Afternoon Mugs,
I'm 58. Fifty-fucking-eight. It seems like just yesterday I was being a miserable fucker when hitting 30, a much happier person at 40, and to be honest even better at 50. I think 50 was the realisation that I no longer gave a fuck about very much other than family and pets and those close intimate things that make life worth living. It takes that long to work out what the fuck actually matters.
Since then it's been a joy for the most part, apart from the regular failings in a body that the brain thinks can still do various things it could do at 10, 20, 30 etc......this is of course wrong. Everyday something else aches. I ache in bed. I ache during the day and need more sleep, but seem to get less than ever. That is another blog post subject though.
However , one of the joys is the realisation that I no longer have to worry about being in fashion. I can choose clobber that is comfortable, warm when cold, cool when it's hot. No skinny jeans here. No underwear to be seen outside of my jeans unless the fly is open. No baseball caps (they're pretty much worn by idiots anyway). I now wear lovely flat caps. I have a wax jacket. Sensible coats. Sensible and pragmatic clobber all round. I like the latest gadgets, I love my iPhone, my iPad, my iMac, my iPod (yes Apple haven me in their grip) and my Apple Watch.
But one thing is very clear.....when I buy stuff now, stuff that fits, stuff that does the job it's supposed to, stuff that enhances my life and stuff In like ..I now more often than not buy 2 or more of them?
A pack of socks made by Jeep that are good for walking and are warm? I'll have 2 packs then. And then I'll double the order. Got a nice quilted jacket that's waterproof and warm, buy one in black and orange and one in khaki and green. Walking boots....one pair is not enough, I need a backup pair. Deal sorted. Summer cargo shorts? Why not have 6 pairs? Trousers that convert to shorts? Yep, think I'll have 5 pairs please. Apple Watch extra bands.....4 please ...different colours. Phone case? Yep, 2 please, different colours. Charlie Tyrhitt shirts? 4 for £100...blimey.....I'll have 12 then. Glasses? I'll have 3 normal pairs, a prescription sunnies pair and a pair of this that change in the sun from clear to dark.
And it goes on. Even down to buying a bag of frozen fruit..get two. Porridge? I'll have 2 packs then. I buy loo roll at 135 packs a time through Groupon. Bin bags are bought in bulk. Dishwasher tablets at 200 a time.
You get the drift. Some might call it stockpiling, but I've spoken to lots of blokes my age who do similar to either greater or lesser degree. I think it's a fear of finally finding something that is worth the money and does what you want, and the rational fear that in future it won't exist...it will be replaced by something close but not the same, and therefore won't be as good.
I have no intention of changing this policy at any time. It's security. A comfort blanket. A cuggy. It's a bloke thing. it's now an entry criteria into the Guild of Grumpy Blokes (also open to women).
Later Mugs, GJ
Tuesday, 19 November 2019
Friday, 15 November 2019
Litter
Afternoon Mugs,
I have 2 dogs now. After getting the first I very quickly realised what a bunch of horrible fuckers we are when it comes to finding a fucking bin to dump coke scans, baby wipes, red bull cans, cigarette packets, sweet wrappers, tissue paper, cake wrappers, old sock.(yes old socks ffs) and Christ only knows what else. I also discovered some people don't think the responsibility of being a dog owner means picking up your dogs shit after they've had a dump. But walking a dog mens you get top see this because ....well....dogs are greedy fuckers that will eat anything pretty much put in front of them, including some or all of the stuff mentioned above. And I am not at all happy about removing manky old socks from either dogs mouth. Or tissues ..or anything other than a freshly broken stick from a nearby tree.
I mean, how hard is it to just shove the litter in a carrier bag and dump it in one of the numerous bins in the village? I don't want to stereotype but my guess is the majority of the litter is left by teenagers which think it isn't cool to use a bin, or are downright dirty filthy shitbags, or have been too busy fingering or wanking each other in the dark of the corner of the field to remove the leftovers of their pre-fumble feast. At least that's how I remember it......
Dog owners who don't pick up their hounds shit are just lazy parcels of fuckwittery and cuntishness. I'd love to be like Liam Neesson in Taken, so fucking hard that when I saw this happen I could successfully rub the owners faces in the shit and then use their hands to wipe the dogs arse. Having broken their noses first.
Moral? Don't be a lazy, good for nothing littering, dog shit abandoning moron. Because I'm losing my shit over this......
