 years since I scored 5 sad points in a stableford competition for the local football club. I even asked The King to stop scoring my card halfway round it was so bad. I know that it takes time for things to change, and to be fair the new stuff works wonderfully on the range......but you don't fucking play on the range, you play on the course, in front of others, some you know and some you don't. Thats when the new stuff fails and makes you look like a complete novice fuckwit arsehole who might as well be trying to hit the ball with a fucking pitchfork as a golf club. I'll keep trying and have a "friendly" game on Sunday, but if my clubs suddenly appear on eBay ...don't be surprised.

My weight was the second part of the plan. To help this I have participated in the South Beach Diet. Conjures up all sorts of images doesn't it....exotic fruits, long cool drinks, barbeque food......you get my drift. How wrong you'd be. As far as I can fathom its a version of Atkins diet, but with less food. You can have cabbage, aubergines (yuck, yuck and fucking yuck!), beans, lettuce, celery...but no carrots, spuds, rice, pasta, or any fruit of any kind! And whats more....no alcohol, so my weekly pub visit last Friday was......cheap. 2 glasses of fizzy mineral water for £2.80. I was pissing like a horse, but with none of the lovely warm feeling of getting ever so slightly rat-arsed. And how fucking hard is it to stand in a pub of skulled people whilst you remain sober? They laugh at everything, talk bollocks and all you can do is stand there and smile politely. Sensible comments cut no ice. It was a struggle. Actually it was almost a form of torture. Anyway....have I lost weight? Yes, how much though will remain a secret for now. Apparently in a week I'll be in phase 2, which allows some fruit, and some alcohol.........whoopy fucking doo!

My teeth were next.....they are crooked. There is no getting around it, they are mot aligned properly, they are wearing down. They affect my confidence. So, I have decided to under two years of straightening work which may involve having some ex-British Rail tracks stapled to my teeth pulling them back into something resembling a normal (thats United States normal of course) alignment. Once completed I will then undergo the dental equivalent of a cosmetic surgery makeover and have veneers applied in order to get even closer to the American gob. Cost....around £3000 for the straightening and £1200 for the veneers. Thats good old British enterprise at work...apparently in the US it would cost around half this for both treatmentys. Thats one hell of a confidence issue though!

The other parts of the Plan are yet to kick in properly - fitness regime has just started with 20 minutes per day on the treadmill that acts as a clothes hanger. So now its a dual purpose treadmill, which means I've gleaned extra value out of it. The French will start in earnest during May in order to get myself back from the foetal level to the schoolboy level that has served me so proudly in previous times and the guitar will start....when I can fond some time in the day for 30 minutes practice daily. That'll be after this time of year has passed - a time of year that is more expensive than Christmas. During April both Teenager and Baby have birthdays, as does GMD, and lodged nicely in amongst this lot is my wedding anniversary.

And I call myself a planner?

Later, grocerJack

A New Film From Hollywood - Later, Grocerjack 

So Farewell then MG Rover…..

So it’s the end of the road for MG Rover to coin a hackneyed old cliché. To be honest the writing has been on the wall since the unions crippled the company, mainly via the Derek Robinson sponsored wildcat strikes in the 70’s. Thatcher was always going to ensure that no more taxpayers money would prop it up, nor would the workers be allowed to hold the government to ransom. In some ways it’s a shame because I never thought I’d see volume car manufacturing from a wholly British company disappear entirely, but it seems this is inevitable. I am a socialist at heart (albeit on the Champagne side) and sympathise with the genuine hard working people there, but the facts remain, the company is entirely privately owned and as such I don’t think the government should get involved. The money they’re putting in is after all taxpayers money, and we effectively have no stake in the company after it was privatised. The consortium that took it over have made quite a few quid from the last few years, with bonus schemes and inflated pensions and they seemed to think they could strike the relevant deals to move the range and technology on. I know they effectively saved it from liquidation after BMW pulled out, but surely most realised that if a company like BMW couldn’t turn it around then barely anyone would be able to. Still, at the very least they gave 10,000 plus employees some employment for a few years, and some hope.

