I got to the checkout, and noticed that the metal frame that has the plastic bags hanging from it was not only “bag less” but sported a hastily made notice that muttered on about “in order to encourage customers to recycle….. bags were no longer left out…. but if you really felt the need to use one then ask the colleague blah, blah, sanctimonious waffle”

The girl then challenged me as to how many of my own bags I had equipped myself with?
The conversation went something like this: -

“Young lady I drive a Jaguar 3 litre V6 that does 19 to the gallon, that in itself may indicate how untroubled I am about the rumours concerning the environment, however more importantly; how uncool would it be if I were to be seen exiting from it with a handful of old carrier bags?
She laughed
Considering that my carbon footprint is already the size of Wales do you seriously think I give a jot as to how much slower the planet will spin if I continue to re-use your naff orange shopping bags? Let’s be honest they rarely last long enough to get my shopping half way up the garden path before giving up the ghost completely and unceremoniously depositing a cocktail of Ajax and bananas on my herbaceous borders. There sole purpose has always been as a marketing tool, they tell the world I shop at Sainsbury’s, nothing else.
On the issue of being made to feel guilty and on a par with a baby strangler because I refuse to juggle with my eggs and cauliflower florets as I return to my car; be rest assured that should I ever feel the need to delegate my conscience to a third party I shall choose an expert in matters moralistic and a damn good negotiator to boot. I doubt very much I shall turn to the likes of Sainsbury’s.

My reasons being a distinct lack of honesty in most of its trading tactics. I draw your attention to the sign over there that proudly proclaims that since Sainsbury’s has declined to foister its free orange bags on the customer, enough of them have been saved to go around the world.
I beg your pardon? Since when have your bags been free? There is no such thing in life as free, it is an overhead and as such affects the prices charged. We the customer pay for them, they are not free. Sainsbury’s is merely jumping on the bandwagon to appear honourable and caring when in fact they are saving themselves money whilst slithering around under the guise of being Eco-friendly.

Also I do recycle supermarket bags I tie up my rubbish in them, which is about all they are fit for after transporting something as grotesquely heavy as a bumper bag of crisps or my till receipt. However if I am to be denied access to them I expect Sainsbury’s will be delighted to sell me bin liners, thus providing even more revenue to boot and damn whatever landfill they end up in!

On the question of overheads I see that that your esteemed employer is still sticking up plastic notices everywhere telling us which of their products is the same price as Asda or Tesco. I can only assume that they have found a printer somewhere who does this service for nothing? I doubt it. How about just not bothering and drop the prices to below that of your competitors? That would be a benefit, and could be achieved by counterbalancing the use of the dosh you save through not printing up self congratulatory propaganda which in reality are saying that if these items are the same price as our competitors then everything else not marked must be more expensive!
I expect the plastic you’d save from not chucking all those signs into landfill, for that is where they will surely end up, would also go some distance around the world as well.”

With a big grin on her face she thanked me for shopping at Sainsbury’s and wished me a good day. I told her I didn’t regard any of this as her fault of course, she’s just on the national minimum wage and is following the instructions of some self important suit upstairs. Twats!

Grabbing hold of my four bags I cranked up my voice a couple of notches and expressed an instinct that although the list of things they now have to say to each customer …………..
“Hello….. Would you like help with packing your bag …… Do you have a wotsit card ……. are you collecting vouchers for school ….. would you like a savings stamp …… would you like cash back …… no the card goes in the other way …. please enter your PIN ….. you can remove your card now ….. .
……….has in fact been added to by having to challenge each punter about returning plastic bags.
I was concerned that their personal achievement targets would be even more out of reach as they are also slowed down now by having to constantly reach into the hidden vault in order to allow you yet another bag (one at a time).
I wouldn’t mind betting folding money to a bent tin of tomatoes that nobody has thought of allowing them more time to troll out this mindless waffle let alone what damage is being done to their psyche through this Pavlovian behaviour.
She had to hide her face to laugh I then realised the check out girls either side of her had joined in.

They all said goodbye and waved to me when I left…….

Every now and then the news bubbles with stories of women impregnating themselves with their late husband’s sperm.  Usually the indignation is launched by those who should either keep their noses out (did I mean that?) or accept that their morals and beliefs have no place in the lives of others.

I always (being a simple minded man) drew the conclusion that the man in question had cracked one off the wrist before having a vasectomy, then presented his wife with a receipt from a cryogenic clinic wrapped around a turkey baster.

“Happy Christmas darling, just in case we change our minds or I tap dance my way under a number 14 bus …….. enjoy!”

