The First Draft....

.....of my Liberation (tm) Policy/Manifesto document is now on-line....just click here!!!!!

Later, Grocerjack

The End

"Does anybody else in here feel the way I do?"

So wrote Roger Waters on "Vera" his paean to Vera Lynn from The Wall. What's the relevance I hear you ask? What is this post about?

Well, it's about the end of the world. So, nothing trivial then?

I guess that today is one of those days, after one of those weeks, after one of those months, after one of those years where you finally sit down and think "What the fuck is going on?" . It just seems to be one huge tidal wave of bad news doesn't it? Open any paper, tune in to any radio station or watch any TV news bulletin and it's a conveyor belt of nothing but turgid, depressing doom and gloom. Go, tell me when was the last time a news item made you smile? When was the last time you really sat down and heard something, or read something that made your heart sing, made you want to fly, to laugh and shout with joy.

Thought so. It's been a fucking long time hasn't it?

You see good news doesn't sell, it doesn't grip people. Even the most irritating optimists and "glass half full" people mask their own morbid fascination with doom and gloom from around the world. To escape this you'd have to be 5 years old again, when everything was innocent and life was about play and learning, toys and sweets, friendship and important subjects like how old was this new friend you've just met and will Mum do chips tonight as a treat?

I looked around today and what did I see?

Share prices falling because some spineless rich cunts in the City couldn't give a shit and can't stand up to their clients. Why should they give a fuck if their annual bonus drops from £3million to £2 million? Stripey shirted cunts, the lot of them.

House prices dropping because the Bank of England put the rates up in order to "cool" the market, but now listen to the bankers (sic) whinge when what they asked for happens.

Flood warnings across the country, no doubt all due to me driving my car to work and heating my water for a shower.

Retail stores reporting sales drops because...well fuck me sideways.....quelle suprise.....the interest rates went up and people decided a roof over their head was more important than a present filled Christmas.

A looming banking crisis because another bunch of stripey shirted cunts didn't understand the meaning of the word "risk" when they were dishing out money. Apparently it never occurred to them to look at what the US banks were doing in risky markets before lending them money or borrowing it.

Political correctness increasing it's stranglehold on our society.

Out of control mindless and meaningless crimes reaping havoc on our streets and causing us to live in fear.

So called celebrities and "talent" pissing, coking, drugging their way to oblivion but not short of a bob or two. I know they've always done it, but at least our generations had the decency to do it off camera. Amy Winehouse is a stupid fucking emaciated gormless bitch. fuck her, and fuck Pete Doherty and all the other useless bastards wasting a gift most of us would love and cherish.

A Government beset by incompetence, negligence and Big Brother attitude, reneging on pay deals and generally shitting on people from high. Go on, name me one thing Gordon Brown and his government has done that's better than Blairs. Exactly. he's made Tony Blair look like a fucking genius in the same way George Bush made Clinton look like a member of The Peace Movement!

I could go on, but it's just so fucking depressing. I am starting to think this is all leading to the sighting of the Four Horseman of the Apocalypse and a personal visit for us all from the Grim Reaper.

And of course, we, the working people are to blame for all of this. We are a rabble rousing, lieing, cheating, greedy, self centred, pollution creating, drug taking, hard drinking, bunch of selfish bastards all on the make. One minute they want to stop us spending money, the next everything's our fault because we're not spending enough money.

Damned if we do, Damned if we don't. It's all gone to pot, and we're to blame.

Now, when can we start this revolution?

Later, Grocerjack

The Liberation (TM) Solutions grow.....

The manifesto for my political party Liberation (TM) continues to grow. Two weeks ago I announced the Liberation (TM) Policy on Energy. This amounts to re-nationalizing Gas, Electricity and Water, re-opening Coal Mines where possible or opening new ones and subsidising the industries to make them competitive....i.e run them as public services to supply heat, warmth and clean running water and NOT for profit. We would also invest in clean coal burning technologies and carbon storage, alongside a whole raft of new Nuclear power stations (state owned and funded) to ensure we are never again dependent on anyone else totally for our energy, plus we will not be lining the fat cat shareholder pockets with ordinary peoples hard earned cash. For water we would invest in de-salination plants and every household ould be encouraged to install a "grey" water supply from these plants for washing, flushing, showering , bathing and cleaning the car and watering the garden. The normal water supplies would then only be used for drinking.

Then someone said to me that this would be expensive and might involve paying more tax. Which is true. You would pay more tax. Initially we'll tax companies more on their profits, plus we'd do away with the fiddles that allow self employed and the rich to effectively avoid tax. We'd put more tax bands in as well. Instead of the current two bands there would be 6, with band 6 at the top paying 60% and band 1 at the bottom paying 10%. Council tax would be abolished and replaced with a local sales tax like they have in America. remote areas of low population would be topped up from high population areas to ensure the "per head" spend is comparable across the UK.

Ultimately we'd look at doing away with income tax and replacing it with a goods tax which means the more expensive the item, the more you pay. Everything then bought in shops or on the internet, irrespective of where the retailer is based would be taxed ata State level and a local level at the point of the transaction. if you buy a car for £10,000 you can expect to pay substantially less than someone who buys one for £40,000. Of course, the "green" rating will also count here as well

I need to think about what I'd do with the Monarchy..but as a republican I think a nice retirement plan would be formulated. And don't give me any bollocks about that doing away with our heritage and history. Our heritage and history are already there.