No, the real culprits are back in time, the people who sold it to BMW – a company called BAE. At the time Rover had a strategic relationship with Honda, who basically supplied the engines. The designs were old but Honda were interested in taking the relationship further, but despite the overtures from Honda, BAE decided to sell Rover to BMW. They purchased the whole Group for £800,000,000, then sold Land Rover alone for £1,800,000,000. That is a £1bn increase on its own. £1bn that would be a vital lifeline for Rover today if it still had Land Rover to sell. Don’t forget that MG Rover saw fuck all of any proceeds from the sale of Kand Rover, no that money went staright to BMW shareholder. The Japanese company were outraged and pulled out of the technology arrangement immediately. Far be it from me to accuse BMW of asset stripping, but it’s hard to see what else you could call their involvement – one new model in 5 years is hardly a sign of meaningful investment.

And so a sad day for an honourable marque, destined to go the same way as other great British car names such as Austin, Morris, Triumph and Hillman. I remember the days when Fiats were laughable, SEAT was a novelty car you only saw in Spain, Skoda was the butt of all jokes and everyone laughed long and loud at the thought of Japanese or French cars ruling the Automotive industry. Another sorry tale of Britain not being able to see the job through and maintain a successful manufacturing industry or product. Another one to join names such Norton, BSA Motorbikes and Concorde.

Another failure.

Later , Grocerjack

I'm back after a week in sunny (yes sunny) Scotland. Whilst England was being miserably doused in rain, we never saw a bloody drop all week, and in fact on Wednesday through till leaving on Saturday everyday was glorious. The above picture was taken on Thursday morning at about 9:30 in the morning. My digital camera is new and tiny, but with 5 million pixels and I haven't worked out quite how manually set things to take best advantage of various lighting conditions. My old digital camera (A Casio EV3000) might have been bulky but it was bloody efficient and was more like a proper 35mm jobbie. I haven't chucked it away beause it might be useful if I ever decide to do more than just take "snaps". Anyway, the shot is on the B852 just on the south side of Loch Ness and is a view along the Loch. As you can see, we were above the mist resting over the loch and the scene was quite stunning. The Loch itself is spectacular from this peak when you can see the water, but this "flying above the clouds" view even had Teenager almost interested. Yes, she almost dragged herself away from the Portable DVD player in the car to look at this. Overall on Thursday we basked in relative warmth of 18C, Friday at 17C and Saturday it peaked at around 19C near Ben Nevis. We don't go to Scotland for the weather but when it's like this it is simply the most picturesque place on the planet that I have seen. The A87 to Kyle of Lochalsh and then Skye simply has to be driven to be believed. For a moment I could have been driving through the Alps or Pyrenees. Any complaints? Well, the Scots really need to sort out eating places. In England we have glorious country pubs serving good pub grub, whereas in Scotland it appears to be all "tea rooms" and restaurants...or "hotels" which look like pubs until you go in them and find you've walked into the Scottish equivalent of "The Slaughtered Lamb" from the ever marvellous American Werewolf in London. All the bars appear to be public bars, many don't seem kid friendly, and some didn't even appear to be very tourist friendly. Not a big issue, but when compared to other tourist beauty spots such as Devon/Cornwall and Yorkshire it seems to be stuck somewhere back in the 40's when it comes to pubs and food. Anyway, its a small complaint when everything else was so spot on and once again I can't help wondering if this is what I want when I see the alternatives. I suppose its nothing more than the usual PHD (post holiday depression), but when I saw the caravan site in Glen Affric that is now run by my first shift leader at The Company, who jacked it all in after the still birth of his last child, and saw what a hard, but rewarding and comparatively stress and bullshit free life he now leads, it does make me wonder if this is really it for me. More to follow as the gloom of reality lifts. Nice to be back, GrocerJack 

As promised, a nice work of art to act as my test card whilst my transmissions stop for a week or so. To enlarge it just click on the image. This is by JMW Turner, rapidly rivalling Van Gogh as my favourite artist, in a tight race with Monet, Dali, Kandinsky and Whistler (hmm...... a league table of artists maybe....... sounds interesting). Anyway, its called the Fighting Temeraire and is frankly...fabulous.