Then eavesdropping a conversation whilst waiting for a meeting to start at work I was astonished to learn that on occassion women have done the wild thing with their husband’s do’ings after he’s shuffled off his mortal coil and consequently was in no position to shuffle anything else!

This set me thinking ……. the morals of turning a corpse into a father don’t even register on my radar, what intrigued me was the similarity between this and the comment that has wrung in my ears for most of my life.

I refer to the one about it being like raising the dead.  After a severe bout of Googling I discovered the existance of a machine called an “Electro-ejaculator” It took a while because although Google is superb I was having trificulty in wording the search.

How do they get a dead man to spray his socks …errrr.. what do you do to get a stiff, stiff and come after he’s gone …errr … if a woman who’s now a widow wants to do to her late husband what she refused to do when he wasn’t ….

Once I narrowed down the search the answer came immediately, which is a coincidence.

The electro gubbins concerned looks like this: -

I’ve posted the photo in case you have one tucked away behind the clock on the mantlepiece and have always wondered what the hell it was…….

Now apparently the procedure still works hours after death has been bestowed upon him, possibly days! The electric probe is inserted into the rectum next to the prostate. A current consisting of oodles of volts is then shot up his jacksy.  This results in immediate erection and Bingo the massed crowds all run round with jam jars. The coffin it seems has to be extended to accommodate the deceased’s smile

Fantastic! ……… but here’s the sting in the tail.

I’ve searched e-Bay, Government surplus auctions, you name it ……do you think I can find one?

It’s just as well really, I’d never get to work, and consequently wouldn’t be able to pay the electricity bill.

It must have happened to you at some time. There you are sitting in your car at a junction or something and you just get the feeling that the driver approaching is about to do something unbelievably daft.  Then guess what?  They do!

Perhaps they turn without indicating, or indicate without turning.  Often there’s no real evidence they are paid up members of “The Dopey Brigade” however there must have been something subtle you picked up on because having nudged you in the proverbials your guardian angel then whispered down your ear something like “Now this could be worth watching!”

Perhaps just being out on the road makes you more aware of those that are firing on only three cylinders, after all it’s too dangerous to be taken casually.  However this goes on all the time and you really should be awake to it.

A while back I was given a “Heads up” whilst at a house clearance auction.  I was so pleased as I wouldn’t have wanted to miss it for worlds.

It happened like this.

Getting bored with the endless parade of dusty old paintings and badly stained electro plated candlesticks my attention wandered to a fellow bidder who was aimlessly walking around in a distracted manner.  He was alone but giving a good impersonation of somebody trying to solve the world’s problems over the phone whilst cooking the dinner, juggling two chain saws and keeping on eye on the kids who were playing hopscotch on the M1.

Everybody else in the room had positioned themselves where they could catch the eye of the auctioneer, their catalogues were neatly folded and marked at the lots they were interested in.  Not him though, he was wondering around, shedding sheets of paper as he absentmindedly picked up lots that had already been sold, then stepping backwards onto other people’s feet. I doubt there was a single individual there who hadn’t clocked him, whilst he demonstrated total ingnorance regarding his surroundings and those about him.  With a heavy sigh he looked at the auctioneer, then totally disregarding the poor guy trying to conclude the sale of Lot 247 he interrupted him by demanding to know what lot they were on.

This was like sticking a bamboo cane into the spokes of a speeding pushbike.  Everything came to a screaming halt, during which the auctioneer forgot what the last bid was and to whom he was trying to extract the next one.  People moaned and muttered, he was quizzed as to whether he was trying to bid, he countered with the defence that if he’d wanted to bid then he’d hardly have enquired as to what lot was being sold.  The auctioneer stated that once bidding had commenced, conversations and enquiries were not welcome.  However this criticism went straight over his head as he was now looking for somewhere to rest his not overly streamlined arse.

Turning his back on everyone he ambled over towards the furniture waiting to come under the hammer.  Several sofas and easy chairs were already occupied by punters, suddenly his eye was taken by a Victorian cane garden chair.  It was a delicate piece that looked as if it had all the tensile strength of papier mache.  He gazed at it and inspected the worm riddled frame, he checked his catalogue and scratched his chin. I had already given this piece the once over myself half an hour previously and concluded that the only thing keeping it together was the woodworm all holding hands. It hardly seemed capable of supporting it’s own weight, and I pitied anyone who tried to lift it without being left just holding two handfuls of dusty powder.  Still, maybe he owned a dust shop, perhaps he’d cornered the market in exporting furniture that was left with only a life of hours, who knows?