Later Mugs , GJ
I have 2 dogs now. After getting the first I very quickly realised what a bunch of horrible fuckers we are when it comes to finding a fucking bin to dump coke scans, baby wipes, red bull cans, cigarette packets, sweet wrappers, tissue paper, cake wrappers, old sock.(yes old socks ffs) and Christ only knows what else. I also discovered some people don't think the responsibility of being a dog owner means picking up your dogs shit after they've had a dump. But walking a dog mens you get top see this because ....well....dogs are greedy fuckers that will eat anything pretty much put in front of them, including some or all of the stuff mentioned above. And I am not at all happy about removing manky old socks from either dogs mouth. Or tissues ..or anything other than a freshly broken stick from a nearby tree.
I mean, how hard is it to just shove the litter in a carrier bag and dump it in one of the numerous bins in the village? I don't want to stereotype but my guess is the majority of the litter is left by teenagers which think it isn't cool to use a bin, or are downright dirty filthy shitbags, or have been too busy fingering or wanking each other in the dark of the corner of the field to remove the leftovers of their pre-fumble feast. At least that's how I remember it......
Dog owners who don't pick up their hounds shit are just lazy parcels of fuckwittery and cuntishness. I'd love to be like Liam Neesson in Taken, so fucking hard that when I saw this happen I could successfully rub the owners faces in the shit and then use their hands to wipe the dogs arse. Having broken their noses first.
Moral? Don't be a lazy, good for nothing littering, dog shit abandoning moron. Because I'm losing my shit over this......
Later Mugs , GJ
Thursday, 14 November 2019
Grumpy grumpy grumpy
Morning Mugs
I've tried. Fuck knows I've tried. I've tried to tone down my grumpiness, but .....fuck it....all I'm doing is masking the natural gravitational call of grumpiness that grows in impact with each passing year. Right now I'm dealing with a situation at work where customers want to order a service from us that requires us to stump up cash for 3rd party services in order to deliver for the customer, only to be told all the money for 2019/2020 is spent. FOR FUCKS SAKE.....how does anybody sanction this as a method for running a business. This is the equivalent of you engaging a builder to design and deliver a new extension.....and the builder says that due to his financial processes whilst you can place the order, he can't buy any materials, do the design, plan any time or resource until the next financial year when a new Capital budget is in place.
Dear Customer, we value your loyal business but please fuck off with any dreams of getting your work started before April due to my own fuckwit internal processes.
Yeah, it's that fucking stupid. Would I run my own business like this? Only if I wanted to have the worst reputation for delivery in that field and a desire for bankruptcy.
Why have I tried to tone down the grumpiness? I just thought it would make life easier, more positive, more sparky. Happier. But the truth is it just closes a valve on what was cathartic way of releasing the steam of frustration, confusion and being utterly perplexed by modern life...all whilst looking like someone who's mastered the arse-gravy fucked up bollocks of modern living.
So, Mugs, expect to see twitter links, expect more vitriol, bile and sneering confusion and hopefully on a daily basis. There'll be dog stuff from time to time, they're too naughty to be ignored. But lets hope a for return to the laughable self centred glory days of Grocerjack and the idiots I deal with or watch from a distance.
Later Mugs, GJ
I've tried. Fuck knows I've tried. I've tried to tone down my grumpiness, but .....fuck it....all I'm doing is masking the natural gravitational call of grumpiness that grows in impact with each passing year. Right now I'm dealing with a situation at work where customers want to order a service from us that requires us to stump up cash for 3rd party services in order to deliver for the customer, only to be told all the money for 2019/2020 is spent. FOR FUCKS SAKE.....how does anybody sanction this as a method for running a business. This is the equivalent of you engaging a builder to design and deliver a new extension.....and the builder says that due to his financial processes whilst you can place the order, he can't buy any materials, do the design, plan any time or resource until the next financial year when a new Capital budget is in place.
Dear Customer, we value your loyal business but please fuck off with any dreams of getting your work started before April due to my own fuckwit internal processes.
Yeah, it's that fucking stupid. Would I run my own business like this? Only if I wanted to have the worst reputation for delivery in that field and a desire for bankruptcy.
Why have I tried to tone down the grumpiness? I just thought it would make life easier, more positive, more sparky. Happier. But the truth is it just closes a valve on what was cathartic way of releasing the steam of frustration, confusion and being utterly perplexed by modern life...all whilst looking like someone who's mastered the arse-gravy fucked up bollocks of modern living.
