**********************************************************WHY GRANTHAM? JUST CLICK:
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Wednesday 22 November 2006

SO, WHAT EXACTLY HAVE I GOT AGAINST GRANTHAM? WELL, I SAY, SURRENDER UNTO GRANTHAM THAT WHICH IS GRANTHAM'S.



This country! I can't take no more. I have found that everything from the supposedly simple task of putting my bin out for emptying to complex exercises such as phoning a former public utility to query a "power invoice" of £2.457 million for the quarter leaves me deeply irritated and with the desire to punch someone involved hard!
Punching, and for that matter kicking, stabbing, garrotting and shooting, are all illegal, as I understand it, and so what is one to do? I have thought long and hard about this frustrating fact of life and have come to the conclusion that I have to take out my angst at all the shit which I come across on a daily basis on just one target - I have chosen the town of Grantham.
I intend to export to Grantham everything which I find appalling from the moment I wake in the morning until that blessed moment when I fall unconscious at night. I will note each irritation down and build a list of "Grantham must haves" with a view to creating a new town, one which its most famous child can be held directly accountable for and which will illustrate in microcosm what has become of Grate (sic) Britain over the last 30 years.
Why Grantham? Let me explain.

A History Lesson.
On October 13, 1925, a baby girl was spawned in the picturesque, little town of Grantham in Lincolnshire, England. This seemingly harmless tot would go on, in her supposedly adult years, to cast a shadow over the United Kingdom and throw a large part of the world into darkness as well. Her name? Margaret Hilda Roberts.
At the height of her powers this woman would famously declare "the lady's not for turning" but Miss Roberts was a long way from that mindless soundbite when she changed her name to Thatcher, for marital purposes, and, in the first of a litany of cuts she was to oversee, had her Christian name shortened to Maggie. Later still, when her reign of error was over, she would be renamed yet again - this time her monica was to be Baroness Thatcher.
Mrs T - yet another of her pseudonyms as the cuts really began to bite - first entered the House of Commons in 1959 as the Conservative MP for Finchley, was elected Tory leader in 1975 and then four years later became the nation's first, and as a result probably last, woman Prime Minister.
She began a career of desecration and destruction in the top job, unrivalled since Mr G Khan by-passed the electoral process in the late 12th Century to spread his unique brand of Conservatism across most of the then known world.
Maggie's grip on power lasted for an unbelievable 11 years and 209 days - try to find someone today who said they voted for her! - until she was metaphorically stabbed in the back by her underlings but, whereas Mr Khan took more than 40 years to royally bollocks everything up for his contemporaries, she had managed to wreak her own brand of havoc in a quarter of that time.

A Lesson from History.
"My name is legion, for we are many." The Biblical quote could well apply to those of us who believe that Thatcher was behind the dismantling, destruction and desecration of so much that was precious, morally sound and beautiful and the introduction of so much that is ugly, mindless and just plain irritating.
* The miners - All-but gone. Terrorised by The Met, almost starved. Crushed! Yet everything their admittedly barmy Brillo Pad-hairdo leader predicted about mass pit closures, political motivation and not-so-cheap imports was correct.
* Union power - "The unions are too powerful!" they screamed. Maybe so in the '70s but was it really good to usher in a new world where you look from union boss to "management executive" and can't tell the difference, a la Animal Farm? Is a sound democracy where you have to have a full retina scan and a rectal scrape before being allowed to even to consider calling industrial action? Do we really want kids to think unions are groups of pinko-Stalinist-hippies and for our yoof to continually belch "there's nuffink in the union for me so why bovver"?
* Rabid privatisation - the shambolic railways service, water companies which have run out of water, school meals services which have produced our chip and blue pop-obsessed future citizens, prisoner transport firms whose unifying motto seems to be "better out than in", police cars sponsored by Lillets, buses which you now expect to be driven by Terry Thomas with a mob of St Trinian's girls on board. The list goes on - so much bile, so little space.
* Deregulation in the media - I'm a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here? How about "I'm a Viewer, Fuck Off!"?
* The market economy - Told you it wouldn't work in the health service, but would you listen?
* Wider share ownership - Yeah, right! So everyone who has a job leaving them with disposable cash (that's millions out of it for a start) runs out to buy their 100 NaziElectricity Inc shares and then sells them the following day to make £18 profit. They sell them unwittingly to major insurance firms and global companies who now own what we ALL used to own. A further reward? Sod anyone who works for a company or the poor buggers who use its services - it's shareholders who count, no-one else.
* "There's no such thing as society." - Fuck off!
* "We are a grandmother." - I told you, fuck off!!

The Problem.
I could go on but the plate in my head starts to shift at times like these and so I have to withdraw and think happy thoughts - like a nuclear attack on Noel Edmonds.
The point of this rant is who do we have to blame for all this? The Thatch woman will go the way of all flesh eventually (assuming she is not, in fact, an alien lifeform which has discovered the secret of immortality) and so there's too much to dish out in too short a time. Her parents are no doubt culpable but the same problem is involved. Then it came to me. Grantham! Grantham hosted her birth and so is partly responsible for all the crap which we have now been saddled with (can you be saddled with crap?) so isn't it time we gave something back?