Then comes the issue of crime and lawlessess. Let's not kid ourselves that things are better. Crime statistics, like any statistics can be made to lie. We all know the phrase Lies, Damned lies and Statistics. Anecdotal evidence is often dismissed but just look at the case of Gary Newlove and the impassioned statement from his widow Helen, and it's easy to realise it could be any of us. No, the answer here is a return to real coppers, like Gene Hunt. We need coppers on the beat and in the cars who can scare the living crap out of teenage gangs and adult thugs as well. They need to be able to deliver a good hiding, or a clip around the ear where necessary. They need to be able to nick people from 8 years old onwards and lock them up for a few days with the the bare minimum of food and maybe a toilet they have to slop out, like they'd have inside. No clean clothes, no washing facility and just one visit from a parent. I'd also make the parents or guardians culpable as well for the children's behaviour to the age of 18.

Then I'd only allow knives to be sold in licensed outlets to people aged 21 or over and anyone found carrying a knife that isn't in a sealed box on a public street goes away for 1 year minimum. No excuses, they will all know the law. If you're found with a gun, decommissioned or real then you're having a spell for a minimum of 5 years, again no excuses. Ignorance will not be accepted. Once inside it will be fucking hard, but I've yet to determine the details, but suffice it to say, there'll be plenty of work for ex-forces and ex-coppers. All criminals need to be scared of the consequences. They shouldn't think prison is about meeting old mates, or being fed and sheltered. Prisons should not be Universities of Crime. Punishment will mean exactly that...punishment. Hard, debilitating and painful punishment.

Oh and paedophiles guilty of actual physical abuse of children will be castrated physically on top of their jail sentence. End of story.

Lastly, the Armed forces will be funded properly and The Army and Navy particularly can look forward to some unprecedented growth to put them back on the map as well. lets put some pride back in them.

If it doesn't sound very "socialist" it's because the Champagne flavour of my socialist leanings has always been counterbalanced by a Socialist Realism that has meant not having much time for Political Correctness or for the bleeding heart, namby pamby brigade who's liberal ideas have led us to where we are now. If a copper had bought me back home my Dad would have leathered me from one end of the house to the other, and the very thought of that was enough to keep me out of anything but the most trivial and normal of teenage trouble.

Watch out for the full manifesto on the other site where the cast of my life and the rules of the GoGB reside!!

Later, El Presidente Grocerjack!

My Perfect Job

In a week of continuing uncertainty as The Company's High Tech Pipes, Tubes and Strings department undergoes yet another "Transformation" ...or as we really know it Re-organization, (although for some reason that word is now forbidden) I thought it was time to think about jobs I'd really like to do. You know what I mean, imagining you're at school but knowing what you know now and choosing something that will make you happy, or rich..or both.

But mostly rich.

Because no matter what they say, I reckon it does make you happy. And if you're rich and not fucking happy then sling your money over here and give it to someone ready to rejoice in it.

It's the same old thing though, a new broom The Beach Babe, promoted from Head of Strings to Big Cheese Chief Head of High Tech Pipes, Tubes and Strings has slowly but surely built her own "leadership" team by "evolving" certain people in the existing team into other roles, mostly those of a gardening nature, but all of them into "opportunities" elsewhere. I've no real issue with that because unlike the previous incumbent to her role she does have charisma and style, but then so would John Major. In comparison to the barbaric and butcher-like Canadian wanker before that she is the paradigm of perfect people management. But as with all of these things, I never seem to do particularly well, despite having an allegedly good press throughout the department. I think it's my refusal to become part of the F Band Club on their terms by having the clone chip inserted to remove my personality that might be a hindrance.

Anyway there's fuck all anyone can do, so I might as well sit back and see what happens. A few people have already been given "compromise"* deals to go away and never darken the door again, and several more are now at risk so you see why the remainder who have yet to find out where the future lies might be feeling a little tense this week.

* Compromise deals are where they take you into a room, offer you big fat cheque to fuck off, promise not to slag the company off, not to work for a rival and not to sue for unfair dismissal. The deal is usually so goo that no-one ever takes legal action. besides......being offered this sort of sends a message to you don't you think?

So a good time to list those "perfect jobs" then.

1.) Fighter Pilot - wasn't even presented as an option when I was at school. Obviously the careers officers had been given a steer from the RAF that they didn't want cockney accented oiks getting in the way of Bunty, Biggles and Smudger in the officers mess. Either that or they thought I was too thick.

2.) Porn mogul - well, it makes money doesn't it? People alwasy want porn. And ...well if it wasn't me then someone else would do it (and it seems has done) and I'm a nice bloke who genuinely cares for his team!

3.) Professional Golfer - whilst it would be great to be on the "tour", I'd settle for being a club pro with my own little retail business on the club. A great life.

4.) Writer - yes, despite a few episodes of writers block, plus a lack of time and commitment, something I'd love to do would be to write novels and plays. Especially for TV. I'm very jealous of Russell T Davies!

5.) Journalist - similar to above but in the payroll of some media tycoon. Writing about football, golf or cricket would be heavenly although not too good for the liver...or the blood pressure I think.

6.) Radio Presenter - or "DJ" as we used to know them. Except that DJ's now wear sideways baseball caps, are "down wiv der kidz" and instead of happily settling for playing great music have decided to make music. Music that isn't very good. No. really it isn't very good at all.

7.) Painter - no... not the painter/decorator type, but the type who paints pictures of things. Only one small problem here. I can't paint. Or draw. Then again, in these days of modern art challenging boundaries perhaps that makes no difference at all.

And finally......the one I would love to do most ....

