Grombles

I need to gromble about football. It's boring! Having just slept through my second 90 minute England game, I've discovered a way to make the experience marginally more bearable. Live pause the programme, and play at double speed after about an hour of pause. Many advantages: You get no sound. No bloody vuvuwhatevers (sounds like your living rooms been attacked by bees). No pratt telling you 'if only they'd score more goals, they'd be winning'. No loud-mouthed lout on the pitch giving the ref a hard time. No gum-chewing expletives from an overpaid foreign manager on the sidelines. No ads... fast forward even faster through them. Even the one that flashed on our screen during England's only goal against the USA. Brilliant timing!  No wankers at half time lolling about on sofas telling us who's having a good or bad game (we can bloody see for ourselves). And most importantly, the players look a lot more skillful while the ball itself travels FASTER. A...

When you reach 55, you realise most of your life, by any stretch of the imagination or medical marvel, is more than half gone. Now that's something to be pissed off about immediately. Bugger - what's ahead of me is less than what I've just done, and that doesn't seem like a fat lot. So my blogs are not going to be about what I had for breakfast or what I think about England's footballers (twats), they're going to be rants about things that piss me off and that need to change QUICK before I shuffle off this mortal coil... or worse, drool. Grombler? Surely a mishtake. My kids (ungrateful buggers) call me the Grom (Grumpy Old Man). No matter that pedantically I should be a GOM not a GROM, I kind of like it. It sounds pissed off. So a grom, grombles about things. Actually I think I'm a jolly positive sort of chap. I like funny stuff (although most stuff that purports to be funny, ain't). I laugh at most things (pisses off Americans mainly - good sport!)...