The Penultimate Solution.

I want to give Grantham a new lease of life and give it as much as it has given the rest of us. It could be a service, a person, an attitude, a moral code, a politician, a television programme, a celebrity, a twin town, a business, a Government initiative, a council policy.....the list is, I fear, endless.
One doesn't have to search high and low for candidates to be "Granthamed". They metaphorically shove their arses in your face every day and so I shall blog their indecent exposures. Hopefully, a new Grantham will emerge as time goes by, a Grantham the Thatch Creature would no doubt delight in. If, on the other hand, she would find it unbearable, ugly, awful, cheap, irritating, debasing and futile, so much the better. The nation has been lumbered with it all for too long. It's time to give, give, give. Render unto Grantham that which is Grantham's!

2 comments:

ulanbator3 said...

Sir, I salute you wholeheartedly. She was responsible for it all. Grantham must be punished. And hard,.

Anonymous said...

let me put this whole web site straight.
Grantham is shit so you put shit things in it to make it even more shit and thats why every fuckers lifes is fucked up in grantham includeing mine because i love in this fucked up twatting thing

WEDNESDAY, 21 NOVEMBER 2007

SHORTS DON'T MATTER! 1. From the greatest programme ever made about association football, Barnstoneworth United FC manager Mr Dainty delivers one of the finest English soliloqiues of all time.......and afterwards, spare a thought for the club steward's wife Vera (YOU ONLY HAVE TO WATCH HALF OF THE CLIP!!).

Monday, 12 November 2007

Not everyone who agonises over their life is a painter. Some of us agonise because we're NOT painters.

....And On the Subject of Great Public Services

I know most of you have heard this marvellous song by those doctors who are the Amateur Transplants......but I think the video is a nice addition. P.S. If there are kids in the room I'd shuffle them out before hitting play.

...There's More

On the subject of those great doctors, here is their version of More Than Words which presents their challenging views on women outside Watford. The very-soon-to-be ex-Mrs Pither, coming from Cumbria, is a huge fan. Again, get those kids out of the room!

Leave Britney Alone, Ok!!!

Oh...........my............God!!!!! My heartfelt thanks go to BGT for this. I won't say much more, I don't need to. Mr Loony of Loonytown, USA (I think it's a bloke, anyway), says it all. I fear he may be wound too tight for.....well.....well for everywhere, really!

Tuesday, 18 September 2007.

I wish I'd sung this! For non-Americans, and with apologies to all the smart arses out there who already knew, the FCC is the Federal Communications Commission and it monitors TV and radio output in the States - a sort of broadcast police - while the EPA is the Yanks' so-called Environmental Protection Agency, a body which does exactly the opposite of what it says on the can. (P.S. We went to the same school, you know? Eric and me, that is, not George, Martha, Dick and Condoleeza and me. I don't think they went to school.) P.P.S. Please see below if you are I Like The View, Malc or Doris.

To Make You Laugh and Cry

I was listening to this on a Sunday, the very-soon-to-be ex-Mrs Pither is a Catholic, Tom Lehrer is one of my all-time heroes and this is one of his best.............no other reasons. On a more sombre note (and with thanks to Fish for coming up with this Woman's-Own-passes-the-time-in-the-dentist's-waiting-room nonsense), why not get a computer to tell you that you are a waste of space and your life is a sham of a mockery of a farce? Ok, it's from one of those poxy dating sites but...go on, take the test. You ain't got much to beat!!
This Is My Life, Rated
Life: 4.2
Mind: 4.1
Body: 2.7
Spirit: 8
Friends/Family: 1.6
Love: 0
Finance: 5.9
Take the Rate My Life Quiz
Apparently, in my case, "computer say 'no!'"

I First Saw This When I Was Little - And Loved It! I Hope That Explains a Few Things

Fuck, Fuckety, Fuck, Fuck, Fuck

It has been pointed out to me that, particularly for one whose profession is supposedly literary, my language is getting worse. My use of the "F" word is, I am told, far too prevalent and hence loses impact. To those who share this view I suggest you watch the following:

Tony Blair Isn't a Burglar - But If He Was.........

In the spirit of Gustav Holst's Jupiter and Manfred Mann's Earth Band, I feel like raising a smile today. The Big Green Thing alerted me to this and, for no other reason than to raise a smile on an otherwise crap Wednesday, I think it has to be shared. Grantham shall not have him - when he gets out of prison.

Life On The Edge - No Net.

I was wrong when I feared it might be a dull weekend, what with my pals being away, my soon-to-be ex-wife in rehab and only the dogs to play with. How wrong can a man be? This much fun must surely be illegal? Just click to see the japes and hoots I am having! Click again to see how things got REALLy exciting! Tomorrow we're going to chase pigeons.

The Good Old U.S. of A. - Guardians of Freedom and Democracy. Nothing to Be Scared of, Then?

Be honest........

IT'S THE QUIZ OF THE WEEK! JUST SCROLL DOWN AND HIT "FULL QUIZ".