I Support The Clichéd Mum Society

Not far from where I live must reside the world's greatest concentration of clichéd mums. I'm surprised coachloads of tourists don't regularly turn up to gawpe and take photographs.

Sounds a bit like some recipe, doesn't it? "Would you like a slice of Clichéd Mum, dear - succulent and slow-cooked she is?"

There seems to be an infinite variety of clichéd mums, of different age categories.

The most important category, I reckon, is the 30-45 year old middle-class clichéd mum.

This exclusive little club - from which all men are permanently excluded (best we can hope for is to occasionally earn ourselves the odd guest/visitor pass when we are very well-behaved) - secretly rules the planet. It's not the Politicians, not the Captains of Industry, no, it's the Clichéd Mum Society.

The Clichéd Mum Society are the real powerbrokers in the world today. You see them meeting and planning their next move in cafés, in gyms, in parks, in playgrounds, outside schools, on the phone, in libraries, at after-school clubs, in supermarkets, on the bus, while out walking or jogging, at garden centres, at work, in hairdressers... everywhere.

The Clichéd Mum Society decides on the big things and the little things in life. They decide public opinion regarding who the country should next be going to war with, as well as apparently trivial matters such as who should be invited to the next dinner party, or what colour socks young Jimmy should be wearing for football.

The Clichéd Mum Society talks in code, idle gossip disguising the importance of what is actually being said. It's more difficult to crack than the Enigma Code sometimes.

The Clichéd Mum Society are ruthless and hierarchical; show weakness or step out of line while a member of The Clichéd Mum Society and you are out, ostracised - your life turned into such a living hell that you and your family may well be forced to sell up and leave the area.

As I travel to and from school, dropping the kids off and picking them up again (the school run a similar process to weightlifting perhaps) the Clichéd Mum Society are all around me. Some turn and look my way. I might even be lucky enough to get a hello before members of the Clichéd Mum Society return to their vitally important gossiping.

I don't mind. In fact, I breathe a sigh of relief.

It's reassuring to see the fate of the world in such safe hands rather than Politicians who lie, or Captains of Industry who are interested only in lining their own nests.

A real comfort.

Long live The Clichéd Mum Society.

Recession, Redundancy and Reinvention

I was reading The Economist at the weekend when...

"Hey Lord Loafy", I hear you cry, rather rudely interrupting, "What a shit start to your blog, how about lying and pretending you were drooling at some particularly explicit photos in Playboy magazine instead?"

Ok. Fair point.

I was drooling at some particularly explicit photos in Playboy Magazine at the weekend when a thought broke through and interrupted my mounting sexual excitement. The thought was to do with the current state of the Labour (as in Employment) Market.

Try as I might to concentrate on the gratuitous content in front of me, I couldn't ignore the thought - annoying but true. That thought was that men have been the greatest victims in this recession so far. In terms of jobs lost that is.

Revolutionary thinking from an ex-corporate 'droid, huh? Lord 'Marx' Loafer - that's me!

Look, think about the sectors worst-hit - finance, property, construction, manufacturing. These are sectors where men make up the bulk of the workforce. I should know, I used to work in one of these sectors until my unceremonious ejection three months ago.

Most men got jobs in these sectors thinking that there was a job for life just waiting for them there. All they had to do was turn up to work every day, work reasonably hard and they, and their income would be safe until retirement.

But before these guys knew what was going on, the mood music changed: Boom! Shake The Room suddenly became Bust! Another One Bites the Dust.

Thousands of job losses later, those still employed wonder when it will be their turn. Because although the recession might not be getting any worse, job cuts will continue. I reckon so anyway and so does The Econ-, I mean Playboy magazine.

Men are now having to do what women have had to do for years - learn flexibility. There is no such thing as a career, just a series of jobs to bring in enough money to keep Mr Wolf from the door.

The positive side of all this upheaval is supposed to be that newly-redundant men are able to show off their entrepreneurial acumen and finally do the thing they had always been itching to do, but because they have been a wage slave in an office these last 15-20 years they have never had the chance.

Now, with time on their hands, these men have the chance.

All fine in principle but how many people are truly entrepreneurial?

Probably about 3.5% of the population at best.