8.) Incidental Music person - I would love to be the person who matches the music to the scene on TV or in a film. Whether that's the collage at the beginning or the end of the football, music to intensify a scene or depict the mood of a scene I reckon that has to be one fucking brilliant job.

But of course..in the end I'll do none of the above because that means being brave. It means jumping ship (unless I'm pushed!). It means risking everything at a stage of life where too many other people depend on my monthly wage. It's the sort of thing you're supposed to sort out in your 20's.

Only no-one ever told me that.

Later, Grocerjack

That was a big 'un

By 'Eck that were a big break between posts. That's because fo the madness that is Christmas and New Year in our house. is it just me, or does the bloody thing come round quicker and quicker? Anyway I spent most of it feeling dog rough with a proper dose on "man flu". Of course to others this was just a source of amusement and to my mother-out-law apparently it was all in the mind. Yeah...if blocked sinuses, mad headaches, deafness, a sore throat, aching joints and limbs and a cough so dry you could hear the chest cage cracking under the strain is something I "imagined" then perhaps she is right.

Why do people think that it's OK to berate you if you've got a virus if you're a man? Would I get any sympathy if I was 80? Doesn't the fact that I am an Asthmatic mean anything to people? Don't they realise how uncomfortable it is to be coughing so hard that you feel like you can't walk anywhere without a Ventolin inhaler permanently clasped in your hand? Don't they think how worrying it might be that one set of primary airwaves for breathing (the nostrils) are out of action due to being blocked through infection? Next time..I've a good mind to go into work, or meet people at the pub, or wherever and deliberately sit there sneezing and coughing without using a tissue, freely spraying my infected mist around the place.


This week it's the big announcement...or one of them at least .....regarding the new transformed" (not re-organized...come on get with the lingo!) High Tech Pipes, Tubes and Strings department. I started off with some bright ideas but eventually got ground down by continuous "challenges" from jumped up fuckwits with nothing better to do. Frankly I've gone past caring so all I'll do is keep my head down and concentrate on completing my last OU course leading to me BA - hopefully in October! The choice for me after that is to do another years to get the BA to a BA (Hons) but I'm not sure of my motivational levels for that yet. I think it'll be an achievement for me to just get the degree in my ....ahem....mid 40's.

Idea's for novels and plays keep hitting me, so I've decided to start writing some down to keep a record of them......it's something I'd love to do but my question is...just how the hell do people find the time? Unless of course they're already famous writers and can do it full time, I just can't help thinking how next to impossible it would be to find the time to produce something of real quality. Unless of course you have real "talent" in which case i reckon it must be a breeze.

A quick rant about the latest round of price increases for electricity and gas. Does anyone else think that this shows the folly of privatisation? The subsequent ownership and delivery of these vital pieces of modern life are all owned (in the majority) by foreign companies, who can now all too easily hold a gun to our heads in the name of profit. Market fucking forces my arse - it's the unacceptable face of capitalism yet again spouting bullshit mantras in order to satisfy fat cat shareholders creaming obscene dividends from natural resources that WE all own and that should never be under the ownership of individual private corporations.

I tell you this...when GrocerJacks Liberation(TM) party come to power, the first thing we'll be doing is re-nationalising power, gas and water, re-opening the mines where feasible or opening new ones, building high-tech new nuclear reactors and developing wind and tide power options to make this country fully self sufficient. Future generations may not then be reliant on Russian, French and German multi-nationals to rip us off under threat of turning the "energy" taps off.

Expensive to taxpayers? Of course, but you'll pay the taxes anyway...wouldn't it better to know they are going to be used in investing in our own infrastructure rather than into the pockets of hideously rich, politically motivated, power-greedy bastards?

And I thought my socialist beliefs had gone!

Later, Grocerjack

Funny Old Week

A bit tardy on the posting front I'm afraid but that's down to a lack of time due to complete mental fuckwittery at work and to some degree at home as we prepare for the invasion that is Christmas. I mean that in the nicest sense of course as it's quite a compliment to be the host for the family, well Hellsbells family anyway. My own family , Skank and Dave , seem quite happy to do their own thing and who knows, maybe we'll meet up at some point, or maybe not. Laziness seems to be the driver here. So, the tree is up, the decorations up, the present bought and wrapped, we're now manoeuvring to the launch pad, ready for lift off at some point from Saturday onwards.

Saturday is the "locals night" at The Pub, but one fears for the numbers turning up as since the Governor jumped ship to his new pub, the fortunes of my local have severely nosedived. The former Governor left because he couldn't work for the new owners, Fullers, after they bought out the local brewery Gales. Fullers themselves used to be a smaller brewery but have long since forgotten their roots and now act like a real true corporate trampling over local culture and running the pub on a single business "one size fits all" basis. The first mistake was installing a misery guts relief couple with no concept of regulars. Then failing to refurbish the pub despite it being last done 12 years ago. The couple who took over then had to work under an environment whereby the pub was boycotted by groups such as cricket clubs and "beaters" who used to use it. A same because despite being an 'orrible Gooner the governor is a bloody decent landlord. The upshot is that he has been forced out by the brewery for under performance, so no doubt we'll get some high flying couple in there concentrating on "food" and maximising revenue streams etc without giving a shit about the regulars. Actually, that makes us regulars a bit like football fans doesn't it?

I have a "man cold" which is fucking my chest and throat up and giving me a permanent headache. It's genuine as well so go on , mock away. Perhaps this is why we get little sympathy.

