Toilet Crime

I've seen the odd weird notice in my time, and in fact there's a whole raft of them here

But we have one in trap 2 of the Gents on the floor where I work.


It simply says two things.

.) Please flush the toilet after use.

Fair enough because lets face it there are some dirty bastards who seem happy to leave all sorts of the digestive horrors behind in the pan. Whether this is laziness or just utter pride because their crap is such a work of art they can't bear to flush it away is a moot point. I can't ever understand why people don't flush. Is it how they're bought up? Did Mummy and Daddy actively say 'Never mind son, just leave it there .......someone else will get rid of it' ? .

Worse still are the ones where the deposit is in the pan, but there isn't any paper? What's that about? Are there really people out there who lay some cable, get up and think to themselves 'Fuck it, why wipe.....I'll let it dry and I'll chip the remnants off later'?

The next little part of the sign defies belief though. It simply says this

2.) Please lift the lid before use

WTF?

As if the non-flushers aren't bad enough, do we really have people working for The Company who can't be bothered to lift the lid of the toilet before using it? And do they discriminate between lifting it for a piss and taking a dump? Or do they do not lift it for either. Does someone really walk into the loo and just piss aimlessly over the closed lid toilet happily watching the golden shower wash over the pan and falling to the floor like some sort of Ornamental Yellow Fountain but happily opens the lid if their on number two duty? And as for what happens if they're the type who pisses into the pan with the lid happily open but then decides to 'lay some cable' ....do they just shut the lid, drop the old trolleys, park themselves a decent distance above the closed seat, open the bomb bay doors and squeeze away? Are they turd sculptors? And what do they do about the wiping process? I'm trying hard not to picture someone walking into the loo and crapping ON the seat and then topping it off with a nice paper hat and coat, semi blended into their masterpiece.

Of course the last bit won't apply to the serial toilet criminal, the ones who neither flush nor lift the lid. The serial toilet criminal is also the sort of person who picks their nose and thinks the inside of the door is a viable storage facility for their nasal detritus. I'd accuse them of being the sort of prick who uses the last piece of paper so that the next unfortunate victim (we've all been there) desperate to eject the main body in bowel clinching desperation then suddenly finds they're stuck with nothing to wipe up the left overs, except as serial toilet felons or just non flushers, lack of paper isn't much of an issue in their lives.


That's why hankies and underpants are useful.

Better to sacrifice one or both than suffer the discomfort of the soiled ringpiece.

You see the sort of dilemmas that run through my mind every day. Some say life is simple, but when you see little signs such as this you know that just isn't true and that even the simplest apparent things have so many different permutations when simple protocols and rules get ignored.

Something tells me this never happens in women's toilets though.

Later, GJ

BasketCase FC

Scolari is sacked and in my view as an obsessed Chelsea fan for 37 years or so it didn't come a moment too soon. The weekends display at home to Hull completely fucked my weekend up, which as any real fan knows is exactly how it should be.

If losing (or in this case drawing) doesn't fuck the weekend or at least the evening up then you ain't a proper football fan.

Since he took over the decline has been marked and if I performed in my job like that, taking a good, high performing team over and taking them into decline whilst driving morale down, then I'd expect my boss to be kicking my arse.

Nice bloke, but I don't want nice. I want my beloved Chelsea to be an snarling, spitting, arse-kicking, obnoxious, enfant terrible of the Premier League. Because we'd be winning again and in the end nice guys don't win.

But it could be worse.......I could be a Newcastle fan on Safari............have a look at the picture (click to enlarge).

Surely a load of bollocks....but bloody funny.

Later, GJ

Aaah the new week starts

I am, of course still very much after the idiot who decided the ratio of 5 days working to 2 days off was the best one for a good work/life balance. I've said it before but the weekend starts and you blink and Monday morning its back to work. And it may just be me, but the older I get the harder Monday mornings become. In fact the older I get the harder every morning becomes. Alarms are ignored much more easily and the idea of rising in the dark and coming home in the dark seems more daunting with each passing year. I'm a sun-child. I like daylight. I like bright sunny warm daylight. And all of that seems a very long way away.

I am quite fortunate in that The Company does make provision for remote working so that on mornings such as last Monday, when we had a rare coating of snow, I was able to follow the heed of The Authorities and not make the unnecessary journey into work but to log on from the comfort of my study. We can video conference with each other or conference call meetings. We use MSN to chat online and of course it is a mobile phone company so we can use that to keep in contact.

All very civilised. Plus you get to work in your PJ's which can't be a bad thing.

Blimey, I had something nice to say about The Company.

Is that another sign of ageing?