Its my current wallpaper on both my home and work PC's. Turner captures the colour of an evening beautifully, the sunset colours rich, reflecting on the calm sea and the sad sight of this beautiful fighting sail ship being tugged back into its presumed retirement or early death by the ugly new fangled, smelly polluting steam tug shows the juxtaposition between old and new ages, between effective simplicity and efficient complexity, also highlighting perhaps the futire price to pay for the environment. In this case Turner may even be trying to show how angry the environment is by the fiery rage of colours in the evening sky. Sad and simply breathtaking.

Have a nice week y'all, Later GrocerJack

Have a break Jack, you deserve it………

Ok, cheers, think I will. I’ll bugger off to the Highlands for a week, where my mobile phone won’t work, my Blackberry won’t work, a place with no digital satellite multi-channel TV, a weak FM signal and a dodgy AM signal. A place with no internet access. A place where no-one rushes around, where the weather changes from one extreme to another within 5 minutes, a place of breathtaking scenery, no fast food joints, no “theme” pubs, and farms with no fences that allows the sheep or cattle to walk out in front of you on roads barely wide enough to take a Smart^TM Car, or a motorbike come to think of it. A place where the first thing I see when I wake up is a fog shrouded mountain with a babbling brook at the bottom of it, where Reindeer, Red Squirrels and Capercaillie still run wild.

A place with, as the crap Mercedes ad states…….Space to Think! A nice picture may be posted later as a Test Transmission for the period of absence. I think a Turner will do nicely.

See you all in 9 days.

Later, GrocerJack

The Office - US Style

One of the best sitcoms ever produced, The Office, has been given the US treatment. I had thought this might be a disaster but if you follow the link to The Office (US) version you can judge for yourself (Thanks to Inspector Sands at Casino Avenue).
It has been executive produced by Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant, and perhaps that explains why I actually found this funny, and why I think this is one sitcom that might just survive the Transatlantic journey......although whether our friends over the water find it funny remains to be seen. And the US David Brent? Well, on this showing he has the potential to be even more crass, insensitive and irritating than Ricky's version.

Let me know what you think.....


Later, GrocerJack

Submission

I have finally given in. Chucked in the towel. Thrown my hand in. There are many things I want to do with my life and yet I am getting nowehere with any of them. And if I'm truthful that has been the story of my life. Always starting things but never finishing them. Getting disillusioned halfway through something and just quitting. It is the disease of the modern Englishman. Unlike our US counterparts who from a very early age are programmed to believe that winning is everything, achieving goals are important, that you can achieve what you want, we are programmed to believe that taking part is suffcient. That being a good loser is the mark of honour, to graciously accept failure. Well, thats my life in some ways, so last week I finally succumbed.

I wrote a LIFEPLAN.

Yep a fucking LIFEPLAN. After all the shiot I take about plans at work I have finally accepted the US Psychobabble Cock and started a lifeplan. I almost feel ashamed.

So, why do it. Well, the Mysterious M and me had a one-to-one last week, or a chat as we used to call them in more sensible days. He told me about some American bloke who wrote out 500 things to do before he died. Apparently by writing them down and then putting down the actions needed to achieve them you increase yuor chances of reaching those goals by 80%. In fact you are apparently around 90% likely to achieve the goal if you write it down, and how to ge there. West Coast hippy bollocks I thought. B ut then he told me the guy was now 86 years old and only had 6 things left to achieve! He has a book about it which he is going to lend me. I parked my cynicism in a little box and locked it in a safe at the back of mind and thought.." fuck it..what can you lose"

So, Jack will try the plan. I will attempt to reach every goal on there during this year. I will of course let you know as each one is achieved WHEN I have done it or failed pathetically, but in essence I have set targets for my golf, my weight, my teeth (crooked since 10 years old), my money (as in savings), my job, learning the guitar (yes Strings...again), re-learning French and a few other bits to go on there as well. Watch this space as Jack tries to work the plan.