So, Mugs, expect to see twitter links, expect more vitriol, bile and sneering confusion and hopefully on a daily basis. There'll be dog stuff from time to time, they're too naughty to be ignored. But lets hope a for return to the laughable self centred glory days of Grocerjack and the idiots I deal with or watch from a distance.
Later Mugs, GJ
Friday, 25 October 2019
Twice the fun. Twice the hard work.
Morning Mugs
Here he is, Dog number 2. Arriving 3rd November. He was called Elmo and that will be on his passport, but his name will be Ossie...named after Chelsea icon Peter Osgood.
One dog is a handful, but two dogs? Twice the fun I'm sure!
Later Mugs, GJ
Here he is, Dog number 2. Arriving 3rd November. He was called Elmo and that will be on his passport, but his name will be Ossie...named after Chelsea icon Peter Osgood.
One dog is a handful, but two dogs? Twice the fun I'm sure!
Later Mugs, GJ
Monday, 14 October 2019
Softie Klaxon
Afternoon Mugs,
He's been with us since the 1st May. He chews everything not out of reach. He leaps at the grandchildren and licks them. He licks me. He licks everyone. He play nips from time to time. He needs walking twice a day and constantly needs to go in and out off the garden. He'll eat anything dropped on the floor. He barks at daft times and sometimes for no apparent reason that we can see. The cats either run away from him, or run hissing at him, and they constantly have to bat him away. He's cost us loads in toys, chewy things, food and treats as well as vets bills for castration and a dew claw removal.
Then there's the cost of leads, poo bags, harnesses, collars, trackers and ID tags.
But here's the thing. We love him. And, it seems he loves us. Unconditionally.
So ....what on earth has made us reserve a second dog from the brilliant Cyprus Rescue and Rehome group?
Life is going to change again.
Later Mugs, GJ
He's been with us since the 1st May. He chews everything not out of reach. He leaps at the grandchildren and licks them. He licks me. He licks everyone. He play nips from time to time. He needs walking twice a day and constantly needs to go in and out off the garden. He'll eat anything dropped on the floor. He barks at daft times and sometimes for no apparent reason that we can see. The cats either run away from him, or run hissing at him, and they constantly have to bat him away. He's cost us loads in toys, chewy things, food and treats as well as vets bills for castration and a dew claw removal.
Then there's the cost of leads, poo bags, harnesses, collars, trackers and ID tags.
But here's the thing. We love him. And, it seems he loves us. Unconditionally.
So ....what on earth has made us reserve a second dog from the brilliant Cyprus Rescue and Rehome group?
Life is going to change again.
Later Mugs, GJ
Friday, 27 September 2019
52-48 - the ultimate Weapon of Mass Destruction.
Morning Mugs,
We are not the Mother of all Parliaments, or if we are then we are a bat-shit crazy, alcohol riddled version of one. The one where Mum drinks a couple of bottles of wine, then a few gins and then decides the future direction of the family. Whilst physically and verbally abusing the family and telling them just how much they've ruined her life. All happening whilst Dad sits in the corner on the fence, quietly smoking his pipe and trying to reason in gentle tones but getting shouted down at every turn. Downtrodden and browbeaten into servility and his supine version of the quiet life.
This week an unelected faux-PM used words like 'surrender' and 'betrayal' to describe Brexit and the 16.1m who voted Remain. Yes, 16.1m people are being told to shut the fuck up and back off. So that a Brexit can be forced through with no deal, impacting a huge number of the terminally stupid who voted us out.
And once done, then we'll be told to unite, to be a United Kingdom again. Scotland will be told they're better off in one union but not the other. It isn't a Union, Scotland will be ruled by England. They will be Vichy Scotland. In effect they already are and have been for centuries. I really hope they get their collective senses together and decide to leave. The idea they can't survive without England is laughable. After that I think (and hope) that the people of Northern Ireland (NI) also come to their senses and decide that England will do fuck all for them, and that England doesn't have the money post-brexit to give them what they received from the EU. A unified Ireland would regenerate NI and it's people.
And then Wales. Wales voted to stay so as far as I'm concerned it can continue as an annexe to England. When I see the closures of plants and businesses across Wales I genuinely think why the fuck should I, as an Englishman bail them out? You reap what you sow etc.....