Man Cold Video

Arsenal beat my beloved Chelsea yesterday, but to be honest after they got rid of the best coach in the world in September it has hardly come as a surpise that we are now struggling to beat the big boys. It seems the press have got what they wanted, the Man Utd/Arsenal duopoly. You can almost taste the relief in the papers now that the interlopers of Chelsea have no great relevance.

Lastly - todays song in my head is

Lynsey de Paul and "Sugar Me" - I've seen the consultant and am administering a strong dose of The Pogues in order to eradicate it.

Later, GrocerJack

Grocer, Grocer, give us a song!

I wrote some time ago about the “song in my head” syndrome that I suffer from. As a gentle reminder of this syndrome, it’s effectively a condition that means when I get into work, or on a golf course, or anywhere really I have always got some sort of song in my head for the day that just will not go away. Sometimes it lasts a day, sometimes longer. The longest period is around 5 days because at some point I’ve forced myself to listen to some good tunes in order to drive the bad one away.

It’s a bit like the immune system for the body – the good tunes act like white blood cells or an antidote attacking the bad tunes, which are like viruses or poison. The bad tunes debilitate you or you adapt to them until at some point you take the action of treatment because you simply can’t take anymore.

Sometimes it’s more complicated than that and you need to administer the cure in increasing levels of tune greatness. It’s no good dousing something truly awful like “Simply Having a Wonderful Christmas Time”” with a classic like “Always in the Kitchen at Parties” by Jonah Lewie. No, that sort of piss poor song needs heavier and more prolonged treatment such as side one of Led Zeppelin IV to truly eradicate the virus. In fact as I get older I find the treatment required is getting more and more prolonged, as if the virus of the bad song is adapting and getting even stronger. Only last week (sorry a busy week so no time to blog) I had to administer the whole of Made in Japan, the supreme Deep Purple live album in order to eradicate the alternating “The Boat That I Row” by Lulu (yep…I have no idea why that was in my head either) and the abysmal Karma Chameleon by washed up bitter old queen Boy George and his band Culture club.

What also worries me is the insidious way these shite tunes find their way in to my head. How do they get there? I mean I would never listen to them willingly and I rarely, if ever listen to any music radio, barring Virgin Classic Rock or Planet Rock, anymore. I may occasionally take in XFM but none of these would play this sort of crap and deliberately infect my ears and brain. It’s liken having safe sex, I only listen to “safe” radio stations or listen to my preferred tracks on my MP3 or PC – all of which act like musical condoms in a world of growing risk from musical viral infection.

I am therefore left with some conclusions on how this rotten crap gets in there.

1.) Someone is surreptitiously playing the tunes whilst I am asleep and they are being subliminally planted.

2.) Aliens are beaming them direct in to my head

3.) They are being regurgitated from drunken nights in the past

4.) I am going mad

So what do you think? Any cures that are guaranteed? Here are some examples of recent piss poor tunes that have tortured me until a healthy dose of Pink Floyd, Classic 70’s music or some down and dirty Green Day was administered.

The Boat that I Row – Lulu (is it me or does she look better now than ever)

Come What May – Vicky Leandros (A Eurovision winner from the 70’s apparently)

Patches by Clarence Carter (dear God how bad can one song be)

Angels by Robbie Tosspot Williams (music to kill yourself to)

The Floral Dance – Some stupid fucking Brass Band from somewhere up north

Mellow Yellow – Donovan

The Fast Food Song – God only knows what sadistic bastard wrote and performed this

The Final Countdown – Coiffured Euro-ponces called Europe

Simply Having a Wonderful Christmas Time – Paul McCartney gets everything he deserves from Heather Mills just for this garbage alone.

Chain Reaction – Michael Jackson….sorry Diana Ross…hard to tell these days

Mistle-bastard-Toe and Wine – The Archangel Sir Cliff of Colostomy

Firestarter – Prodigy (seriously try listening to this anywhere but a club whilst on E and it is surely just hideous noise)

And today’s special…………which will no doubt have to undergo so Radiohead treatment very soon…………Seven Seas by the Goombay Fucking Dance Band….I mean really, where the hell has that come from?

Later, Grocerjack

Simple solution

Ms Gillian Gibbons is currently on trial in Sudan for Inciting Religious Hatred or some similar bollocks trumped up charge. Apart from the outrage of arresting someone for something so trivial (and yes, to all Muslims, this is trivial) it just goes to show just how far behind us some of these 3^rd world tin pot countries are.

As a dyed in the wool socialist who believes in a fairer society that looks after those that can’t, and should ignore those that won’t, I find events like this test my in-built abhorrence of racial or religious intolerance. In fact my intolerance of all religions, with the exception maybe of the “harm no-one or nothing” Buddhist type ones, is growing all the time. Radical Christianity is as bad as Fundamental Islam any day of the week. It’s actually heartening to see the Muslim community in this country actually show some balls and condemn this petty and vindictive act.

So, no wishy washy, do goody, slapped wrist type actions from me. If I was Mr G. Brown Esq of 10, Downing Street the simple solution would be this – if this woman is not released with free pardon and allowed to come back home we will cut off all financial aid and supplies to Sudan, and we will stop all UK business with or in Sudan with immediate effect. The diplomats will be thrown out of the UK, no more refugees or immigrants will be accepted and any Sudanese person found in this country illegally will be deported without any leave to appeal on the same day.

Yes, the poor starving people of Darfur might suffer even more but the Sudanese will have bought this on themselves. Go on, disagree with me….

Later, Grocerjack

How to install a Dishwasher

Yep, it arrived on its due date so here are my friendly instructions on how to install a semi-integrated dishwasher.