On a separate note, heres why I don't drink lager. Or more accuartely lager and wine. On Saturday the Big Telephone Company kindly took me to see Chelsea play Crystal Palace. Now I am not one of the famous "prawn sandwich" brigade villified by resident Manure FC psychopath Roy Keane , but they have taken me before and I have always behaved reasonaby well considering my passion for Chelsea.. On Saturday it was a balmy 22 degrees, and a perfect cloudless sky sat over Stamford Bridge. A great atmosphere was enhanced by the buzz that people gain when the weather is betetr. It's like coming out of the long dark and cold tunnel of winter into the garden of spring. The only blot on this blatant bit of freeloading is that they only serve two beers inside the ground. Budweiser (the insipid yank piss, not the Czech glory beer) or Boddingtons (or Imperial Leather as I call it). No Guinness. None. Not a fucking drop. So, I went for the Budweiser because it looked nicer and you got a full pint, unlike the Boddingtons "pint" reaching two thirds of a glass which presumably was poured from a can. Several pints later the game started...oh and I'd managed a glass of Rioja...OK two glasses....OK....who's counting because I certainly wasn't. The game went pretty much as planned, with The Mighty Blues recording a 4-1 win. At 90 minutes my £5 on 3-1 at 10-1 was looking good but the bastards went and scored in the 92 minute to remove a £50 bonus being added onto a buckshee day. Still £20 lined Jacks pocket for correctly guessing that the marvellous Frank Lampard would score the first goal.

So it was still a profitable day. However during the first half I had to nip to the loo twice and on each journey I slugged another quickie of Rioja down. Ditto the second half. Half time was accompanied by another Budshitter...and a glass of Rioja, and after the game I managed another pint and another glass of wine before staggering down Fulham Broadway to Mr and Mrs Chelsea's magnificent horseless carriage. I don't remember the journey home, nor much of the evening, bar embarassing Teenager in front of Mini-Me and his mate...who I taught to shake hands properly instead of the wet weedy one he had. I apparently also had a chat with Mini-Me's dad about football, but as he is a Southampton fan that pretty much excludes him from any worthwhile chat or opinion about football. All of this fuelled by more Rioja (errr....yeah that'd be my favourite squashed grape tipple then). I know I was daft enough to insist on going to the pub on Saturday night to make up for a Friday night in babysitting. What I drank in the pub was Guinness but I don't imagine it was too much.

Cue Sunday, and the hangover I haven't had for a good year or so had completely taken control of me. The last time it was this bad it had been bought on by on by...yup...drinking the piss that is lager. I can't blame the wine, but I can blame the lager for filling my system with god only knows what chemical shite. I might as well have drunk Diesel. So Sunday was more or less spent bed ridden, my memory of a pre-booked game of golf with The King completely erased. I resisted the urge to puke until the inside of my body was on the outside and steadily re-hydrated with filter water and lemon juice. Some cheese on toast stayed down and come 6 I was starting to feel human again, and the pounding chemical induced headache was at last subsiding, but in effect it was a lost Sunday. All for a few glory hours of free booze and free football in the glorious spring sunshine.

Never again? Yeah...until the next time of course.

Later, GrocerJack

Angry Bed Position 5

This is the last one - if your reading this first then go down the page and read from Angry Position number 1. No diagram for this - but this is the riskiest of all the Angry Positions; in 2001 alone, this position caused no less than 217,008 working days to be lost and cost British industry more than intestinal problems and pension fund fraud combined. Angry Position Five requires that one performer march wordlessly out of the bedroom, carrying a pillow. A position is taken up elsewhere in the house. It is most important (and many unpractised performers fall down here) to relocate to a simply awful site - at the very least, a desperately uncomfortable sofa but, ideally, under a thin towel on the hard, freezing floor of the bathroom. The point, you see, is martyrdom. If the performer who departed has judged guilt levels correctly, then they will be rescued before too long by their miserably penitent partner. However, it they have been over-optimistic, they are stuck sleeping there; additionally carrying the galling knowledge that their partner is spread-eagled in glorious opulence across the entire bed. Also, there's a very good chance that when they wake up in the morning their neck will be locked at 30 degrees and nothing but a cold, fizzing sensation remains where their legs used to be.

