Where would we be without the Sally Army?!

I’ve got to tell you this one. I was wandering around an old haunt of mine in Suffolk last weekend. Whilst recalling the many years I lived in this flat, thatched splattered county,  I bumped into an old Sally Army acquaintance of mine. Yes I know, Ruck being pals with a Sally Army soldier? Indulge me.

Well there he was, standing rigid outside Burger King, all navy blue uniformed, sober and shaking a plastic money-box of Holy deliverance. I hadn’t seen him for a couple of years but God had obviously been kind to him; he still enjoyed a handsome face and  pair of deep blue mischievous eyes. He was older than me and looked better I have to say. Almost made me turn to religion!

As usual we fell into an easy conversation while he rattled away.

‘Cor, look at that,’ he suddenly observed. ‘Damn, she could sit on my face any day of the week!’ I followed his eyes for a moment and saw a pretty pair of tight buttocks leaping up the steps of the museum.

‘What!’ I replied a trifle shocked.’You’re a married man. Ask your missus to sit on your face if you must. Never mind the young ‘uns. According to your Army, that’s adultery even if it is only in the mind!’

‘Can’t do that, man,’ he said seriously, ‘that’s immoral’.

God, does indeed work in mysterious ways.

JR

PS He also told me that the previous day he had taken a dose of Viagra in order to keep his demanding wife happy. ‘Sweet Lord!’, he exclaimed, ‘my tongue is still hard man!  It’s all true I promise you.

Book Reviews and Critiques

I’ve decided to become a book Reviewer and Critic. From what I can see most ‘Reviewers ‘ and ‘Critics’ have written bugger all of any consequence themselves so I consider myself inordinately qualified to undertake such an illustrious occupation.

I have just finished reading ‘No Such Thing As Society’ by Andy McSmith. My only real criticism on the negative side is the title. I am not a raging Thatcherite but her actual words to Woman’s Own were, ‘There is no such thing as society.  There are individual men and women. There are families’……..etc etc. It would have been less misleading and indeed fairer I suspect if the author had placed the full quote at the beginning of his book instead of at the end.

This faux pas aside, the book, albeit that it was tackling an explosive decade, was ‘a good read’ – that’s if you’re into boiling your head in 1980′s political history! It was easy-going, accurate and even up to a point (for history and politics geeks like me anyway) unputdownable as they say. There was none of the Hobsbawm high academia to confuse the issues and spoil the fun. The book was also extremely well-balanced, neither veering to much to the Left nor too much to the Right.

A fine readable reminder for those who lived through the eighties and well worth a purchase. Oh, and I’m not even getting a tin of baked beans from the author either!

JR

To sleep or not to sleep?

You know, every time I think I’ve seen it all in our wantonly spineless culture I get surprised yet again. Here’s the latest, a ‘sleep counselor’. A bloody ‘sleep counselor’, can you believe it?!  As if I need some counselling clown to tell me which way to turn my backside in order to avoid offending my wife and breaching her human rights. Damn, she snores the hell out of me every night, not to mention the windy explosions that nearly blow me into the en-suite and leave me bewildered and shell-shocked. ‘Sleep counselor’, give me strength.

JR

A whiff of rugby

Here’s a curious thing. I just happened to hear some Welsh rugby ‘gurus’ (I’m still trying to work out how ancient Hindu spiritualism has found its way into the rather tawdry realm of media populism) discussing the esoteric complexities of one fellow lobbing an inflated pig’s bladder over to another fellow, indeed these informed and erudite commentators seemed to be getting all lathered up about this particularly complicated exercise in sporting prowess – I must point out here that I remain utterly mystified as to how grown men can spend hours discussing the ins and outs of throwing a ball around a field but there we are, yet again what do I know – anyway, apparently one player, it was remarked, was a shrewd if not profoundly adept ‘sniffer’ ie good at sniffing out a try for those of you, whom like me are sporting zombies. Well now, I walked away rather confused as the only things I’ve ever seen rugby players sniff is each other’s arses.