A felt a gentle tickle in my left ear and a fairy voice said, “Don’t ignore this, you’ve seen enough evidence already to know he’s an accident that’s been circulating for ages ….. he’s now on final approach!”

Surely he wasn’t going to bid on it?……Nope ….. he was going to sit on it!

At first it wasn’t obvious that this was his intention for he appeared to have lost interest in it and had his back towards it.  Then to my amazement he slowly buckled his knees and ever so gently lowered his 20 odd stone earthwards.  He’d reached that point where although he’d made contact he still wasn’t supported by it, when he suddenly sighed and allowed gravity to take over.  He visibly relaxed into the embrace of the ninety year old piece of casual, part time furniture.

The assortment of creaks, snaps and p’twangs as the frame flew apart were only outshone in the impressiveness stakes by the look of astonishment on his face when it occurred to him that gravity still had a hold, and that his journey southwards was about to begin in earnest.

His next decision was momentous.  Not content with demolishing somebody else’s chair by crushing it under him, he concluded that the situation could be saved by grabbing hold of the rosewood china cabinet next to him!  A foolish move I felt. 

Still it did have a delaying tactic in so much as his final demise was put off by almost a whole handful of seconds.  This was due to his having grabbed the cabinet by the door handle, which of course hadn’t been locked by the last person who had wanted to examine the half tea service that was at this very moment sliding towards a fateful reconoiter with the concrete some eighteen inches below.

It occured to me that although the chair was clearly in pieces it was still obstinately hanging in mid air, so it was likely that my friend’s final resting place was to have a foundation of smashed crockery, as by now he was physically propelling the tea set with a force that outmanouvered mere gravity. 

The most attractive option was that he would end up inside the china cabinet as he was still forcibly hanging on to the open door like grim death, whilst his head entered the gap.  However I was a mere amateur at such spectacles of human endeavour, for although I had noted the presence of the pot jardinaire on top of the now fully animated china cabinet I hadn’t expected it to play such a major part as fate had obviously intended.  I guessed it would go backwards and just land on top of the unsuspecting child in the pushchair in front, but no, it wasn’t to be!

It went skywards in a truly impressive arc. Having reached its zenith it changed direction and plumetted onto the back of his neck with a precision that would have made the damnbusters murmur in appreciation.  He made his first noise, not so much a yell more a strangled moan of acceptance that today wasn’t going all his way.

The shock of the impact on his neck coincided with the journey’s end for all of the other mobile elements of this circus including his arse. Throwing his head back he managed to complete his entry into the world of china cabinets and spectacularly emerged through the top of it.  He was wearing the damn thing and sitting on a nest of bamboo and porcelain shards to boot.  People sitting within five yards of him were nonchalantly picking bits of wood and glass out of their hair.

The whole room was frozen, everybody just looked at him, nobody seemed to want to approach him and offer help in case his bountiful actions weren’t yet finalised, what else was left for him to attempt?

He looked up at the auctioneer, the auctioneer looked down at him.

Straightening his hat he admonished the man with the gavel……

“Well I’m still waiting …. what lot are we on?”

A question to you all………..

Tattoos?

Yes?
No?
Good?
Bad?
Attractive?
Ugly?
Would you?
Have you?

Well yesterday I was sitting in front of the television, counting my legs when suddenly the programme changed to tattoos.

After about 10minutes I couldn’t take any more. It was all about the one they hold in Edinburgh.

Now I find bagpipes irritating at the best of times. However I do believe that this was their original intention, in other words; to scare or unsettle the enemy just before waggling your claymore in their faces.
What I find trificult to comprehend is how many tartan clad marching bands does anyone really want to watch in one session?
Not very many I’d have guessed, but in Edinburgh there were simply tens of people who were only outnumbered by how many bagpipe stranglers of every creed colour size and gender there were present, and all bustling each other to be annoying.

What really puzzles me is that considering that bagpipes originated in Iran and were only taken to Scotland by The Romans (obviously hoping to banish them forever by relocating them to the furthest known extremity) why is that Military Tattoos consist of everybody from diminutive Ghurkas and muscle rippling ebony skinned chaps down to American batton twirling girls who appear to have universal joints inserted where knees and elbows should be ….. However, all garbed in full ceremonial Highland dress (The McClone Tartan?)

Why aren’t they all strutting their stuff and strangling their sheep stomachs over in Tehran where they could take advantage of being enveloped in either a grey sack or an ill fitting nylon business suit?

I don’t subscribe to the stereotypical whitewashing of a group of people simply becasue they do a particular job.  You know the sort of thing I’m referring to …. “Oh he’s a traffic warden is he? Bunch of little Hitlers all of them!”