Haven't we all been in all of these?

Later, GrocerJack

Angry Bed Position 4 - A full 'X' shape, each artiste forming one side of the letter. It's not quite an 'X', though, because the performers are not joined in the middle. That would require bottoms to be touching. None of the Angry Positions allow for any touching of body parts, that would completely ruin them. Sounds are certainly allowed, and in some positions they're pretty much mandatory. No touching, though, ever. The 'X' position is a declaration that both performers are convinced that they have God on their side and is quite often accompanied by abrupt, snatching attempts to achieve duvet hegemony and aggressive warning displays of pillow straightening. Just the one mopre to follow, GrocerJack

Angry Bed Position 3 - please see previous posts below for positions 1 and 2.
A position in which one performer is so utterly incensed by the fact that the other could have done that, that it requires spilling over into the third dimension. The vehemently livid party will remain sitting upright in bed, with the light on, glaring fixedly at some point in space and grinding her teeth (occasionally, she may ad lib a few glances down across at her partner, before expelling air from her nose sharply, shaking her head in furious astonishment and turning away again). While this is going on, the performer who did that thing positions himself on his side, facing away, curled into a ball and, basically, tries to keep his nerve.
More, GrocerJack

Angry Bed Position 2 - Think of it as a 'K'. One person is in the standard half-'X' shape (facing away) and the other is a rigid 'I'; lying supine, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. Here you lose points for style if the 'I' person doesn't let out frequent sighs and snorts in an attempt to get the Half-'X'-er to ask, 'For fucks sake ... What is it?' - More to follow, GrocerJack

Angry Bed Position 1 - An '11'. Both performers lie on their backs, right on the very outer edges of their respective sides of the bed. A bit amateurish, frankly. For a start, you have nowhere to wriggle away to in an extra burst of fury, which limits your options terribly - only the most inexperienced performer would allow themselves, right from the off, to take up a position from where they're unable to raise the stakes at all. Worse still, roles are poorly defined - it's easy to forget whether you're meant to be pointedly waiting for an apology or mutely declaring your intention not to apologise this time. More often than not, after under an hour of uninspiring action, you'll end up with the 'I'm not in a mood, you're the one who's in a mood'/'No, I'm not. You are, I'm not in a mood at all' exchange and everything crumbles into a fiasco. - More to follow, GrocerJack

Three Notes…..

Happy Birthday to LittleSis who today reached the age of………….yeah ….like I’m gonna fucking broadcast that to everyone and piss her off (she’s a semi-regular reader). Lets say she’s not anywhere near the big Four-O yet, but 21 is also a gonner as well! Anyway I hope she continues to enjoy the day and the weekend. Her and GMD, along with MiddleSis and some other members of the coven are off out for a birthday Ruby tomorrow evening, no doubt taking in some liquid fuel along the way. To this end I have sacrificed my usual Friday night sojourn to the pub for the usual football, sex and politics debate, where I am always singled out as the local (and it seems unique) socialist. I do tend to be brushed as some sort of commie pinko liberal wet nose, but the truth is I am a “champagne” socialist. I like what I’ve got and want more. So fucking shoot me all you rabid far left wing, sandal wearing lettuce chomping, unwashed fuckwits.

What the fucks that got to do with what I am writing I don’t know…just the usual ramblings of stupidity and boredom I guess. Anyway some observations…

St Patrick’s Day – I’ve ranted before about this I suppose but I just don’t get all these people out pissing it up and celebrating this night. By people I mean non-Irish people. People who do not have any Irish blood or any Irish connection. People who think Irish means “builder”. I am half Irish, my mum was from Sneem in County Kerry, so I do have a reason to go and knock a few down, however I am as proud to be half English as well. I choose not to because I have to work tomorrow and there is no place worse to have a hangover than fucking work! Anyway, all I am saying is why don’t these people celebrate St Georges day in the same raucous manner? I heard today that a magistrate in Norwich who granted extra drinking time to some pubs for Paddies Day, as well as some Yanks for Independence Day has refused a late licence for St Georges Day because “it isn’t a special day”. What a fucking wanker. No mate, it isn’t because twats like you prevent it from being one!