Today it transpires that my stupidity in oversleeping due to forgetting to set the alarm (another sign of aging?) was ultimately fortuitous as the main route along the A34 has been shut in both directions since the early hours due to an overturned lorry. Just what is it with lorry drivers that there lorries just seem to flip over periodically? The so called 'professionals' of the road seem to live under some other law of the road which allows them to pull out as they see fit or to engage in the perennially annoying game of driving side by side refusing to overtake each other and creating huge tailbacks behind them. I didn't have much time for lorry drivers before our accident, let alone afterwards. And on that note....guess what? It now transpires that because luck of the good variety rarely plays a big part in my life, Monsieur Fuckwit, the numpty lorry driver from hell was probably uninsured.

Yep, that's right - uninsured.

Somehow or another he was allowed to drive a 44 tonne juggernaut in this country without insurance. Staggering huh? Now everything has to go through something called the Motor Insurers Bureau. Apparently they MAY pay some compensation provided we have reported the incident to the police. In fact they want the name of the attending officer and the reference number. Which of course we don't have because despite calling 999 and requesting the police and an ambulance to check we were OK, it now transpires that the police only care if someone is seriously injured or dead! The Highways Agency Incident Support Unit attended at the time and closed the motorway for 10 minutes whilst they sorted things out. Despite being very helpful they only gave us a piece of paper with Monsieur Fuckwits details on them and ours. No names, no references, fuck all. I have told the solicitors dealing with our case that very simply, we did what was required and called 999. The accident was logged by an officer of HM Government and as far as I'm concerned the police didn't give a toss. We fulfilled our obligation by dialling 999 and requesting the two emergency services. The Highways Agency must have a record of attendance as must the Surrey Ambulance Service.

I've also told them this....if he was uninsured then the company operating the lorry must be liable as what were they doing allowing an uninsured driver to operate that lorry in a foreign country without ensuring he had the relevant documents? If they didn't authorise it, then he must have stolen the lorry in which case why wasn't it reported and why hasn't he been nicked?

But doesn't all of this just seem to be heading in the direction of someone getting away with it whilst we live with the consequences?

Later, GJ

Clutter

How life changes. And not necessarily for the better.

It must be a teenage thing, or a girl thing.

Or a teenage girl thing.

Kid is now almost 17, Pie is now almost 14 and both seem to have simultaneously entered a phase of their lives whereby they believe that an invisible army of worker drones is following behind them clearing up their mess and making sure there is food for them, hot water for them to shower or bath in and that anything in the house is fully available for them to use without asking.

In Pie's case, she's always been a scruffy urchin type of child. But now she's a trendy and well dressed scruffy urchin of a kid. A year or so ago I decided she'd be better off in a larger bedroom. The basis for this was that in the smaller room she possibly didn't have enough space and hence her bedroom would always be cluttered with toys and clothes. Sound male logic I think you would agree. Of course even with my experience I hadn't catered for the tender aged blooming of female logic that had already gripped her. In this case its quite simple. There would never be enough space, even if her bedroom was the size of Wembley Stadium, Women don't do minimalism when it comes to clothes, make up and perfume. Hence at any one time the bedroom floor and double bed we bought her is covered in school uniform, books, magazines, clothes, underwear, make up , handbags, perfume and all sorts of sundry 'girl' related items.

In Kids case, although never an urchin, she was gripped with a similar ailment from the age of 2, helped nicely along with huge amounts of presents on birthdays, at Christmas, after peoples holidays etc lavished on her by kindly, well meaning grandparents, Uncles, Aunts and friends. Oh and at least one of her parents for whom the phrase 'cutting back' comes out of the female logic shredder as 'buy more'.......So, Kid's bedroom, of similar size to Pie's is also a sea of clutter. As she's a tad older there are other things included here such as DVD's and college stuff. But in essence both bedrooms are the sorts of places that would give the Health and Safety Gestapo a huge panic attack. Followed by taping the room off and placing a sign saying 'Unfit for human habitation' on the door.

Of course the clutter levels in rooms also means that, according to their freshly formed female logic, the upstairs landing, the main bathroom, the downstairs hallway, the study, the living room table and even my bedside cupboard and anywhere else is a viable 'overflow' clutter park. Despite various warnings from me and from Hellsbells (who displays the same characteristics but at least has a tipping point for clutter driving her mad) that whatever we find on the floor will be binned, they just happily carry on, seemingly accepting this as just a normal hazard and that anyway, Dad will never carry it out.

Sadly they seem right. I have become ground down by this over the years. It's almost as if I've been institutionalised into accepting that this is how women live their lives.