JR

A skint divorcee!

I’ve just been reading in The Times about a divorced woman who has sought the services of a hedge fund to underwrite her sorry plight of being unable to squeeze her old man for £27,000 per month plus rent and school fees. And there’s me thinking it was only hard-done by, sexist bankers and top drawer Top Shop toffs taking the piss!

Greed, greed and greed again. We never learn do we?

JR

A Sterling Thought…….

Now, here’s  a…um….’humanist’ thought if you like. We do not, it seems , live in capital times after all. Indeed, there is much anguish out there amongst the ‘swinish multitude’,the ‘confused herds’, the ‘miscellaneous rabbles’, the vulgar masses etc etc (I mean, what do we know?) where the luxurious salaries of those who play with acquisitions, mergers, selling short and buying even shorter, instead of themselves – yet another extremely selfish pass-time in my view – are concerned.

Well, imagine if one of these so-called uniquely adept (apparently) banking knights of th realm decided to adopt a more novel approach to glorified usury ie offer his/her services to the financial well-being of the nation on a voluntary basis, in other words free of salary, bonus and even the quick shag in the photocopying room with the new intern.

These folk cannot possibly need any more money so why doesn’t one of them set a gold-standard precedent and see what happens? Wouldn’t it just be grand to see some hard-core humanity creep into all this banking angst for a change?

JR

A Welsh Human Right

A villain has demanded the right to speak Welsh to his mam whilst he wiles away the hours at Her Majesty’s Pleasure in England. Nothing wrong with this I’m sure you will agree. The thing is that the said conversation is of a telephonic character and thus subject to Her Majesty’s gentle scrutiny, again nothing wrong here either, after all the poor fellow has hardly been incarcerated for being a Liberal Democrat or  Plaid Cymru voter has he? The problem it seems lies with the fact that the prison authorities require 48 hours notice of any said conversations so they have enough time to employ an expensive translator. A translator, it is demanded, who has the right North Walian nasal cadence to ensure Desperate Dai’s human rights.

This country really has gone mad!

JR

PS We’re in a recession and yet we continue to indulge the likes of Desperate Dai, whom it must be said is hardly from the Punjab and unable to twist his North Walian nose around the Queen’s English. Come back Glendower all is forgiven, even if you were a lawyer!

Boy or Girl?

I’ve just been listening to an ‘expert’ child psychologist on the radio. He is of the view that if a child is brought up to be ‘gender neutral’ (God help us) ie the child is dressed up one day in pink girl’s clothes, the next day blue boy’s clothes, is allowed to play with dolls one day, the next soldiers ………….. the child is likely to end up being a trifle confused. Well, I really needed an ‘expert’ to tell me that.

JR

PS Come to think of it what the hell does the gender neutral entity do when requiring  the services of a Public Convenience? – that’s if it  can find one!

Youthful Indolence

As far as I am aware, most of my generation and I’m talking about extreme middle agers who, we are told, stare dribbling senility in the face every day of the week, usually went out to look for work when they were young and full of steam. You know, using a pair of legs, a bus, a push bike and even on occasions looking in a newspaper and God forbid writing the odd letter – all on our own too, can you believe it! I’m not joking. Not a ‘self-esteem mentor’, ’expert employment guru’ or ‘empathetic job councillor’ in sight. Amazing.

JR

My ‘Legacy’

You must have noticed how all these ego maniacs seem to have developed Obsessive Compulsive Disorder where their ‘Legacy’s’ are concerned. That’s all one hears in the media these days, so and so will leave this ‘legacy’, so and so will leave that ‘legacy’. Well, a fat lot of good any ‘legacy’ is going to do them when they’re six-foot under or about to be cooked in the indiscriminate bowels of some leafy Crematorium.

The only ‘legacy’ I am ever likely to leave is a wife who has turned to gin on account of having to live with me!

JR