Please note I am also Irish as due to a great fortune my Mum was Irish and therefore one of my greatest treasures is my Irish passport. The best of both worlds, except that one half of those worlds is collapsing in a hurricane of piss, bile and vitriol. One half has become racist, bigoted, homophobic, and is lurching inexorably to becoming a far right state. When that is complete then I'm off to Ireland (or maybe France) and by hook or by crook my family will be given every chance to come with me.
By rights, London which generates huge amounts of wealth for the UK, more than any other economic area, would have great case to declare independence. It could take control of the money it generates. It could get itself ready to put border controls around it and London would be an independent country. It would still be more populous than Wales, NI and Scotland.
United Kingdom? It will never be unified again. It remains England versus the rest. Scotland versus England. NI versus England. North versus South. Young versus Old. Left versus Right. Family versus Family. And as we can see from the family of the faux-PM we have, it has even pitched brother versus brother and sister versus brother.
Leave versus Remain will never ever disappear. The country is fractured, shattered beyond repair to the point that even if Russia invaded then it would be welcomed by many. Even a war wouldn't heal the wounds.
It's fucked. Even a Peoples Vote won't repair the damage. It's the equivalent of being on a sinking ship where 52% of the people voted to sink it and don't care that it's sinking as long as the ship is no longer in the harbour.
Later Mugs, GJ
We are not the Mother of all Parliaments, or if we are then we are a bat-shit crazy, alcohol riddled version of one. The one where Mum drinks a couple of bottles of wine, then a few gins and then decides the future direction of the family. Whilst physically and verbally abusing the family and telling them just how much they've ruined her life. All happening whilst Dad sits in the corner on the fence, quietly smoking his pipe and trying to reason in gentle tones but getting shouted down at every turn. Downtrodden and browbeaten into servility and his supine version of the quiet life.
This week an unelected faux-PM used words like 'surrender' and 'betrayal' to describe Brexit and the 16.1m who voted Remain. Yes, 16.1m people are being told to shut the fuck up and back off. So that a Brexit can be forced through with no deal, impacting a huge number of the terminally stupid who voted us out.
And once done, then we'll be told to unite, to be a United Kingdom again. Scotland will be told they're better off in one union but not the other. It isn't a Union, Scotland will be ruled by England. They will be Vichy Scotland. In effect they already are and have been for centuries. I really hope they get their collective senses together and decide to leave. The idea they can't survive without England is laughable. After that I think (and hope) that the people of Northern Ireland (NI) also come to their senses and decide that England will do fuck all for them, and that England doesn't have the money post-brexit to give them what they received from the EU. A unified Ireland would regenerate NI and it's people.
And then Wales. Wales voted to stay so as far as I'm concerned it can continue as an annexe to England. When I see the closures of plants and businesses across Wales I genuinely think why the fuck should I, as an Englishman bail them out? You reap what you sow etc.....
Please note I am also Irish as due to a great fortune my Mum was Irish and therefore one of my greatest treasures is my Irish passport. The best of both worlds, except that one half of those worlds is collapsing in a hurricane of piss, bile and vitriol. One half has become racist, bigoted, homophobic, and is lurching inexorably to becoming a far right state. When that is complete then I'm off to Ireland (or maybe France) and by hook or by crook my family will be given every chance to come with me.
By rights, London which generates huge amounts of wealth for the UK, more than any other economic area, would have great case to declare independence. It could take control of the money it generates. It could get itself ready to put border controls around it and London would be an independent country. It would still be more populous than Wales, NI and Scotland.
United Kingdom? It will never be unified again. It remains England versus the rest. Scotland versus England. NI versus England. North versus South. Young versus Old. Left versus Right. Family versus Family. And as we can see from the family of the faux-PM we have, it has even pitched brother versus brother and sister versus brother.
Leave versus Remain will never ever disappear. The country is fractured, shattered beyond repair to the point that even if Russia invaded then it would be welcomed by many. Even a war wouldn't heal the wounds.
It's fucked. Even a Peoples Vote won't repair the damage. It's the equivalent of being on a sinking ship where 52% of the people voted to sink it and don't care that it's sinking as long as the ship is no longer in the harbour.
Later Mugs, GJ
Tuesday, 24 September 2019
How's Your Day Going?
Morning Mugs,
I woke up this morning to torrential rain. Persistent rain. Not fucking 'showers' as the Met Office like to call rain these days, even if it's being going fo 3 hours. Pricks.
I decided it might be best to try and walk Bertie early. My strategy was to wear a pair of shorts and boat shoes with no socks. This would limit any trouser/sock/trainer soaking issues. yes I do have proper walking boots but they take a long to put on as it takes to walk Bertie and I don't have time to faff about...proper walking boots for proper walks!