1.) Welcome delivery drivers but be prepared for surly misery guts with one thing on their mind – to drop the dishwasher into the house at the nearest point of entry. (2 mins)

2.) Remain calm when they refuse to take the old one away despite you having paid £13 for this privilege. (5 mins)

3.) Put on your best aggrieved customer voice in order to persuade delivery miseries to place dishwasher in kitchen where it will be installed.(3 mins)

4.) Remove the rest of packing they were supposed to take wit them (10 mins)

5.) Check all the bits are there (5 mins)

6.) Work out what the one extra item is that isn’t listed in any documentation after you’ve found the English section of the 3 different manuals (5 mins)

7.) Place dishwasher in front of the space where it will go. (5 mins)

8.) Run power lead to socket and attach mains hose (5 mins)

9.) Run waste pipe into relevant waste pipe. (1 min)

10.) Prepare to fit furniture door (5 mins, loo break)

11.) Read instructions on how to fit door (20 mins)

12.) Make cup of tea and calm down – read instructions again because they are about as much good as Athletes Foot powder to Heather Mills (20 mins)

13.) After 30 minutes work out how to fit door for yourself as instructions might as well be written in Cantonese and drawn by Picasso. (30 mins)

14.) Swoon as it appears to fit first time and the holes you drilled were perfect. (10 mins)

15.) Slide dishwasher into position (5 mins)

16.) Open door and then work out why the kickboard under sink units immediately pops out.(1 min)

17.) Sigh and swear when you work out that door spacers should have been removed. Check documentation to find out there is no reference to them anywhere. (10 mins)

18.) Remove dishwasher and the door (5 mins)

19.) Remove stupid fucking spacers that shouldn’t have been there anyway and seem to serve no useful purpose other than to piss you off. (5 mins)

20.) Mark and drill new holes in fucking door (5 mins)

21.) Fit the fucking door (10 mins)

22.) Re-mark and re-drill holes to rectify stupid DIY fuckwit basic error you made (5 mins)

23.) Fit door and lose temper when screws won’t go into the allegedly WOODEN furniture door (15 mins)

24.) Try and remove screws that have now had the head sheared away by powered screwdriver (15 mins)

25.) Go and get proper drill with proper drill bit (5 mins)

26.) Scream when drill bit breaks in door (5 mins)

27.) Mark and drill new holes in door using new drill bit (5 mins)

28.) Find new equivalent screws in box you have containing hundreds of assorted screws (10 mins)

29.) What’s this fucking door made of? Diamond?

30.) Re-fit door and attach using near-enough screws (10 mins)

31.) Re-attach mains and hose. (2 mins)

32.) Switch water on at hose connection (1 min)

33.) Run and get bucket to catch water pissing from connection (10 mins – bucket will be hidden away)

34.) Ring LittleSis and beg for plumbers tape. (2 mins)

35.) Switch off water and wait (20 mins)

36.) Sigh with relief when LittleSis arrives with plumbers tape.

37.) Remove hose and put tape around connection (2 mins)

38.) Switch water back on

39.) Drive to shops to get dishwasher salt and rinse aid of which you have run out (15mins)

40.) Add salt and rinse aid (2 mins)

41.) Load with 2 days of washing up no-one could be arsed to do because they knew the new dishwasher was coming (5 mins)

42.) Decide to do in 2 sessions as there is so much washing up on side

43.) Select program and press “play” button (1 min).

44.) Stand back with LittleSis and scratch chin when nothing happens (2 mins)

45.) Select another program and try again (1 min)

46.) Start sweating and worrying that the whole thing is a duffer and a waste of £360 (2 mins)

47.) RTFM * (2 mins)

48.) Press and HOLD the “play” button for 3 seconds.

49.) Hey presto, one fully working and installed dishwasher!

50.) Find spare item with no apparent use and discover in manual that it’s a hard water filter for mains hose (5 mins)

51.) Resolve to fit that another time

52.) Go to pub and drink excessive amounts of Guinness to alleviate stress of doing all this.

53.) Wait 48 hours until you have hangover from Saturday session

54.) Go back next day and fit filter and re-tape connection to water (10 mins)

Easy huh?

Later Grocerjack

*RTFM = Read the fucking manual

Bodysnatchers?

And Lo! The Call Cometh to Him! Yesterday I attended my Band F "Development" Centre. Yep, thats right, identified as a potential Band F within The Company having only worked there 15 years, the first stage of my "transformation" from tall, witty, slim, good looking, sensitive, caring and humble (only 2 of those are true!) GrocerJack , through the "Stepfordisation" process into a complete replica of myself, minus any of the personality or attributes that make me who I am, has apparently started.

The interesting thing is the use of the word "Development" . For most of us the dictionary definition has stood the test of time pretty well...

Development : the act or process of developing; growth; progress: child development; economic development

In The Company's Official Management Gobbledygook Bollocks Talk Dictionary the word "Development" actually means "Assessment".

Assessment : the act of assessing; appraisal; evaluation.

As can be clearly seen these mean different things, so the current F band Club probably had a bright young thing, freshly scrubbed from Uni who thought "why not change the meaning so that people who are stupid won't understand what is actually going on?" Yeah, OK I understand how business works, but the very nature of the 4 of us on this event means we're not stupid, so we knew what was going on, so why not just call it what it is? A chance for the hunters to size up the prey before the kill. A chance for the mad scientists to see what they're cloning. They are demi-gods ready to turn us into their own image. For them this is fun and they get to play the part of God's with omnipotent power over whether we live or die (in the metaphorical career sense one hopes).