One other aspect though that I cannot and will not accept, is the female trait of simply borrowing from anything and anyone around them. Or in some cases not borrowing, just using, taking or consuming stuff. In my case they will use my shower gel (a specific type that doesn't irritate my skin), my shampoo, my towels, my socks (thick warm ones and tiny training ones), my skin moisturiser, my headache pills and in Kid's case even my bloody razor blades. I've lost count of how many times I've got up at the ungodly hour of 6am and hobbled to the shower only to get halfway through before realising there's no shower gel or shampoo, and then on completion finding there's no towel. The carpet is stained with footprints from where I've had to leave the shower to find gel or shampoo AND then again to find a towel, usually lying in a heap somewhere on the landing. If I buy myself a treat and leave it in full view it's a guarantee they will help themselves to it. Kid will drain the filtered water from the container in the fridge and replace it ...EMPTY. Prior to being put on Statins I could safely buy grapefruit juice for my morning drink safe in the knowledge that only me and Hellsbells liked it, but now I can't have that anymore and can only drink orange juice. If we buy 5 cartons the girls will drink it as a soft drink, not just for breakfast, but at anytime. They'll pour it for their friends as well, so that when I go to the fridge bleary eyed early in the morning I can expect to find it all gone, or worse still and EMPTY carton put back in the fridge. And on the drinks front..........they will pour a diet coke or glass of squash, drink half, disappear out and leave the drink where they were. They'll even pour themselves another and leave that somewhere half full. I spend my life picking up half drunk glasses of soft drinks, usually with a tell tale sweet wrapper next to it. In their world I genuinely think they believe the fairies clear everything away. We've reached the point in the house whereby for the girls there is an invisible force field around the dishwasher which prevents them from putting their dirty plates inside it. Apparently only me and Hellsbells have the right forcefield breaking powers to open the door and load stuff in. The bin, according to their logic, and I include Hellsbells in this, has unlimited capacity. Never mind that its overflowing with rubbish, just keep on ramming stuff in because somehow the bin mysteriously manges to empty itself to the main household dustbin.

Such is this now moving beyond a mere irritation I have now started to buy stuff suffixed with 'For Men', warning them that their skin will flake off if they use it. I now hide my razor blades and keep a record of how many I have left. I even bought some Chelsea FC branded training socks to use for golf and cycling explaining that this meant they were mine, only to find a pair in Kid's room within a week. I buy Orange juice with bits because they don't like it. Any sweets or treats have to be hidden way lest they decide that as its in the house it must be fair game. Just on Tuesday this week, they went to the local shop and bought THEMSELVES a pot of Ben and Jerry's each. No thought of the poor parents in any of this. My muesli was commandeered to make a cheesecake mix with the promise of full replenishment.......guess what? Yep, never happened and never will. Next will the acquisition of some towels, maybe Chelsea ones that will be MINE and MINE only. And Hellsbells moans about me spending money.....she needs to understand why. I need to buy my own stuff to stop the girls from using/eating/drinking/wearing and borrowing it.

Ultimately it may come down to having a cupboard with a combination lock that only I know. A system so high tech it would be easier to steal The Crown Jewels.

Either that or I move into the shed.

Later, GJ

PC Bollocks is back on the beat

And so I see my old friend PC Bollocks has been at work again in two incidents outlining the moronic and insidious nature of political correctness when taken to its extremes. Just when will the human race fucking grow up and learn the concept of CONTEXT. Words, phrases and gestures are not offensive, but HOW they are imparted can be offensive. I'll admit there are times when the recipient might misconstrue what was said and take offence. This often happens when our judgement filters are clouded by alcohol, hence the not infrequent disputes between friends over casual throw away comments.

But we now seem to have reached the point of such utter stupidity and fear being spread around by PC Bollocks and his brigade of hair shirted, sandal wearing, vegan, bleeding heart, wet liberal softie twats that anyone can be accused of racism, homophobism, sexism and any other 'ism' you care to think of because of well meant and well used phrases.

The two cases I'm thinking of are someone called Miley Cyrus (nope haven't a clue) being accused of racism by by some anal outfit called the Office of Chinese Americans. It sounds a bit jumped up anyway doesn't it? But whoever heads this pedantic group has decided he can get his name in lights, feel some of that celebrity sparkle, have his 15 minutes of fame by making out this girl is in some way oppressing Chinese people. Here’s what she did. She posed in a photograph with some friends, one or more who were 'Chinese -American' or Chinese as we usually call them. None of the group complained, after all they are friends, but some jumped up do-goody tossbag with the wit and wisdom of a dog turd decided this was unacceptable and that this girl (aged 16 for fucks sake) had grievously offended every Chinese/Chinese American....Chink around the world.