Then with wax jacket and cap on we walked into the rain. We normally walk to a local secure field for dog walkers but due to the sheer heavy rain I decided a walk to the bottom of the road and the grassy verges would suffice. Its not like Bertie likes the rain much. This was fine until at a certain point a complete fuckwit in their 'never been off road' 4x4 decided to drive past ma and ignore the torrent of water running alongside the pavement.
Soaked...from head to toe. Just like you'd see in a sitcom. Except it wasn't funny and I wasn't laughing. water ingress had occurred as the water went UP the jacket and DOWN the collar as well. The cap did little to protect the few dry bits on my head.
Oh, I cursed. I shouted. I gave then the full finger and wanker gestures in the faint hope they'd stop, either to apologise or to remonstrate over my language and gestures. I was ready for either, but they drove on, no doubt oblivious, laughing or scared when they saw this raving and drooling lunatic in the rear view mirror.
We walked on to the grass verges, aware of the fact I could not get any wetter now, slightly less angry because it was just footie shorts soaked rather than jeans and trainers.No poo. Lots of wee, but he steadfastly did not do the business. We walked (trudged) back, saturated. I let him into the back garden whilst I I stripped off the wet clothing in the garage. I had dry clothes in there as an insurance. I let him in, dried him off and decided to use the loo quickly. I came back out to a trail of runny, smelly dog shit from the kitchen door to the living room door. It was like an H-block dirty protest.
As I retched my way around with loo paper, baby wipes and poo bags cleaning it up I knew bigger equipment was needed. Cue the next 30..yes 30 minutes spent using the VAX carpet cleaner (a bloody godsend if you have pets and grandchildren) cleaning the carpet fully. Copious amounts of carpet freshener applied and the smell has almost gone. Almost. I can't help thinking it may never fully go. Only the unadapted nose of visitors will tell us that.
All of this before 9am.
Hows your day going then?
Later Mugs, GJ
I woke up this morning to torrential rain. Persistent rain. Not fucking 'showers' as the Met Office like to call rain these days, even if it's being going fo 3 hours. Pricks.
I decided it might be best to try and walk Bertie early. My strategy was to wear a pair of shorts and boat shoes with no socks. This would limit any trouser/sock/trainer soaking issues. yes I do have proper walking boots but they take a long to put on as it takes to walk Bertie and I don't have time to faff about...proper walking boots for proper walks!
Then with wax jacket and cap on we walked into the rain. We normally walk to a local secure field for dog walkers but due to the sheer heavy rain I decided a walk to the bottom of the road and the grassy verges would suffice. Its not like Bertie likes the rain much. This was fine until at a certain point a complete fuckwit in their 'never been off road' 4x4 decided to drive past ma and ignore the torrent of water running alongside the pavement.
Soaked...from head to toe. Just like you'd see in a sitcom. Except it wasn't funny and I wasn't laughing. water ingress had occurred as the water went UP the jacket and DOWN the collar as well. The cap did little to protect the few dry bits on my head.
Oh, I cursed. I shouted. I gave then the full finger and wanker gestures in the faint hope they'd stop, either to apologise or to remonstrate over my language and gestures. I was ready for either, but they drove on, no doubt oblivious, laughing or scared when they saw this raving and drooling lunatic in the rear view mirror.
We walked on to the grass verges, aware of the fact I could not get any wetter now, slightly less angry because it was just footie shorts soaked rather than jeans and trainers.No poo. Lots of wee, but he steadfastly did not do the business. We walked (trudged) back, saturated. I let him into the back garden whilst I I stripped off the wet clothing in the garage. I had dry clothes in there as an insurance. I let him in, dried him off and decided to use the loo quickly. I came back out to a trail of runny, smelly dog shit from the kitchen door to the living room door. It was like an H-block dirty protest.
As I retched my way around with loo paper, baby wipes and poo bags cleaning it up I knew bigger equipment was needed. Cue the next 30..yes 30 minutes spent using the VAX carpet cleaner (a bloody godsend if you have pets and grandchildren) cleaning the carpet fully. Copious amounts of carpet freshener applied and the smell has almost gone. Almost. I can't help thinking it may never fully go. Only the unadapted nose of visitors will tell us that.
All of this before 9am.
Hows your day going then?
Later Mugs, GJ
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