Do we get grumpy when we get to a certain age? Or is it that we simply feel the need to question more about everyday life as we get older and more understanding of that which just does not seem right anymore?
My dad always seemed to moan like hell – admittedly, usually when The Jackson 5 were on Top of the Pops, which they were…a lot – and yet I find myself slowly, inevitably following the same well worn path.
Fetch me a cardigan, the one with the holes in the arms please!
We are fortunate to live in a free and generally civilised country; however, you could easily make the argument to say that the nation has lost it’s moral compass in recent years, always assuming it ever had one.
Our leaders are weak, inconsistent and relatively powerless to make real the many wondrous things they constantly promise us. And those promises are about to start showering down with the election barely a year away starting this week with the Budget.
Fundamentally the country is broke and, as it lurches ever more into debt, the rich seemingly get richer and the poor simply get stuffed. You can’t help but feel that those in the know sense all is not as it should be and are hoovering up what they can, while they can.
Man the escape hatch!
Of course, there have always been rich and poor but has the gap ever been as wide? CEOs pay themselves eye-watering multiples of their lowest employees’ salaries whilst the bonus culture seems unstoppable and oblivious to a world outside the Square Mile.
The economy may have been steadied for now but we still have debt of around £1.4tr and it seems inconceivable that the books will ever be balanced, unless Tony Blair makes a donation or two from his recent “Tour That Didn’t Bomb Anywhere…This Time”.
The reality is that politicians from all sides know that the only tools they have at the ballot box are the promises of future riches, however false and unaffordable, to bribe us into electing them.
Yet think about who really inspires you to take a grip next year.
The incumbent, David Cameron, has proven himself to be a ditherer of all proportions and simply looks as much under threat from within as from the voters; the Tories do like a private knifing or two.
His challenger, Ed Miliband, seems to want to take on the banks, utility companies and big business all at once striving for the populist vote. It’s posturing on a grand scale but he just looks too weak and most people remember which party broke us last time.
There are no easy answers; what can any Government really change in a five-year, fixed-term parliament apart from spewing out an overdose of words like “inherited”?
They can huff and puff but most know big business runs the show and will pay what tax they wish; the banks are untouchable and the old boy network is set in stone.
People are generally apathetic about politics which probably explains why the excesses we witness go largely unpunished. Generations vote along well established lines and politicians seem to do as they please.
For many years ordinary people have become detached retiring behind curtains to cling to “reality” television and the legions of woeful celebrities as a way out from everyday drudgery.
We’ve become passive and accepting, almost battered into submission; so what to do?
Well I’m not advocating a mass uprising but people need to get more involved in their own communities and try to change the little things for the longer term that matter most closest to home.
Influencing what you can, at whatever level has to be a start.Instead of passive acceptance, be brave enough to challenge things you don’t agree with even if you do sound grumpy.
Simply relying on the local council or the Government to make all your dreams come true just will not happen.
Start to make life uncomfortable for those that abuse our trust and change will gradually start to occur. The alternative is simply not worth contemplating.
Saturdays With Molly
There is a wonderful book called Tuesdays With Morrie where the author chronicles the last few days of his old college professor using the clarity of a dying man’s words and wisdom.
In keeping with the theme I shall be reporting this summer from the hub of the Stiffs’ (Second Team) dressing room at the Villas on my first – and who knows how many thereafter – summer with Molly, the archetypal club cricketer. Will these be our sunshine days?
Molly was not designed for sport but sport was clearly designed for Molly. Anybody who questions the value of sport to the human soul should take Molly as a prime example of how that soul can be uplifted by sport…and beer, more beer and even more beer.
Molly takes his “sport” very seriously so here are some extracts from his “The Three P’s – Planning, Performing and Pissing It Up After”.
CARBING UP – it is essential to prepare for the weekend’s exertions by properly loading up with food to replenish energy stores. Fish & chips plus a healthy dose of mushy peas are a necessary base with a layer of ale on top for settling purposes.
STRETCHING – a full rotation of the body is advised before any game. This is usually achieved by wrestling with your new-fangled, skin-tight lycra top – ignoring horrified looks from team-mates – although I used to prefer my comfy string vest slip-over.
THE ZONE – I find a quiet pre-match crap with the Daily Star achieves this.
COMPETITIVE EDGE – winning the first battle of the day – beating Chiz to the crapper – creates positivity.
WARMING UP – a quick wash of the hands under the hot tap…job done!
RUB DOWN – dropping the soap in the showers is not now advisable in light of Operation Yewtree.
So I look forward to this unique insight into the last thing Lord Coe probably envisaged when he dreamt of a sporting legacy post the Olympic Games. And when stumps are drawn the night begins; it could be a long summer.
As they say…don’t tell Carol!
Road Trip
This week I attended my first sales meeting for almost four years which seemed a bit rich as, since my re-entry to shiny, happy people, I do not look like a contender for Salesman of the Year.
The alarm woke me like a bad dream, the covers were thrown off, a chill blast whooshed around my lower regions and soon, away I went down the M1, the road to hell, in this case Birmingham.
The meeting was a beauty parade of our “partners”; it was like an arranged wedding where we listened, picked the best ones and generally nodded off at the ugly ones.
In they came resplendent in shiny suits, Christmas cufflinks, ties stained by Greggs and shoes more scuffed than a car from Arthur Daley’s used car patch. Life on the road…Trinny and Susannah would have had a field day.
There were buzzwords zipping around like “USP” (sexually transmitted? Ed) and “intel”…was this really asset finance land? What had happened to “chukky”, “strap” and “t’ tick” in my wilderness years away from the front-line?
I checked the itinerary and slowly marked off the five presentations before the promised land of mayo-loaded sandwiches, crisps and more caffeine.
I sang songs, dreamt of former beauties, wondered what my life had come to once England never called and at one point thought the walls were closing in like they used to on Scooby Do and the gang.
Inevitably, I dreamt of Nancy and even paused for thought with Thelma just in case; hell anything would do! Surely the coffee machine was dispensing LSD?
Lunch came and went and soon it started; gurgling and bubbling with little minor explosions, my guts began to object to the onslaught of egg, coronation chicken and sausage roll. If the air-con failed on the way back it could be a major pile up.
Soon it was the turn of our last “act” and, unbelievably, in walked three, none of who could fix the laptop to the big screen!
Then I remembered how we loved a day out working for the Go To Bank all those years ago and smiled knowingly. Close enough to home, far enough from the office, who gave a shit if the computer failed. Home James!!
Come Any Other Business and it was a scene familiar to sales meetings the world over; chairs slid back slowly, folders closed quietly and the real reason my colleague wore trainers for the day became abundantly clear as he made for the door like Usain Bolt.
Welcome back!
Do They Know It’s Not Christmas?
Cliff Richard and Englebert Humperdinck have a new single out presumably commissioned by President Putin to be played all over the Ukraine making people cower in their homes, too scared to go out.
It’s a song bad enough to make a 70mph impact with a lamp-post look a reasonable way out.
Stop it boys!
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