What is so wrong with the English patron Saint that we don’t enjoy our National Day? If its still associated with racism then why? Surely the patriotism shown during the England football campaigns has more or less destroyed that by now? I know some people seem uneasy about it because of our “imperialist” past, but fuck them, this is about us, this generation, having an excuse to have a fucking party and celebrate the fact that despite its shortcomings it’s still a better place, with a better culture, history and freedom than a lot of others.

Marmite Blobs – Were they serious. Removing an ad because 6, yes 6 people complained their kids were scared by a fucking brown blob. Don’t let them watch Oprah then. But just how mad is this world when this sort of shite goes on. Why not just explain to the kids that it is a blob of marmite and not something horrible….but then again if you don’t like Marmite….

Comic Relief - so much better than Children in Need. Two years between events means the quality control is that much higher. When you consider the abject bollocks served up by Children in Need the BBC is to be congratulated for this. Although not all bits were hilarious, most was funny, and the Little Britain guys made me laugh out loud , even the sketch with Sir Elton of Wankness. A special mention for Catherine Tate as well, a much unsung comedian, whose teenage girl character is fantastic and whose interrogation of pop wanksters McFly was absolsutely sublime…..”am I bothered…do I look bothered….is this face bothered….do I sound bothered….etc etc”. Chris Evans late show was also funny enough and rebellious enough o suggest that he still has something to offer TV. But the stand out top dollar bit was the ever outstanding genius of Peter Kay and his marvellous miming video of “Show Me the Way to Amarillo”. He is single handedly reviving and enhancing the career of Tony Christie. Although how Tony Christie isn’t as “big” as Tom Jones is a mystery to me because quite frankly his voice is sensational. You’d swear he was a genuine yank, and as for power, well he has it in abundance. He was always popular at my Uncle Georges house because I guess he appealed to the 40 something’s back in 1970 whenever, and it was a simple version of karaoke in those days. Get drunk, lob Tony Christie on, and hey presto, instant sing along music. I loved watching the adults have a crack at his stuff….especially the classic “I did what I did for Maria” and of course not forgetting the aforementioned Amarillo and “In the Avenues and Alleyways” the theme to one of Monty Bermans iconic ATV 1970’s glamour “spy” series, The Protectors. In fact they all had good theme tunes, Department S, Jason King, The Champions and of course the wonderfully cheesy The Persuaders which had the best theme of all. Why not bring them back and show them again?

Anyway, after a few pints of the black stuff we again contributed more than we probably can afford, but they do know how to grab the heartstrings with their videos. Whilst I won’t shove any money into Children in Need because it is a lazy, amateurish, contemptuous attempt to play the charity card and get people to pledge dosh without doing anything worthwhile, Comic Relief with its sure stewardship under the likes of Lenny Henry, Billy Connolly, Jonathan Ross, Rowan Atkinson et al seems to go from strength to strength. They make the effort. I’ll pay the money!

Later, GrocerJack

Supervolcano

Did anyone else see the programme on BBC1 last night called Supervolcano? This is what I call quality TV. Budgeted correctly with superb special effects it told the story of what might happen if the volcano underneath Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming were to explode. Granted the storyline was a bit cheesy, but then it was never supposed to be so powerful as to detract from the sheer horror of the effects of such an explosion. The storyline about the various scientists and US Departments was merely a strand with which to explain the cause and effect.

Apparently there is a magma chamber underneath this landmark that is potentially the area of the park itself and contains at a conservative estimate something like 25000km³ of red hot molten rock. Apparently Yellowstone has a record of popping its cork every 600,000 years, and its currently …….errrr……..640,000 years since its last ejaculation. Typically based on computer projects from the US FEMA (Federal Emergency Management Agency) mainframe called HAZUS the programme projected that if the eruption were to last 7 days then around a million would die in the US alone, and the ash cloud would cover around 75% of the US land mass. The sulphur would cover the globe leading to permanently yellow skies, followed by the inevitable volcanic winter, whereby temperatures could globally fall by as much as 20^oC. The days of lazing in the sun during summer would be gone for up to 10 years. The human race would survive because we are nothing if not resilient and resourceful. Livestock would be all but destroyed, crops would fail, large areas of land could no longer be farmed and basically a disaster for the US would become a disaster for the world.

