The Grumpy Old Blog

I was contacted today by a Talent Acquisition Manager. My initial reaction was "Yippee". Someone has told someone about my prowess behind the otherwise amateur microphone that is community radio broadcasting. My hours spent in my little home office (the smallest bedroom in the house that I have been relegated to) producing the hour-long "Surreal Hour" - my AOR and totally politically incorrect radio programme - was about to pay off, and I was to walk into a £200,000 a year job on late-night BBC Radio 2. But sadly, I was mistaken. The "Talent Acquisition Manager" turned out to be a phishing recruitment consultant who had found my CV online. No national radio for me. Just the perfunctory "what am I doing" and "am I looking for a job as they might have something completely unsuitable in 2016?" scenario. I should have sussed it, as I haven't a speech impediment, I have never been in a "boy band" where an inability to wri...

I have finally worked out why the radical religionists of the world, especially in Arab lands, are so, er, radical, violent and downright murderous. With their quaintly named groups, such as Ali Baba, Ali Bongo, Ali Pally and Hummous, to name but a few, the moment they hear the slightest whisper that is in disagreement with their narrow-minded and often animalistic (sorry zoos everywhere) point of view, out come the guns, knapsack bombs and the book and flag burners. There is a double-fold reason for this. Connected by out-and-out brilliant Kodak-yellow jealousy. Firstly, they have a natural, built-in envy of the west, in particular of the one-time troubles ( Na Trioblóidí in Irish for those studying the language for A-Level) in Northern Ireland, not that they read of it in history books. Their bearded bystanders who get them to do all the dirty work don't allow them to read Western history books, because there  might be a picture of the half-naked infidel, Kate Moss, an adv...

I have great difficulty in getting my head around some of the outpourings on social websites from people towards total strangers. I have noticed a number of posters on Facebook, who have amended their names to include LUFC (Leeds United Football Club), call Chairman Ken Bates all the names under the sun, with several regularly baying "Die Bates die". They don't know the man.  They have more than likely never met him.  And they certainly fail to realise that the unpopular decisions (as far as the football fanatics are concerned) he might make are based purely the commercial ones any person in charge of the potential money machine that football in the UK has become would make. After all, he rightly wants to try a leverage a return on any investment he has made. The hoo-haa on Twitter, when some of the team GB sports people failed to live up to expectations during the Olympics was, frankly, deplorable. There is even less of a chance that those posting had even hea...

I confess to being somewhat amused. Remembering back to my youth, the music of the day, with albums (the vinyl type) toted around school under arms, tended to be by the untidy long-haired, wailing a set of completely nonsensical lyrics loudly into a microphone, with a couple of interruptions by a seemingly endless guitar solo. Names such as Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, Yes, Genesis, Blodwyn Pig, Blind Faith, Cream, Traffic, Spencer Davis with the 4-minute wonders provided by the Rolling Stones and Status Quo. Strangely, these bands or their members are still going strong up to 50 years later! And yes, they mostly wrote all their own material and played their own instruments. And my dad hated most of them, thinking they all sounded the same (although, as a man in his mid 80's before his passing away a couple of years ago, he enjoyed the Electric Light Orchestra, Ian Dury and Queen. And unashamedly, the album of cover songs by Ozzy Osborne). Today, the wailing has now become ...

Check the queue at the main till, and weigh this up against the number of items you have in your hand (a litre of milk, a chocolate bar, a toothbrush and a small bag of salad). Make the decision that scanning these four items at the self-service check-out can't possibly take longer than waiting in the assistant-serviced queue, especially as the current customer, a fur coat-clad woman, is arguing about the supermarket running out of GM, gluten-free, diet, sugar-free, fat-less lettuce and having to pack her own bag. This despite the fact that the assistant, who, although half your age, is certainly worth you standing there and being mentally undressed by you as you wait. But you sensibly opt for speed over a very attractive young woman. Press “Begin”, and scan in your loyalty card so the machine can spit out some extremely “relevant” offers when you have completed your purchase, thus proving that the supermarket knows everything about you - your buying habits, your shirt size, whe...

Vodafone seem to be losing the plot. A little. Daughter had a total episode trying to pay her bill yesterday - she stopped direct debits due to Vodafone's mysteriously ever-changing bills causing havoc with her student part-time working income management.  The charming girl in India, or wherever the corporate tax dodgers base their call centres, had great difficulty in venturing even slightly off-script. VODAFONE: "What is your pin number?" DAUGHTER: "It's double zero blah blah" VODAFONE: "That''s not what we have here" DAUGHTER: "Well it's the one I've had for the past 5 years" VODAFONE: "Can you repeat it?" DAUGHTER: "Yes it's zero zero blah blah" VODAFONE: "That's not what you said first time" DAUGHTER: "Yes, I did" VODAFONE: "No, you said double zero blah blah" You couldn't really make it up! However, daughter, a bit outspoken at times,...

I'm really sorry, but whoever invented the term "supermodels" needs not only taken to court by Trading Standards, but shoved up against a brick wall and insulted by the utterly repulsively-natured Naomi Campbell. Why are they 'Supermodels'? Yes, they are good at being over-priced clothes horses at the beck and call of the stylishly-challenged. But that it is. They are about as Super, as Super is a five-letter word. And that is it. There really is absolutely nothing super about any, single one of them! And it's not as if what they do is vital to the world. To allow someone to operate on your brain, you need a brain-surgeon, trained for years, and an expert in their field. Shove some fashion that lacks total style on your body, act like a mannerless, witless, sultry moron, walk like you have an oversized suppository shoved up your behind, and hey presto, you're a model. Anyone could do it, despite what the basket-case, fashion-house Prima Donna s wou...