And you know what? The damn thing is I would sell my soul for the extra money and benefits. Yes, I am suffering from yet another bout of Hypocrititis! The day itself was the usual mix of a group activity, a competency based interview and a bit of role play. All the usual stuff which is quite fun. Apparently we will get feedback which act as an "enabler" for us to recognise and act upon our developmental areas (or weaknesses as we used to know them).

I have now gone past caring to be honest, a bit like Red in Shawshank Redemption when going to his parole hearing for the 20th time...

SHAWSHANK PAROLE HEARINGS ROOM - (1967)

Red enters, sits. 20 years older than when we first saw him.

      MAN #1
 Your file says you've served forty
 years of a life sentence. You feel
 you've been rehabilitated?

Red doesn't answer. Just stares off. Seconds tick by. The
parole board exchanges glances. Somebody clears his throat.

      MAN #1
 Shall I repeat the question?

      RED
 I heard you. Rehabilitated. Let's
 see now. You know, come to think of
 it, I have no idea what that means.

      MAN #2
 Well, it means you're ready to
 rejoin society as a--

      RED
 I know what you think it means. Me,
 I think it's a made-up word, a poli-
 tician's word. A word so young fellas
 like you can wear a suit and tie and
 have a job. What do you really want
 to know? Am I sorry for what I did?

      MAN #2
 Well...are you?

      RED
 Not a day goes by I don't feel
 regret, and not because I'm in here
 or because you think I should. I
 look back on myself the way I
 was...stupid kid who did that
 terrible crime...wish I could talk
 sense to him. Tell him how things
 are. But I can't. That kid's long
 gone, this old man is all that's
 left, and I have to live with that.
  (beat)
 "Rehabilitated?" That's a bullshit
 word, so you just go on ahead and
 stamp that form there, sonny, and
 stop wasting my damn time. Truth
 is, I don't give a shit.

The parole board just stares. Red sits drumming his fingers.

CLOSEUP -- PAROLE FORM

A big rubber stamp SLAMS down -- and lifts away to reveal the
word "APPROVED" in red ink.

Like red I feel I've been through this "Development" every year and still never got anywhere near the door. Maybe , just maybe if I really don't give a shit then something might happen? But I won't hold my breath.

Later, the original Grocerjack

Scousers won’t like this, it’s a bit of a knock to their pride I guess. Aren’t you sick of hearing the people and officials of Liverpool harping on about the community spirit of the City. Whenever a news item comes on about Liverpool it will always be accompanied by some local dignitary or hack ready to spout on about the wonderful community spirit that ties unifies the city and sets it aside from anywhere else in the UK. It doesn’t seem to happen in London, Birmingham or Manchester possibly because of the sheer size and population diversity within them. The major Scottish cities seem tied together more by Scottish Pride or Nationalism than the individual City behavioural traits so rarely do you hear the same level of bleating about community from them – the football and sectarian rivalry displays this adequately.

Why this “attack” on Liverpool…well it doesn’t seem that long ago that the Bishop of Liverpool was holding a memorial service for Rhys Jones, the 11 year old boy shot dead in a pub car park as he walked home from football practice. This poor lad was murdered in August of this year, his family devastated by the loss of such a young person. And yet….have the police discovered the killer yet? Has anyone come forward and given them a name? Has any parent

come forward to name their child or their friends child, other relatives child as the killer? Someone somewhere is hiding this information, someone close to the killer, someone in the killer’s gang or family knows who pulled the trigger.

And yet, displaying the full depth and breadth of the “community” spirit in Liverpool, no-one has been named or convicted yet. A family still grieves, their son torn from them and yet the great unified City of Liverpool still hasn’t given up the killer. Some are even intimidated by the gang threats if they inform the police.

Fucking cowards the lot of them.

If any of my children or my relatives kids did such a thing I would not hesitate to hand them over and let justice takes its toll.

All the fuss over the murders of Stephen Lawrence and Damilola Taylor finally identified the killers despite police cover ups and cock ups. In Stephen Lawrence’s case the killers are well known but through legal loopholes walked away free…..no-one doubts they did the killing though. In Damilola Taylor’s case a conviction was secured against two brothers in 2006.

Surely someone, somewhere in Liverpool has the balls to finally nail the bastard who killed Rhys Jones. Until they do, they should really keep quiet about the so-called unity and spirit of their now shamed city.

Later Grocerjack

Could it happen today?

Driving back from the dump yesterday ('tis a glamourous life indeed) I tuned into the local radio station - original 106 - which if nothing else is a brave attempt to provide an alternative to the homogenised, safe pap that constitutes local radio today (see posts passim). As good fortune would have it they were playing a Rolling Stones song, but not for them the normal Jumping Jack Flash/Satisfaction/Start Me Up safe bets. Nope, they were playing the classic Stones blues-fest that is Little Red Rooster. The song just oozed sleaze and atmosphere. In fact I was momentarily transported to a seedy little blues bar in the Deep South as it played.

This sort of music can only be played live in a small, smoke filled, crowded bar, with people standing shoulder to shoulder or sitting too many at tiny little tables with a stage only a few feet away where you can talk to the band between numbers. It's the implicit sleaze that makes it work, the feeling of being somewhere underground, somewhere that's bad for you yet has that irresistible pull and most of all is bursting with atmosphere.

