THE SUN'LL COME OUT TOMORROW.......

So tomorrow's the Big Day.
My tribunal has been moved to Norwich, and although they'll refund reasonable taxi costs, a hotel is out of the question.
It's a terrible shame, as there's a damn fine Travel Lodge by the bus-station, and a Waitrose directly opposite. I foresaw a night of Bravo Gold & gouda cheese crispy crumbs, in a bed that I was not about to make!

Lowestoft John (my Personal Adviser) has gone rather quiet on the whole subject of finding me suitable employment. I took it upon myself in the end to apply for eleven jobs.
Most of the Armed Forces were kind, but brutally honest when it came to rejection.
(And if I'm totally honest, I wouldn't necessarily want me as a bombardier over the skies of Syria or Argentina either).
The RNLI have no current vacancies for a helmsman, and the Fire Service no longer have a a bell-ringer on the back of their trucks.
I'm still awaiting a response from Clinton Cards and La Senza, but I think retail may be a step too far.

 From what I can gather, tomorrow's meeting will reassure me of my 'capability for work'. It's a bit like a preliminary interview (to ascertain that I'm not a disabled, a terrorist or a benefit cheat, I imagine).
 IDS also reassured me last week that I would not have to have a 'soft job' in a factory, as he is closing all factories down. The Great British pastime of elongated tea-breaks must be checked, if we are to forge our identity as the world's leading financial services provider, and armoured protector of democracy.

 I'm not taking Derek with me. We fell out over a game of draughts.
I personally think it's irrelevant how one wins, but I will not tolerate him calling it 'Checkers'.

 Off to Bedfordshire now. Need a good night in the arms of Morpheus, if I'm to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in the morning.
 There's always a chance too that the bally taxi-drivers will go on strike (sorry, 'protest') tomorrow.
It's not too late to enforce compulsory National Service for the feckless.

 I do hope my rheumatism doesn't play up.
The last thing I need is to come across as an incapacitated imbecile.

 In the words of the Iron Lady herself:
 Disciplining yourself to do what you know is right and important, although difficult, is the highroad to pride, self-esteem, and personal satisfaction.

A FOGGY CLEGG GOES BATTY OVER COMPO

So Kinky thinks he can push through a so-called 'Mansion Tax' does he?
Sneaking around the back of Parliament, hoping no-one will notice.

Well we for one have noticed Nick.
Don't think our minor celebrations at successfully reforming the welfare system (in theory)
have distracted us from what you were up to.
Oh no!
We are more than aware that you aim to persecute those that have legitimately inherited, or successfully accrued, properties as investments.

Have you heard the phrase "Property rich; cash poor"?
That's us Cleggy.

We can't afford tuition fees, foreign holidays, eye-pod dockers, widescreen wirelesses or wireless hi-fis anymore.
We can barely heat our houses since Blair sold us out to the Bolsheviks.
But an Englishman's home is his castle (as I imagine it is for a Taff or a Mick).
And without our castles, how do you expect us to secure loans or credit card agreements?
This country requires homeowners to spend and rack up debts to kick-start the economy.
And you want to rob the cash poor of their remaining savings, just to prop up a feckless and work-shy underclass?

That isn't egalitarianism Nick.
That's pinko-bully philosophy.

Our children aren't offered National Service any more, they're robbed of their student grants, they can't afford their mobile telephone bills, we can't get Olympics tickets anywhere (let alone child benefit), our horses have little or no grass, and now you want to force us, to make them homeless?

Some of them are barely 27 years old!

What kind of monster are you Mr.Clegg?

Shame on you.
(And shame on your proposals).

WHY TESCO COULD START SELLING GUNS

I'm beginning to feel a little bit out of touch with society.
I'm actually beginning to think that Lady T was right, on the one issue we disagreed.
How can so many British people be opposed to a Workshare scheme that offers good, solid, back-breaking opportunities, to the millions of hopeless kids from Generation i, that will keep them off MyFace and Bobo, and prevent them watching endless Jeremy Vine shows?
IDS and Chrissy G were right to call these luddites 'job-snobs'.
If Lowestoft John(my Personal Adviser) is correct in his calculations, there's a job for everyone out there. Not just me.
The work-shy have just got to get their fingers out of their eye-pods, and find one.
I myself applied for both the Wolverhampton Wanderers' manager's job AND the Chelsea manager's job this week.
(Chelsea were quick to respond that they didn't have a vacancy yet).

And I see that even more 'pseudo-capitalist' Trotskyite organisations are joining Jammy Oliver's Sainsburys lot.
I've no idea who Maplins, Argos or Superdrug are, but their withdrawal from this brilliant scheme just goes to show how liberal-lefty we've all become.

