As long as there is a snug in the corner where a curmudgeonly, and often grumpy, old man can have a pint in peace, possibly served by a cheery faced bar lady, I would be happy. And if the beer was a drop of Timothy Taylors that would be heavenly...
But can you really go to hell for being grumpy? It was my wife’s birthday last week and somebody gave her a card saying “Sometimes I wake up grumpy. But mostly I let him sleep in”. Many people mistake my grumpiness for unhappiness. I am a happy grump, I enjoy being grumpy. I was born a grumpy old man.
There is much to be grumpy about in this modern world and therefore much for me to grump about. I can’t stand these cheerful buggers who go around with a smile on their faces and say they are just happy to be alive - I don’t trust them at all. Surely being alive is not enough.
Anyway, being grumpy is fun. All I have to do is watch television, read a newspaper or go for a stroll through Nuneaton and I can come across an endless supply of things to grump about. Being grumpy makes me happy, it gives me endless amounts of pleasure, especially when being grumpy about my fellow man.
Just utter the words borough council, police, or judges, to me, and stand well back as the grumpathon begins. However, what really gets my goat more than anything else are doctor’s receptionists. Training must be on offer to reach such levels of insulance and rudeness. They have the phone manner of Adolf Hitler during his invading Poland period.
Ringing up last week for something so simple as an appointment turned into the Spanish Inquisition. Anybody would think that these receptionists are paid to keep potential patients away from the surgery. In the end I gave up and went down the chemists. Still they say the worst place to be if you are ill is at the doctors or in hospital.
Go in with an ingrowing toenail and come out in a box ready to be planted in God’s garden. I am convinced you can’t go to hell for being grumpy. It would be far too crowded.
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