However see what you make of this.

My doctor’s surgery runs a telephone repeat prescription order line.  This means you call a number tell the nice lady at the other end you’d like another supply of mind numbing drugs and then pop in two days later to collect the prescription. Yay!

So Monday, having noticed I was down to a tab or three in the box, I wrang, it was engaged; I rang again and again and again and again and again and again ……. I’m sure you’ve got the idea by now.

So quite exhausted I left it until yesterday.  The line opens at 11.00am, so I called at 10.59 and 30 seconds, the line was closed save for a recorded message telling me that it opened at 11.00am, so I immediately rang back as it was now 11.00am and 10 seconds and ……. it was engaged!

So I rang again and again and again and again ……. I’m sure you’ve got the idea by now. Then at half past noon I thought “Sod this” and phoned the surgery on the normal line. It rang twice and was answered.

“So and So’s surgery, how can I help you?” Now following the conversation that ensued I have decided to buy the receptionist a dictionary so she can look up the word “Help” I’d hate her to continue labouring under the misapprehension that it means “obstructive, lacking initiative, rule bound, cracked record”

The jolly chat went like this: -

Hello, I’d like to order a repeat prescription thank you

No, you have to ring the prescription hotline, the number is 024 76……….

Thank you, but that’s pointless, I was ringing it all day yesterday and continually from 11.00am this morning it is constantly engaged, so if you take my details and pass them on please.

No, you have to ring the prescription hotline.

I’ve just explained that I have wasted a day and a half trying to do that, so I need you to pass it on to them please.

No, you have to ring the prescription hotline, because that’s how it works.

But it doesn’t work. My name is Cl_____ I need Venlafaxine……

Hold on a minute, you have to ring the prescription hotline, because that’s what we have to do.

Eh? I thought they were in the surgery.

We have to ring the prescription hotline if we need them because that’s the procedure.

I’m not interested in your procedures, don’t try to make them my problem, they’re your problem.  So where is the lady that operates this “HOTLINE”?

Well she is in this building.

Really? Where exactly?

She sits behind me.

Ok, then please turn around and tap her on the shoulder and tell her I need Venlafaxine.

It doesn’t work like that,  you have to ring her on the prescription hotline.

This is ridiculous, please pass her this phone and I’ll ask her myself.

I can’t do that, this is the reception phone not the prescription hotline phone.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10…… Let me talk to the Practice manager then.

You can’t talk to her.

Yes I can

No you can’t she’s in a room with a doctor, and I ‘m not disturbing her with this.

That’s ok, I can appreciate how much more important a doctor is than I am. I’ll talk to her deputy then.

She’s busy as well.

Why what’s she doing then?

She’s manning the prescription hotline.

Would you tell her someone wants to talk her to in her deputy manager role.

Certainly, just a minute.

Hello can I help you?

Yes please I’d like a repeat prescription thank you.

Certainly, what’s your name, date of birth and the medication you need?

It’s no wonder I need the drugs to keep me sane, how do you other poor buggers cope?

I popped into their mega sized store in Coventry recently and trundled along to the coffee aisle to see if there were any special offers to tempt me when I spotted that not only were there not any ………

“Buy two for only £6″

Or any such similar tempters but instead I espied a host of little shelf labels proudly gloating that they were the same price as Tescos.  Now I don’t know about you but I have always found this form of self congratulatory preening irritating to say the least.

You expect it from school children.  The teacher congratulates the slow child in class for having nearly bust a blood vessel in order to get most of their times table out in nearly the right order, when the brainy but lazy one at the back petulantly moans and points out that they too got that many right. 

However we see an awful lot of this in marketing today, only yesterday a bus wobbled past me in town, its side yelling at me that “So & So’s Jewellery  Store Would Match Any Price Anywhere Including The Internet”

Now I like a bargain as much as the next person, but this is not better than, this is the same as!

What these companies are doing is to get us the customers to undertake their market research for them.  They can’t be bothered to find out what prices their competitors are charging so they get you to do it for them.  If you can’t be bothered then they’ll begrudgingly charge you over the odds.  If you do take the time and trouble they graciously come down to the same price that you could have gotten it for when you were in the other shop down the road half an hour ago. Well Whoopee Doo!!!

We can see what’s in it for them, they stand a chance of selling their goods either at an inflated price or at the going rate without having to wear out their own shoe leather trudging around conducting their own retail intelligence.  But, what’s in it for me and you?  Umm ….. nothing really, you could have still have gotten at the same price earlier on. Cheeky bastards!