Today, non-smoking pubs and bars may have all the advantages of being cleaner, healthier places to eat and drink, but they lack soul, spirit and atmosphere. They will never be able to create an atmosphere whereby a band can play Little Red Rooster and make it feel like something that moves the soul.

Later, Grocerjack

The Magic of The Internet

Internet shopping has transformed the way we buy everything from food to electrical goods to second hand stuff to illegal stuff. It's driven down prices and forced the incumbent high street retailers to up their game. No question, it's really delivered value and choice.

Or has it?

Last week, in a couple of disastrous months the cherry on the icing on the cake was the diagnosis that our less than 4 year old dishwasher had suffered a massive internal failure and that repair was out of the question. That's the society we live in now. We throw things away and don't get them repaired because the items are so bloody cheap that the time and materials required to fix them would be more than buying something new. It's a different economic model to the everything that went before.

The first thing I did was use Google to search for some decent sites that would sell me a 60cm semi-integrated dishwasher on-line. The results of the search are a strange mixture of "shopping intelligence" sites and on-line retailers with names like Appliance City, Appliance Planet and Appliance Universe. Some well known names appear their as well, such as John Lewis, B&Q (Appliance Warehouse!), Boots, Tesco's and Sainsbury's. I tend to use either Ciao or Kelkoo as my intelligence sites to get the lowest price available, and so after doing some research I came up with the perfect model by German giants Bosch. I ordered one on-line from Sussex Appliances Online and duly gave my credit card details over and printed my receipt. Within 10 minutes a very jolly chap rang to thank me for the order but also to inform me that they didn't actually carry any stock and that Bosch had none of that model in the UK. None were expected until mid to late December. Hmmm....Christmas with nigh on 20 people for dinner and NO dishwasher? Not fucking likely. I thanked him and searched again. This time Empire Direct came up with the goods. A day later I get a phone call telling me the same thing. Order attempt number 2 cancelled then. Never mind, I'll try Appliance City, again no luck. I gave up on Bosch at that point.

Some more research followed and I decided on a Smeg (titter ye not!) model. Good reputation I thought and a good price with a lot if funky (I guess) features for a dishwasher. I ordered one through B&Q Appliance Warehouse from their website repleat with a background indicating a yawning great carbuncle of a warehouse somewhere...a white goods heaven in their eyes no doubt. Within30 minutes back came the call.....that's on back order with the manufacturer and might not be available until mid to late December. By now I'm getting a bit agitated....I have up to £400 to spend and no one wants to take the money in fair exchange, within a reasonable time frame, for a dishwasher to help spare the growing pile of plates and the arguments between me, Hellsbells, Kid and Pie.

I then order from Boot Kitchen Appliances. This seems to go well until the dreaded phone call from a nice Northern girl called Kerry (Katona...moonlighting from Iceland and being a professional mum?). Yep, you've guessed it...no can do Jack. To be fair to Kerry she was armed with some alternatives that were in stock from Electrolux, but they were dearer and the details were confusing and didn't quite ring true (no cutlery basket? surely not...) but at least she tried. I asked her to ring Smeg and get an answer as to when they'd be in the UK so i could decide whether to chance delivery before Christmas. The lovely Kerry agreed and said she'd call me on Tuesday.

After that call I decided to call Sainsbury's Kitchen Appliances before ordering to check if they had any stock ......an attempt to be proactive at last. A very nice northern girl called Kerry answered the phone and.........do you see what's happened here? Kerry works for Boots and Sainsburys! And probably all of the others I tried to order from. It didn't take long to see what had happened here...all of the top searches from Google and within Kelkoo and Ciao are for household name companies who back off the supply of the appliance to a company called DRL Ltd. DRL operate a fuck off great big warehouse in Bolton and supply that service to the names you and I know. They also supply the "sales" and "customer support" staff who with chameleon like stealth can change their employer to whoever they want depending on what number you ring. So, if B&Q ain't got it, then Boots won't. Neither will Sainsbury's, nor Tesco's probably.

You think you're being provided with choice, when in fact your new vaccum cleaner or washing machine is all coming from Bolton.

And the lovely Kerry will be whoever you want her to be.

There are other choices of course, but look into the T's and C's and you'll discover that quite a few are fronts for a single out of sight operating company. Trade Appliances Ltd operate under 5 or 6 different names so that depending on which search engine you use they increase the chance you'll use one of the front flash named gateways to get to them. If this was the world of TV, there'd be scandal in the tabloids at such a .....well "con" is too strong a word....but it is a smoke and mirrors device to deceive the ordinary punter.

Kerry did ring me back, and very sweetly said that Smeg had changed the code of the product and it was in stock. It's due next Friday, thank fuck. Unless of course , and knowing my luck, they've shipped the wrong thing and the code was right!

Later, ConsumerChamp Jack.

Ooops

I forgot my Friday Crap Jokes

Boxers don't have sex before a fight. Know why that is?
They don't fancy each other.

I hate those emails where they try to sell you penis enhancers. I got 10 just the other day.
Eight of them from my girlfriend.
It's the two from my mum that really hurt.

The dodo died. Then Dodi died, Di died and Dando died... Dido must be shitting herself.

My parents are from East London which means they're incredibly hard, but I was never smacked as a child ... well maybe one or two grams to get me to sleep at night...

The doorbell and when I answered there was a 6ft beetle there. it smacked me in the mouth and called me a wanker.
Apparently there's a nasty bug going round.

Groaning, Grocerjack

Everything is Fucked

Nothing ever rocks and nothing ever rolls and Nothing’s ever worth the cost!