But with unemployment sure to hit 10% before things get better, that means that a load (a scientific term for millions) of unemployed people are pretending to be an entrepreneur when in fact they have a silent horror of ever being one - "Entrepreneur? Involves work that, don't it? Can't be arsed with that."

There are lots of ways to dress up redundancy into something more socially acceptable:

"I chose to become a consultant... (although I don't have any contacts)."
"I have this really good idea for a company... (I just can't remember what it is)."
"I wanted to spend more time with the kids... (I'm also a member of a secret masochistic cult)."
"I needed to find myself... (I'm so boring no one else can be bothered with me)."

And I've used them all.

I'm not the only one.

Ask any newly-redundant man how it's going and it's normally, "It's going really, really well. I do a quick workout every morning, then I'm round to the mistress for a sweaty session of kinkiness. Then I check my emails, meet the lads for a liquid lunch before I head down to my trendy start-up office where I employ a blonde nymphomaniac with a pneumatic front. Sometimes I have a threesome there - you know, me, her and the mistress. Business is great too!"

But it's a lie. All of it.

Apart from the checking of the emails.

Nothing doing there apart from Spam, Viagra Ads and Penis Extension offers. Yawn.

So it's back to Playboy Magazine.

Reinvention? Flexibility? Entrepreneurship?

Funk that.

(Final thing - the woman who is featured at the top of blog has lopsided 'body eyes', doesn't she? I don't think I have ever seen that before! I know about lopsided bollocks but body eyes...?

So the reason she is featured is nothing to do with me being even vaguely related to Sid The Sexist, it is that, I am, cough, an investigative journalist and, er, this fact - about the lopsided body eyes - seemed highly newsworthy. Ok?!)

Why Are There No Mirrors In Wales?

Here's a random thought to share with you while I wait for the bath to fill.

I recently went camping in South Wales, in the Black Mountains.

More on that another time. Bet you can't wait, eh?

But I have to say every toilet I went into while I was there didn't have a mirror.

I reckon it is a local government ploy... to avoid scaring the locals.

Because mirrors and some of the people I saw while walking to Tesco in Abergavenny (only to find it shut) should definitely be kept as far away from each other as possible.

Abergavenny may well be the traditional gateway to South Wales and, to the incomparable beauty of Brecon Beacons National Park - but it is also the gateway to the Vale of Ugliness I reckon.

Harsh but fair.

Scary and quite hairy them locals are.

And that was just the women.


This one is Wales's answer to Rachael Weitz.

Guaranteed to put lead in one's pencil every time?

Don't get me wrong, the Welsh are all right.

They are friendly, into beer, rugby and singing.

But.

Yes.

Exactly.

Job Ads And Elections

I was going to call this rant number two, but I'm not sure I feel like ranting right now.

Feeling a little delicate, you see.

Late night last night.

It's too early in the morning still - London GST - to be ranting (despite what blogger says the time is- you're wrong blogger baby!)

Anyway, job ads.

Don't you just loathe 'em. Must be a horrendous job to have to write about all those horrendous jobs out there.

"Here is an interesting opportunity - A global management consultancy is looking to recruit. Ideal candidates will have a background in consultancy, competition economics, litigation support and sticking their tongues as far up management arses as they can go."

How can that be an interesting opportunity!?

Having sex with Rachael Weitz is what I would call an interesting opportunity.

(Cracking photo isn't it? Thank you very much for taking it, Naomi.)

I have done a job similar to the one quoted (even the tongue thing, but not very well hence why I am here writing to you) and I can tell you it was not interesting (or tasty).

"If you have the high level secretariat experience we require and if you are looking for a challenging role where your multi-tasking skills will be fully utilised and you will never, ever get to go home (not even at weekends), we would love to hear from you."

Do these people really think they will recruit someone?

Truth be told they probably will.

To stop all this nonsense I reckon I should start a revolution or something.

Workers and non-workers should unite to overcome the tyranny of office life.

So, vote for me Lord Loafer at the local and European elections tomorrow.

I will free every one of you so that we can all loaf together!

Remember vote for me - Even if you can't see my name on the ballot paper.

Vote with your mind, if not your pen.

Freedom to loaf, play this game (http://www.gamesgames.com/game/Crush-the-Castle.html) and dream about getting up close and personal with Rachael Weitz.

Sigh.