What Sainsburys were doing is parallel to the “You tell us how cheap we should be…” as it was saying “On this particular occassion we can match the others price.” But it’s like politicians and children, you quickly learn to listen to what they are not saying in order to get the bigger picture.

The politician that says “We have saved £XX K from the defence budget is admitting they haven’t supplied our fighting soldiers with enough equipment to protect their sorry arses whilst fighting some other fuckers war over in Kyzakibolloxstan.  The child that simperingly snuggles up to you and slowly sighs that they have cleared up all the mess in the kitchen for you, is really telling you they just broke the casserole dish given to you as a wedding present by Aunt Matilda.

So there I was amongst Sainsburys coffee shelves, joyfully admiring their pride at being as generous as Tesco, when I was politely interrupted by a member of staff who enquired if I needed any help.

“Do you need any help?” She interrupted.

“Well……….” I hesitated, I had issues here and did’nt want to appear rude to the nice lady who was merely doing her job and as such was obviously many steps removed from the jumped up eager young graduate in Head Office Marketing who had decide it would be a super idea to waste some of the marketing budget by gloating that Sainsburys were proud to have managed to be as good as Tescos.

“You see…” I tried again. “I notice your prices are as good as Tescos, but what I want is better than Tescos, if only by a penny, then I can see something in it for me.”

“I know exactly what you mean.” She sympathised with me. “When I was told to stick those on the shelves I also felt it was an insult, after all I too am a shopper, and I felt iritated by it.  After all, these stickers weren’t free, they cost Sainsburys to have them made in the first place.”

We both agreed there wasn’t much evidence of joined up thinking going on here.  I proclaimed then and there to go to Tescos and check this out, and if it turned out to be true I would then buy my coffee from them and reward their initiative over prices by patronising their coffee coffers!

But it got worse, as I slowly ambled away I read another shelf sticker, this one yelled at me that I could buy some packet of undesirable nonsense for 3np less than Tesco.  You would be forgiven for thinking this was exactly what i wanted to see, evidence of a benefit to me.

However I was now forced to conclude a completely different scenario was evident.  One one side of me was a child pointing out that coffee was the same price as Tesco, and on my right was a politician proudly proclaiming that Sainsburys were selling Kellogs Wheaty Bang cheaper than Tesco.

I lifted the veil of fog and gazed at all of the other items that festooned the shelves, and wondered how they compared to Tesco.  It didn’t take me long to realise that if they sat in neither the same price as nor were they cheaper than, then that left only one comparison to be made, surely?

I wrote to Sainsburys ask them why, by inference, they were joyfully charging more than Tesco for most of their produce.

Dear Sainsbury’s

I write to congratulate you on your recent marketing initiative in the coffee department.

I (until this weekend) shop at the Canley superstore in Coventry.

This weekend I was enthralled to notice little signs excitedly informing that certain brands of instant coffee were…

Same Price as Tesco’s

My initial response was to think : -

“Are you insulting my intelligence? What I want is cheaper than Tesco not same price!”

In fact if you hadn’t wasted the money having little signs printed up boasting that Tesco’s had taken the initiative to set the price and all you had managed was to jump on their coat tails and equal it, then the chances are you could have afforded to have knocked a penny off and then truly had something to blow your trumpet about.

However, having given this a tiny bit more thought, I feel I should apologise for having been so uncharitable towards you in my thought processes.

For if I casually examine the evidence in the whole and not restrict myself to merely the joys of the coffee aisle, I realise that the picture is in fact much larger and needs to be taken into consideration. To wit: -

You put up signs when you offer something from your bounteous shelves that you have priced lower than Tesco, likewise if it is the same price as Tesco.

Therefore it stands to reason that everything on your shelves that does not proudly sport a self congratulatory ticket must be more expensive than Tesco.

Even if I ignore your own brand items then it still leaves by far the majority of your inventory in that category.

Your Marketing Department is exceptionally honest, and I thank them for persuading me to review my shopping options.  For they speak the truth, Tesco do ask the same price for their coffee, and I bought it from them as they had several items that were cheaper than you and they gave me a free reusable canvas type bag to put it all in.

You might like to give them a try.

It took two days before I got a reply…………..

Dear Mr C……

Thank you for your email.  I am sorry that you are disappointed that we have been comparing our product prices to those of Tesco’s.  I can understand your concern.

Our customers’ feedback is very important to us.  We used this labelling system as a way of showing our customers that our prices either match or better those of one of our competitor’s.  However, this has caused a negative response from some of our customers.  Therefore, we have taken the decision to remove the shelf edge labels as of Tuesday, 15^th April, 2008.  Please accept my personal apologies for any inconvenience this may have caused you.