Only the other day I went to the theatre to see a play about John Peel's Shed by that Osborne fella; not the one who's spent too long under the bed with Red Vince (when did it become Tory policy to maintain taxation for heaven's sake? I sincerely hope Dr.Fox and his Network Chart can overthrow this ruddy pinko soon, and prevent further public spending!)
No. This Osborne was an arty-farty type with a shoddy haircut.
So after a huge argument with Mrs.Mac over whether I should wear Blue Stratos or Paco Rabanne (the latter won; as it always should for theatre engagements) we set about enduring an hour & ten minutes of idle tosh about 'popular music' of all things!
There wasn't one reference to John Peel's National Service days; something myself, and most Radio Times readers know him for, only too well.
We would've left early were it not for the hoardes of unwashed kids standing and clogging up the aisles.
Was this theatre or a bally pop concert?

Anyway, it led me to thinking about what Kinky Clegg had been saying with regard to all these so-called 'neets'.
If they really were a ticking time-bomb, and in the light of the recent defence cuts, why not use this explosive mass of apathy for military purposes?
Tesco's wishy-washy stance about offering these benefit scroungers a living wage, as well as a bit of discipline and a uniform, could be harnessed and packaged as a form of National Service, if you like.
It didn't do John Peel any harm, and just think how many Clubcard points one would get on the purchase of a GPMG or a Lee Enfield?
Give all of these eye-phone gazing hoodies a decent haircut, a tin of Kiwi boot polish, a bit of Duraglit and a massive dollop of elbow grease, and we might just save the Faroes from Argentine invasion.
I'm not necessarily advocating sending the Tesco feckless into battle with the Talibanese, but I am suggesting that if we have to give them money, let's prop up the nation before we prop up Tesco shareholders.
They get the experience, Tesco get the gun & polish sales, and we reap the Clubcard point rewards.

I might even think about applying for a PT instructor's role at boot camp!

(Providing it doesn't involve too much standing, or raising my arm at a right angle for prolonged periods).

IT WAS EXPLOITATION THAT BUILT US AN EMPIRE.

I'm absolutely livid with the state of the UK economy.
It would appear that some of our finest British institutions are making huge staff-cutbacks, whilst the seemingly neverending dole queue gets larger & larger, thus creating further queues of job-shirkers, trying to get Daytime Double-Deals.

Tried to book a mid-week, midday table last week, at Prezzos, Zizzis and WagaMaMas, and all were fully booked.
Couldn't even get a table at Nando's, and this was on the 13th of February, not the special day itself.
Ended up watching War Horse for a 3rd time, but I let Mrs.Mac have a cheesy dip with her nachos on this one occasion.

So it would appear we're going to go the way of the wops & Frogs, and have our Amateur Athletics Association ratings reduced.
Good riddance I say.
The sooner the Chinese get over here and re-instate National Service, the better.

Meanwhile, all the twittering dogshit-steppers are up in arms about Mandatory Work Activity. If they all stopped gazing into their eye-phones and watched where they're heading, they'd see that a bit of unpaid work could well be the bally tonic this septic isle is in need of.
Tesco are offering free uniforms and a potential career path for the feckless, and all the couch potato copy & pasters can do, is bleat to each other about so-called unfairness and unwarranted exploitation.

And I see the pinkos at Waterstones & Sainsbury's are distancing themselves from this brave move by Dave?
It's a 'workfare' scheme.
No one said anything about 'work-fair' schemes.
The DFS sale is over.
Your Moonpig app is worthless.
It's time to get your fingers out.
(I certainly won't be buying any of Jammy Oliver's Taste Your Differences Butternut Squash Risotto + Fresh Rocket for a while, that's for sure).

Lowestoft John (my Personal Adviser) has assured me that my inability to stand for any length of time, and my sporadic inability to lift anything, will not discount me from this new initiative.
I'm in one of IDS' DWP WRAGs, so I'm more than capable of having an equal chance with the unwashed.
It would appear that a lot of the bad-back brigade give up workfare within the first thirteen weeks (probably nipping back to mum & dads' in Poland for a handout!) thus creating even more career opportunities for those of us who actually want to work.

The problem with these million-or-so benefit scrounging kids is that they don't understand the concept of austerity.
Not all of us can be fashion designers or social-media experts.
Some of us are foot-soldiers.
An army marches on its stomach, and an apple a day can certainly make a man(or woman) of everyone.
And if Tesco go down the Swanee, it won't be just the Finest apples we'll be missing.
I think there's a fair chance that Value pet insurance and Clubcard deals will suffer too.

I think I'm going to try and excel at trolley-collecting.
Every Tom Dick or Mary is going to want to stack shelves, or be the Deputy Manager, so I might try my hand at more niche skills.
I hope I get a name badge.

LADIES FINGERS & FABIO-A-GO-GO

Spilt some Brasso on the bally carpet.
I was only buffing up the county shields, and the kids' school trophy.
It was hardly worth the ensuing panic.

Mrs.Mac is on one of her residential poetry weekends.
Can't see the point myself.
Full of libidinous types, who think daffodils are a deterrent to modern warfare.