Oh...Jack....you used the word Chink........you're a racist!

Stone Jack, hang him, bang him up for life......Whatever.... you fucking morons.

Should I now apologise to morons?

I am regularly referred to as a 'Brit' in the press (well not me individually) ...should I take offence at that? Should all 'Brits' make a stand against having our nationality shortened? I'm 5' 6" tall...or short whichever way you look at it. All my life I've had the piss taken out of my height, and still people make jokes about it...."Oi Jack, does Snow White and the other 6 know you're here?" .....but you know what...I don't get offended, I don't think they're out to put me down or oppress me. I don't cry out about being 'offended' by these 'height fascists'. I laugh about it and get on with life. I see it from the positive view that at least I'm noticed by people.

Are the Irish (and I am half Irish) really worried about being called Paddy? If they are, then I've yet to meet one. I still refer to a shop in the village as a 'Paki' shop. Do I mean it offensively? No, it’s just a shortened term based on nationality. If anything it’s almost a term of endearment because genuine racists wouldn't even consider spending their money there.

The other PC Bollocks incident is the Carol Thatcher one for likening a tennis player to a Golliwog. I'm presuming he or she was black. Well, a golliwog was a toy when I was young. Just like a Teddy bear in fact. A toy that a lot of children were very attached to. A Golliwog appeared on the Robertson’s Marmalade jars for decades until someone decided it might be offensive. Why is it offensive to have a black doll? If this is the case shouldn't white people be equally offended by the caricatures of Cabbage Patch dolls? Shouldn't men be offended by the oddly lacking in genitals Action Man figures? Don't they equally stereotype and help enforce prejudices against those groups? I actually think Carol Thatcher is a rubbish TV presenter, but she was merely using the term Golliwog as a descriptive term. What should she have said? "Such and such reminds me of a black faced, wide smiled, red jacket wearing child's doll I used to have...' Is that acceptable?

I'm more worried about the person who overheard the comments and then like some East German Stasi thought police nark decided to go and tell someone. What a fucking society we're breeding here.... a society of thought police eagerly listening out for people to speak out of turn and use what they deem an inappropriate phrase. All so that they can either look good, or make themselves feel better. What utter wankers. What about the word 'cunt'? When I’m at football people often refer to each other as 'you daft cunt' or 'you stupid old cunt'...usually in a bar and usually between friends. Yet surely this word is the most offensive word in the English speaking language? The difference is the people saying and receiving it have understood the context. Some PC Bollocks thought police spy would undoubtedly interpret it as something far more sinister. And then tell a copper or something. There’s a big difference between ' get me a beer you tight fisted cunt' and ''you shagged my wife you cunt' ...don't you think?

So, all you PC Bollocks fans, and all you minority groups, be you black, brown, yellow, white, wheelchair bound, short, fat, tall, ugly, thick, clever, awkward, clumsy, short sighted, long sighted, deaf, blind, mute, here’s my message.

Learn the concept of context.

Walk out of the school playground.

Stop looking for things to offend you and for fucks sake grow up.

Later, GJ

Stop Press: Apparently the shop at Sandringham Royal estate has decided after 1 year to withdraw its sale of Golliwog dolls. Why? Based on that principle shouldn’t every mannequin be removed from shop windows lest they offend white people, or women? Is that the end for Barbie in case blonde women are offended? Frankly I’m now offended by all this PC Bollocks………but who do I complain to?

I've just about calmed down after Bloody Bastard Blogger decided to lose last Mondays hard grafted piece of blogging. From now on it'll be typed in good old Wordpad, saved and then published with fuck all editing being done in Blogger.


So, what happened over the week? Well first off was some physio for my neck and shoulders - yep, from the accident back in September. Against my initial judgement I decided to go ahead with a compensation claim aginst Monsieur Fuckwit, the French idiot who decided to try and kill a family of four by not bothering to check mirrors and blind spots. Since then my neck and shoulders and sides have got progressively more and more painful. Whether any money is forthcoming or not is a long way off but its a no win/no fee arrangement so I think the solicitors must be confident of getting their costs back otherwise they wouldn't have taken the case on.

The rest of the week was spent exiled to the spare bedroom as the cough was so bad. I haven't slept properly for over a week now and since the accident getting any quality sleep has been a problem anyway. Which makes me even grumpier than normal.Obviously I couldn't go to work when feeling so utterly shite, and my boss confirmed that he didn't want me in whilst I was that ill - his exact words were "if you come in and infect all the others then I'll have to punch you" which being as he's a bigger bloke than me was good enough reason to stay at home.