Your email also mentions that you got a free canvas bag when you shopped in Tesco’s recently.  We first launched our ‘Make the difference’ days one year ago by giving away ‘Bags for life’ to encourage customers to switch to reusable bags.  Last year, on our Bag for life ‘Make the difference’ days, we gave away over 15 million Bags for life.  Since our first ‘Make the difference’ day in April 2007 we have reduced the amount of orange plastic bags we give away by 100 million.  That’s 875 tonnes of plastic we have prevented going to landfill and enough bags to go around the world at least once.

Thank you once again for contacting us with your views.  I hope that your future experiences with Sainsbury’s are to your satisfaction.

Now what was that all about?

She admits that others have criticised them for this stance and consequently they have decided to remove them, but misses that the date she says they would have ditched the signs predates when I said I saw them. 

She apologises … even personally for my disappointment and understands why I felt that way …Eh? was that my letter she was answering?  I think not!

This smacks of “send the usual we care what our customers say letter, apologise and tack on the bit about our bags”

So I wrote back.

Dear Tracy

Thank you for your prompt reply. 

However I am confused as to how you understood me to “be disappointed that we have been comparing our product prices to those of Tesco’s” Actually I was congratulating your marketing department on making me aware how many of your items fit into neither the “Same as Tesco’s let alone the better than Tesco’s” price range, so therefore they must be worse than Tesco’s.  Very honourable I thought.

Why do you understand my concern, when I am not concerned at all?  Why do you feel the need to personally apologise for any convenience, when I clearly haven’t been inconvenienced.

I suggest you reread my original letter and understand what I said and not try and change its meaning in order to allow you to trundle out the stock phrases you learnt on your “How to answer letters from customers training courses.”

At the end of the day if the general opinion is

“OOPS! We didn’t think deeply enough about that one did we? …. Then so be it, it’s not a problem, we’re all human.

Never mind, thanks awfully for the information about your orange plastic bags, that’s a super effort, well done.  You should have got some TV coverage of all those bags going around the world once, it must have been quite a sight!

Hope your weather is as nice as ours, although it is a bit chilly if you don’t keep out of the wind.

Best Regards

 ps …..Edited to correct an error … OOPS! I didn’t think deeply enough about before I sent it.

It’s now two weeks since I sent my reply and I haven’t heard a word from Kind Regards Tracy Green, I do hope she is ok, she might be off sick …. perhaps.

Lucky me, I was given the opportunity to go on the dole recently for a couple of weeks.

During my interview with them they wanted to know why I was opting to work for only three days a week.

Of course the answer was because of my mental health issues and the medication I take which tends to bollocks up my body clock, energy and concentration span.

The next question however truly floored me.

So Mr C……… are you often bed-ridden?

Well, before I had taken time to ponder the impertinence of such a question, I realised I had already answered.

“It does happen of course, although I have to admit I can be a bit partial to a dollop of spontaneity over the kitchen table”

Afterwards I did wonder what kind of work they were going to shovel my way? …….. none as it happens!

Me and doctors? Well ….. it’s a lot like last year’s tomato plants and The Horse Head Nebulae, different parts of space and time you see?  Differing needs, communication principles and a staggeringly opposed view of what each other actually is. 

Having said that, there is always the exception, and I’d just like to say three hurrahs to Moira Hill (doctor in Coventry) who actually understands mental health issues and finds the time to talk to you about them and most importantly she also finds the time to listen to you when you answer. 

However her skills and attitude, unfortunately are not contagious, for instead of turning left into her consulting room, if you were to draw a much shorter straw and end up turning right somewhere down that corridor you may well experience one of her colleagues. 

I did once, youngish chap, avoids eye contact, answers the question “and how are you doctor?” with “what can I do for you?”  I told him that I had (foolishly as it turned out) decided to stop taking my anti-depressants and anti-psychotics with immediate effect and toot-sweet ….

If that was ok with him? 

Again with no eye contact or even reference to my case notes he shrugged his shoulders and muttered something that sounded like

“ Hmm …You’re …. Adult …. Make decisions …… save costs …. Better not to take if ……anything else you want? ” 

With great glee at having his blessings I departed. It didn’t occur to me that I might have enjoyed a better balance of advice on reflection; mainly as he wouldn’t have even known if I’d been stark naked and sporting two heads.

I’d heard what I wanted so I was off.   It was six weeks later that Dr Hill called in the Crisis Home Resolution Team who gently eased me down off the ceiling and back onto medication. 

However it works both ways, I have also been guilty of talking the biggest bucket of bollocks to doctors in the past.