Telephone-ordered an Indian takeaway.
Disappointedly a little greasy.
Uncorked the damson wine - a gift from Lionel on hearing the news about my polyp.
Lionel's very active in the autumn months.
Industrious.

Found myself watching that Gak Won fellow on the goggle-box.
Terribly anxious for a heavy-set colonial.
Made me feel slightly uneasy.
The BBC news was full of Fabio Costello's departure.
Good riddance I say. Ruddy Johnny Foreigner.
About time the sweet FA did something about all these migrant workers.

Why I didn't carefully spread out yesterday's Mail-on-Sunday I will never know?
A huge stain. Massive. Shaped like Malaya before the uprising.
Probably have to forego the 'no-claims' on this one.

And still no idea as to how The Moghul cooks their ladies' fingers?
Were they supposed to weep so sadly?

Mrs.Mac's back tomorrow.
She'll have a few answers.
No doubt.

Fine filly.
(Very similar in stature to Lowestoft John).

SNIVELLING LITTLE FLAG-WAVING GROVELLERS

Now, I'm all for a bit of patriotism.
If Strauss & Co. weren't such whingers, I'd probably have bought Mrs.Mac a subscription to SkyTV for her birthday; or at least a one-way ticket to Abu Dhabi.

But this whole Diamond Jubilee thing.

It's gone beyond a celebration of Her Royal Highness, Her Majesty's Power & Dominion Over All Things Great British & Northern Irish, and turned into a rather poorly attended barbecue, in the garden of a work-shy layabout, who only shops at Asda.

Yes. Of course we should celebrate Elizabeth Regina's 100years on the throne.
And yes. We should take to the streets, festooned in the colours of Empire, for one day, in which hard-working bank clerks and their employers, can relax and enjoy themselves.
But all this Official Accession Day, followed by Official Coronation Day, followed by Trooping the Colour, and then the Olympics, followed by then another Bank Holiday.
Well, it all seems a little, dare I say, jingoistic?

I have been found 'fit for work' by those fine chappies at Atos, and despite his initial reluctance, Lowestoft John (my Personal Adviser) thinks I may have a chance at being employed as well. He only joked yesterday that my perseverance in using landline telephonic communications would make me an awfully good double-glazing/solar panelling salesperson! (He said 'salesman' so I naturally corrected his mistake).
The problem with Lowestoft John is that he doesn't yet realise that I have no experience in windows or doors.
Nice to be thought of though.

So my problem is, if we are to have almost half a year off for flag-waving, plus another 3 months off for inclement weather, will there be enough work to go around?
I know Dave seems to think so, that's why he's welcoming Australians to our shore; the ones who can act or sing a bit.
If I'm honest, when Kylie Minogue left for home, things did start to get a little worse. And the economy slid further downhill when Dannii left X Factor, so there's a method in his antipodean madness.
And IDS is still hopeful, although he remains steadfastly quiet these days.

I wept a little when I saw children waving flags at Her Majesty this morning.
Not because they were being patriotic to our head of state, but because they were out of school (called 'truancy' in my day), when the snow had quite obviously melted, and there was little excuse.
I noted one or two feckless parents trying to avoid the glare of the cameras too.
I bet they're all on this £26,000 gravy train?

What we need is more Personal Advisers, and a lot less holidays.
Bring back the 6day week, abolish the benefits system, and let's make the Britain that the fine filly Elizabeth inherited, 'Great' again.

WE ARE NOTHING WITHOUT OUR BANKS

It turns out that Allotment Alan was up to no good.
I only caught the end of the conversation in the Legion last night, but it would appear that he was breeding skunks with an anthropomorphic lighting system.
He's looking at 18months.
Bilko reckons they'll throw away the key.

Meanwhile, all the pinkos on Facebook are getting uppity about bank managers' xmas bonuses.
May I take this opportunity to remind readers, that once upon a time banks were only there for the very rich. People would literally keep their savings 'under the mattress', and mortgages were just a pipe-dream.
Many people lived in houses made out of horse dung.
It was the banks that liberated us from domestic tyranny.

If the feckless and the undeserving cannot see that being a bank manager is stressful enough, without having to justify his(or her!)salary, then what hope have we got getting people back into work?
I would like a bit more money yes, but I'm not prepared to work my way up in the Alliance & Leicester.
It's a tough old climb, requiring long hours and an ability to find numbers interesting.
No. This public outcry is just professional jealousy.
If all the jobless, and disableds and irresponsible shirkers want parity with the Captain Mainwarings of this world, perhaps they should get their fingers out, stop watching Jeremy Springers, and forge a more prosperous relationship with their Personal Advisers.
If they weren't rewarding themselves with over-inflated child benefits and emus, maybe we could all get through this cold spell without a cap.

(And if I were Allotment Alan, I'd start thinking about more than a protective cap!)