I went to football on Wednesday and sat there wrapped up in multi-layers of clothing, coughing, unable to shout or even converse, nose running and throat hurting. We won 2-0 but I can't say it was a wise move to go when feeling so rough. But I needed to get out of the house as I was on the brink of going stir crazy. Yes, it may well have been just a man-cold but the problem is as a man I was still fucking ill! I'm an asthmatic as well, so any chest infection suddenly ramps itself up to be a bit more serious just on that basis alone.

Mind you I did catch up on all my recorded TV programmes, including the excellent Being Human series just started on BBC Three - the premise being a vampire, werewolf and ghost sharing a house and simply trying to be normal. Funny and dark in equal amounts this has all the hallmarks of being a real cult series. I've also finally managed to watch the whole of Green Wing Series 1 and all but 2 of Series 2 - how the hell did I miss this the first time around? A truly inspired bit of hospital comedy and Dr Alan Statham is a comedy character to rival the likes of Basil Fawlty and David Brent - I can only imagine it didn't get the same level of publicity because it was tucked away on Channel 4 instead of the Beeb.

So, Thursday and Friday were days when I didn't move anywhere. Stuck under a quilt on the settee with medicine, cough sweets and hot drinks. It would have been bliss had I not been so rough.

But rest was the order of the day, so rest I did and it was needed if I was to get through the Saturday night beano we had to honour the 65th Birthday of The Grand Master. I hadn't had any alcohol for over a week and had planned to go easy on Saturday night, but we all know what happens to the best laid plans..... To be fair it was a bloody good do and everyone seemed to enjoy themselves and after a few Guinness fresheners I even began to feel semi-human. Sunday mornings hangover combined with the cough bought me back down to earth with a shuddering crash. Back to the settee with duvet and pillows all day. I also sat through the debacle that is the current Chelsea squad as they once again succumbed to one of our nearest rivals. 1 point from 15 in all games against the other 3 members of the big 4 is utter shite and yesterday, in muted frustration, I watched our slim hopes of being Champions get flushed down the toilet by a referee who I wouldn't trust to run a bath (unless there was a live toaster balanced on the edge of it whilst he was in it), apathetic poseur footballers on hideously inflated wages (Drogba, Deco and the pile of festering dog turd that is Florent Malouda) and a tactically clueless manager who is currently making former Chelsea fuckwit Claudio Ranieri look like Albert Einstein.

And today we have snow.

Proper, cold snow.

The normal thrum from the A3 is virtually silent as people finally seem to have listened to the authorities about staying at home unless absolutely necessary. People have been seen walking to the local park with sledges. Snow is a very rare beast down here on the South Coast and settled snow even rarer. Apparently we have more to come and even as I look out of the window I can see big chunky flakes falling to earth. Pretty, yes. Disruptive? Not to me..I can work from home!

I'm off to hunt the news sites for something to moan about.

Later, GJ

Awake

My apologies for the extended Jack slumber, but the usual post Christmas lethargy has taken time to shake off this year and it does appear that my motivation levels for doing anything have dropped off.

It must be an age thing.

Anyway, to kick off the new Jack 'season' here are some thoughts....

1.) I have had a rotten rasping dry cough for a week now. Despite chucking every over the counter medicine down my throat I am still exiled to the spare room to prevent sleepless nights for Hellsbells. Pie has slipped into my place. Its the sort of cough that like a vindictive evil spirit taunts you during the day and then night decides to play havoc. Every time the eyes twitch as sleep approaches, in comes this vicious evil spirit and sets off a coughing bout that would be a great advert for not smoking. I sound like an 80 a day Woodbines person. At what point do you decide to go to the Doctors these days? It seems I'm there every 3 weeks at the moment what with various aches and pains, blood pressure checks, asthma checks, flu jabs and crap illnesses like this damn cough. Which I might add is ripping my throat apart as well. At what point does my Doctor start to think I'm stalking him?

2.) BBC's refusal to show an appeal for Gaza victims...........I tend to agree with them on this, but it does apepar they're damned if they do and damned if they don't. With the multiple guns of the press pointing at them all the time looking for any type of controversy is it any wonder they're playing it safe?

3.) I got the TV! It's a beauty - a 46" Samsung monster. It took a lot of work to persaude Hellsbells of the virtues but I think deep down even she sees the adavntage of it. I watched the Indiana Jones latest the other night on it and combined with the Home Cinema system it was as close to being at the cinema as possible. The sound was awesome, but the picture was so good I'd swear it was almost 3D at times. Oh, the joy of being able to watch without wearing my glasses........


I had written so much more but fucking Blogger has fucking lost it. Fucking pile of shite..........

GJ