The incident I remember most must have been over twenty years ago.I was a publican in London.  Now I accept that a lot of people who run pubs do so because they enjoy alcohol to the degree that being surrounded by it is comforting, but that was not me, I did it because I was a business man, and believed that selling booze was easy, long hours but easy.

I had been to the doc’s a few times with aches, pains and the usual winter wheezes, any of which may cause a doctor to investigate how much giggle juice I was consuming, but on this occasion I had a large painful lump on my ear lobe.  The conversation went something like this: -

*“Hello doc I’ve got this large painful lump on my ear lobe”

-“Yes that does look painful, let’s just look at your records and …. AH! I see you’re a publican, what are your drinking habits like?” 

*“What? It’s me ear lobe, bloody painful it is.”

-“So are you aware that your drinking habits are unhealthy perhaps?” 

*“Unhealthy? I just pour it into a glass or a cup, put it to my mouth and tilt, doesn’t everyone? Now about my ear ……”

-“Do you think you have a drink problem?” 

*“A drink problem? How could I have a drink  problem? I live above a pub.  Every morning I come down and there’s gallons of the stuff”

-“Hmm, I see do you feel like a drink now? 

*“Well that’s very kind of you doc but it’s far too early for me, however if you feel the need go ahead don’t be shy on my behalf.”

-“How long have you noticed your drinking?” 

*“I guess since I was six foot, what the hell has this got to do with my ear lobe?”

-“Denial is the biggest problem, you can’t do anything about it until you admit you have a problem.” 

*“It’s you that has a problem mate, my ear is painful but at least I can still use it to listen, you seem to have not only lost that ability but are convinced I’ve got cirrhosis of the ear lobe.”  

At this point I left, went home and stabbed my swollen ear until the gooey nasty came out, it hurt like hell but didn’t infuriate me as much as diagnosis by curriculum vitae did. 

Doctor Moira Hill ………. YOU ROCK!

  It’s true what they say “Change Doesn’t Happen Overnight”. 

In fact I’d go further to say that any change that did happen in such a way probably wouldn’t have much of a life span anyhow.  Ask A. Hitler esq. about his thousand year Third Reich or Clive Sinclair how many millions of C5 electric cars he sold? 

Of course it’s not always because the idea itself was a bummer, it’s sometimes because custom and practice closes our minds to the opportunities presented or alternatively opens our minds to the reality of looking a prat in public.

How many of us remember the story of the record company that turned down The Beatles because they were scruffy and electric guitars had no future?  Whilst I for one still think that people walking around with a Blue Tooth gadget stuck in their ear look as if they should be on their way to a Star Trek convention. 

To refocus public opinion or society’s views on something sensible, regardless of how radical it may be seems to take a generation to happen.  Then when it has been accepted it seems as if it had never been any other way.

When I was a child every grown up smoked.  They did it in the street in shops at home even on the TV.  Now it’s banned in public buildings (quite right too).  What a massive step change! Interestingly though because of this very last addition to the law, we’re now seeing smokers walking down the street puffing away, and doesn’t it look odd?

Drink driving has finally become socially unacceptable, twenty years ago those caught were still trying to argue the toss with plod.  Although the figures are still high I’m told those guilty are less defensive now about their behaviour.

Most drivers are still up in arms over the massive introduction of speed cameras and the income they are creating.  So I guess in another generation’s time every one will be tootling around at the right speed, wondering what all the fuss was about.

When compulsory wearing of seat belts in the front of a car (never mind in the back) was floated there was total outcry. 

“If I want to catapult myself head first through my own windscreen and spend the rest of my life dribbling and saying Num Num in the corner whilst tugging at the hem of my dressing gown, then I should bloody well be allowed to!” 

One bloke I know in Derby even went to the trouble of having a cardigan knitted in a fetching beige colour with a diagonal black stripe across the chest so it looked as if he was wearing a seat belt!  I remember asking him if he’d considered having an overcoat made in the shape of a coffin, he squared himself up set his jaw and muttered that he might ….. if he wanted to … so there!

Today, however, if someone under the age of 25 climbs into your car they panic if you put the key in the ignition before they’ve located the end of the belt. 

Peanuts!

KP used to make a tiny bag that sold for 2d. (real money) just big enough to put in your child’s lunch box.  Peanuts were encouraged they are cheap, full of protein and rich in fibre.Try offering nuts to anyone under 25, the expression on their face would indicate that you’d just suggested they should perform an indecent act with their Great Aunt Gladys. 

“I can’t stand them!” They’ll tell you.