Fuck me, this was scary stuff. So scary I couldn’t let Baby watch it as she has a propensity to be sick when scared by things like this. Vampires and monsters are fine, but natural disasters scare the crap out of her, and being in the middle of Hurricane Charley doesn’t seem to have altered that. What really came across as well was the sheer helplessness of what can be done. In essence nothing can be done at all; we are apparently just waiting for this time bomb to go off and then left with the daunting task of picking up the pieces afterwards.

I wonder what the environmentalists make of this? If we knew this was about to happen for sure in the next , say 5 years, wouldn’t this undermine every “green” principle currently being espoused. Would air pollution matter when 25000km³ of ash and general crap is going to be spued into the atmosphere? Wouldn’t factory farming then become a necessity in order to keep livestock for food, and for clothing…wouldn’t fur become a necessity again as it is for eskimos? Wouldn’t intensive arable farming be the only way to secure crops for the years of darkness? Wouldn’t coal and oil become vital to generate power and heat to keep us alive, especially in those temperate areas where sub zero temperatures are unheard of. Wouldn’t nuclear power then be seen as the potential saviour of the race with its seemingly inexhaustible supply and comparatively small amount of waste? Couldn’t we all just go and top up our tans safe in the knowledge that for a few years the sun would be a stranger and harmful UV rays would be a thing of the past?

Just a thought, Later, GrocerJack

So farewell then Dave Allen, one of the finest comedians to grace our screens. I grew up watching him with my Dad, one of the few remaining memories I have of sharing moments like that. My Mum, being a good Roman Catholic thought that Dave Allen was a blasphemer, which in essence was true. However, I preferred his ungodly way of exposing the hypocrisy and immense pomposity of the Catholic faith, and indeed all faiths. He was a prime cause in my own questioning of the unchallenged dogma of Catholicism, both globally and in my own house via my Mum's teachings - a dogma that forced me to go to Church every Sunday until the age of 14 when all my mates were off playing football. Football made more sense to me than Catholicism and even at 14 it was obvious to me that this religion hadn't moved in 2000 years, was never likely to, and was just an excuse to exercise power by fear over people and force them into someone elses view of how to live a good and meaningful life. By exposing this crap, Dave Allen, in my view did exactly that. For what I gained he lived a good and worthwhile life and comedy is a sadder place today without him.

I loved the way he told stories as well as jokes, his laconic manner and how he coloured ironic and daft facets of the daily drudgery of life and its hypocrisies and paradoxes. He was last seen on TV in the early 90's, where his sense of fun was still obvious, but his style had been superceded by the current crop of young (now middle aged) bucks. But he still had appeal, and could still spin a yarn. His trademark glass of whisky was still in evidence. And that is why I chose the above picture of him to display as my tribute to a man who will never know his influence upon me and countless others as we struggled to grow up in the sometimes dark, sometimes colourful, sometimes grim society of the 60's and 70's.

Dave Allen 1937-2005 R.I.P.

Later, GrocerJack

Shameless plug.......

My first "proper" article has been published today on the Chelsea FC Blog site - follow the link. I will try and keep this site relatively sports free, however as Chelsea are my passion its always likely that my feelings will need politically incorrect airings here. The article is titled The Calm after The Storm if you're interested and is basically my personal review of the UEFA Champions League game on Tuesday night between Chelsea and Barcelona, from which my blood pressure and heart rate have finally recovered. It also covers the disgraceful, woeful, abysmal and downright fucking insulting coverage that ITV Sport (sic) granted the game.

I hope ITV Sport gets banished into the wilderness of "extreme" sports coverage (i.e, those sports that aren't real sports but are merely the sad activities of lonely wankers with a testosterone overload and no friends or life). ITV Sport - you're a bunch of arse!

Later, Grocerjack