So said former fat bastard Meat Loaf on his epic ditty, Bat Out Of Hell. I struggled with that lyric for a while but now I think I know what he was getting at. The truth is that anything gadget-like or labour saving that you buy provides a mere few minutes of unbridled joy before it gets discarded through boredom, or no-one uses it, or because the damn thing doesn’t quite do everything it promised, or is too hard to use, or you decide that it’s raison d’etre was never something you really needed anyway. One thing for sure, it’ll break down and your hard earned cash might as well have been shoved in the washing machine until it becomes a pulpy unusable mush.

Why am I even discussing this? Well, it seems to me that fate is playing some cruel tricks on me at the moment. In the last 2 months, precisely 5 months after converting from my comparatively cheap interest only mortgage to a hideously expensive repayment one, we have seen mechanical failure on household appliances ona an unprecedented scale, forcing me to uncover capital investment funds in order to keep the operational business of daily life on track.

1.) The vacuum cleaner packed up earlier this year. After 4 years of tackling the crap left behind by Kid and Pie, plus all the other members of the Brood, it decided it wanted to die and hence committed vacuum cleaner suicide. Of course, to me it was just fucked. We got by because we either didn’t bother cleaning the carpet or borrowed and hid LittleSis’s cleaner. It was no good, she found it and she demanded it back and we ended buying a new one – cost £130

2.) The Fan Oven enter the world of The Fucked when it decided to finally give up, extending cooking times for oven chips (as an example) from 20 minutes (crispy) out to a week or so. Replaced – cost £400 plus £50 for the install.

3.) The Shower – the only one in the house is in the en-suite and is a gravity fed shower. It’s had the cartridge replaced once about 3 years ago but this time it’s gone and I couldn’t face just a refurbished one. It gets used around 4 times a day and so like anything that heavily used it also became fucked. New integral power shower purchased – cost £275 plus somewhere in the region of £180 for the plumber to install and cable it up. Plus a new one in the main bathroom for Kid and Pie to abuse to their hearts content.

4.) The Shower Cubicle for fucks sake – the “bi-fold” door is held together in the middle by two plastic lugs secured to one half of the door with a screw and the other by virtue of the lug being inserted into the tubular spine. Yep, one broke a few weeks back and now the others gone. Can you buy a new door on it’s own? Yeah…..you guessed it….can you fuck! Unless the superglue works then that’s another £300 needed, plus the cost of install unless it’s so fucking ridiculously easy even a DIY fuckwit like me can do it.

5.) The final insult? I fucking hope so. Yesterday HellsBells came back from lunch to find the dishwasher still going. It had been put on a wash cycle by me at 07:00. She discovered it at 4 in the afternoon. Now, I all in favour of dedication to the task…but 9 hours to wash one load…and still it was going. Yep, it’s fucked and to add insult to injury we have a “semi-integrated” one…..functionally the same as a normal free standing one, but apparently the biggest difference between them is…the fucking cost. Another £350 for me to find.

I am almost scared to go home in case the front door falls off it’s fucking hinges.

Have a good weekend, Later Grocerjack

Bad ratio

What arslikhan goody-two-shoes fool determined that 5 days at work and 2 for rest was a good ratio.

Wouldn't 4 days at work, 3 days off have been a fairer ratio?

Here-in starts a campaign. 3 Day weekends for all, except for lousy benefit sponging loafers who live off my taxes. They should be forced into community work like cleaning street, painting houses or tidying up parks.

Rant over.

Later, Grocerjack

The Ministry of Crap Design

Yes, the Ministry of Crap Design is alive and kicking in Jack's world. Two examples hit me today. The first relates to a new power shower I'm having fitted to replace the old gravity fed mixer one that shuffled off the the shower heaven in the sky under the duress of 4 showers a day since Kid and Pie discovered the delights of showering instead of bathing.

To put the new one one I had to remove some tiles from MY FULLY TILED bathroom. i'd hoped they might come off in one piece, but no, the tiler was a real fucking professional and these were tiled for life. Hence from 12 only 3 survived. What's this got to do with the Ministry? Well, the tiles I removed were a nice 8" by 6" (" = inches in case anyone under 25 is reading). However since they were attached it seems a new law prohibiting the sale of this size has been passed. Now you can get 10x8, 6x6, 4x4, 8x4,6x4, 12x10, 12x8 and any other combination...except for the apparently unconstitutional 8x6. Marvellous. Thanks to this I've had to buy some at 6x6 which of course means I needed a tile cutter because it doesn't fill the same rectangle and my ham-fisted DIY capabilities will stretched to the full. Life really is just a fucking trial isn't it?

The second example is from a bed we had arranged to be collected by, get this....a Rag and Bone man. Yes, they do still exist. He will collect your rubbish and tale it away for nothing! Free! Fuck All! Zilch. In this day and age in a culture of disposability this is a bloody godsend.

He duly arrived and I decided to help him dismantle this old metal bunk bed. Of course The Ministry had been involved at it's construction, which means that they got rid of those stupid old "screws" and replaced them with bolts that can only undone with a fucking Allen key? What a shit invention that is anyway! I hate the bastard bloody things. Awakward, ineffective, slow and cruel to fingers. If it had been held together with screws then me and my electric screwdriver would have had the thing dismantled in 5 minutes, but no, because it was Allen keys it took 2 of us over a fucking hour to dismantle the thing. Luckily, R&B Man still took it for nothing, which was nice as he'd lost an hour and a bit of his day.

I hate designers, they just don't think about anyone but themselves and their inflated ego's.

Later, Grocerjack