Truth is they’ve never tried one.  The fear of a child choking on a nut led society to convince children that gobbling a handful of peanuts was as acceptable as sucking a dog turd.

If you really want to go for the jackpot then thrust an open packet of the best salted variety under their nose as they climb into the back of your car just after you’ve hidden the seat belt and are revving the engine!  I promise they’ll never ask you again if you are available to just run them over to their friend’s house 30 miles away.  Plus you will enjoy the advantage of all their friends looking at you in a most suspicious manner, because word will get round very quickly, that you are so weird. 

Don’t panic though for every cloud has a silver lining! And this one is pure gold, yes sir-reee …… 24 karat, nickel plated, double hinged, cast iron riveted GOLD!!!!It’s name? ……….. Sell by Date.

All hail the great benefactor who gave us sell by dates.  Sometimes this treasure goes by the name of Best Before it matters not a jot, a rose by any other name and all that jazz.

So how does this work then? 

Well you can thank the retail trade’s fixation about being sued for poisoning their customers for this little beauty.

This will enable you to stop the free loading youth of today from robbing you blind. They’ll stop visiting at meal times, or grunting a Neanderthal greeting at you as they pillage your fridge at any other time.

All this whilst clearing the way for you to take full advantage of the “cheap shelf” at Sainsbury’s To Boot!!!! 

Anyone born after 1980 has been programmed that food magically becomes deadly poison two seconds after the date on the package expires. 

I urge you to do nothing to educate them otherwise. 

We, who know different have learnt the hard way, they must do the same.  

We have learnt to check food by looking at it, sniffing it, sticking a finger in it and carefully tasting it before deciding that green, hairy yoghurt with enough whiff to bend glass and a flavour capable of recharging car batteries has probably passed it.   

The date doesn’t come into it, it never did, it never will. 

If the manufacturers could predicate the date of expiry so accurately they wouldn’t be making yoghurt they’d be raking it in selling life insurance …. or coffins!

But don’t tell the youngsters, they carefully examine the date code on your box of Belgian chocs and whine that they expire at the weekend; do you think they’ll be alright?  

There’s no need to lie though, confidently affirm that they’ll be fine. State that you’ve been eating stuff all your life that’s been on the verge of going out of date.

They’ll slowly look you up and down, the expression on their faces none too complimentary, but they’ll return your chocs unmolested. 

It’s even worth investing in a gummed label printer and running off your own “Best Before Tomorrow” Stickers.  Shove them on everything you’ve got, you’ll save a fortune so you will!

I know someone who plastered one on the remote control and regained possession of his TV. But it doesn’t end there; don’t forget the bargain shelves in Sainsbury’s.  

You may have to fight your way through the aisles festooned with young families stocking up on frozen pizzas, pre-packed shepherd pies and chicken curries all cleverly conjured out of preformed unrecognisable chunks of something, but it’s worth the effort. 

For out the back near the dog food you’ll find the stand that every OAP dreams of. Stacked high are the dented tins and packs of scoff that no young person will ever venture near.  They might as well be sporting large day-glo labels showing a skull and cross bones, but they don’t need to for the tiny lettering showing a date three days hence is more than enough to keep the wrinklies happy and the future of this country resigned to eating stodge that bears as much resemblance to the photo on the packet as I do to the next winner of X Factor. 

I can find the “To Clear Shelf” in any supermarket blindfolded.  All you have to do is listen for aged voices complaining that all they can find is Fillet Steak and Scottish Salmon AGAIN! “I know it’s reduced down to only 10p a pound but I’ve been living off the stuff for months now” They’ll whine.“And the cat won’t even look at lobster any more!” They go on.

“How come we never see anything useful like bread, milk or Steradent on these cheap shelves?”  They plead. 

So you see when it comes to keeping every body happy nothing ever changes, except change itself …….. just not over night please!   

I can’t get this damned thing to work ………………. Doff was given a Scientific, Electronic, Wireless Weather Station for Christmas from her sister.

I’ve checked the batteries and they’re fine.  You have this screen thing with lots of options on it, which you put on the windowsill in the kitchen, and outside you nail this other gizmo where the squirrels can’t take it apart.

Obviously the “electronic wireless” bit means that they communicate with each other, and as they are both bleeping and flashing red lights at each other I can only assume that they are, but here’s the crunch……..

I’ve managed to get sunshine and maximum temperatures mode up on the screen in the kitchen, but outside it’s still bloody freezing and now it’s starting to rain.  Anybody any idea how long it takes to make any changes?  Or should I have dialed in my preferences so many hours before I wanted them?

Beginning to think this is a rip- off.