It was Tuesday morning, Eric was sitting at the table having his breakfast. His mam was upstairs getting ready to go into town with her sister; his dad wasn’t back yet from fetching the morning paper. He always buys the Daily Bowel because Eric’s mam likes doing the crossword. His dad refuses to have it delivered anymore because the paper boy kept putting it through number 34 five doors up the road.
His dad sick of fetching it back now cycles up to the paper shop and collects it himself. Eric hears a cycle bell ring out; his Dad is back with the paper. “Look at this you couldn’t make it up” Eric reads the headlines “PC brigade bans the use of the phrase an act of God”
Bloody ridiculous says Eric just because we are now a multicultural society the PC brigade reckons that the other religious groups in the country might get upset. Imagine all the work involved. The insurance policies will have to reword all their policies. “I'd love to know who the PC brigade are, where do they work and who for?” exclaimed Eric.
His dad knew, “Civil do Gooders that’s who they are! They work in some huge council ivory tower wasting rate payer’s money drinking coffee and writing stupid policies all day. They drink that much coffee that they lie awake half the night thinking this nonsense up. I wouldn’t be surprised if they don’t have a competition amongst themselves to see which one of them can think up the most ridiculous politically incorrect thing and get it passed through council. Why it's a wonder that there isn’t a book out 'Political correctness' for insomniacs!“  

APOLOGY

Whilst I was at home in Loughcaster staying with my parents I enjoyed breakfast times, looking forward to my Dad returning from the paper shop on his bike. Ringing the bell as he cycled up the drive was a signal to my mam to put the toast under the grill or make his porridge. Sexist, politically incorrect un PC? Not my Dad. No after fifty years of marriage my mam does it out of love, besides that he always does the washing up.

Each morning I’d flick through the paper and check out the latest rubbish dreamt up by the PC brigade and those other perennial favourites The Health and Safety Committee. I thought that H&S was bad down under when as a handyman at the bush hospital in Woop Woop I was told to paint the coat hooks with yellow luminous paint because someone could have their eye out!

I cut out and kept the best ones...  

The porter at this Victorian Railway station felt the full wrath of Health & Safety officials after he was spotted leaving his baggage trolley up against the fire buckets.

Dustbin men in the UK are refusing to pick up plastic bags of rubbish as they too may hurt their backs! Maybe the council should revert to collecting the rubbish weekly instead of every fortnight. Either that or issue ratepayers with larger bins. Apparently they now have a “Bin Police force” in the UK that issue on the spot fines if you put your bin out on the wrong day.

A 98 year old woman had to stay in hospital because the 4 inch high doorstep of her home was considered a health risk by the hospital transport department. The department took over 7 hours to perform risk assessments on the doorstep before she was allowed home. As a child I used to sit on the doorstep of our terraced home. The old lady at number 15, warned me that I'd get piles, she was right!

A punch and Judy man was asked by Health and Safety officials to perform a risk assessment on his show. So as way of a reply the entertainer has now introduced a new character into the show. A health and safety officer puppet who of course is on the receiving end of quite a few bashings from Mr. Punch. That’s the way to do it!

A disabled husband and his wife were dismayed at the letter they received from their local supermarket, especially after spending £300 in the store. Apparently they had taken far too long to shop and had exceeded the 3 hour parking limit. If I was the manager of that store I would put them down as good customers, pick them up each week from their home and even put their groceries away, and I know my dad would too!
 

 
England My England what has become of you? Thank heaven that we didn’t have risk assessments during the Great War! Where would we all be now? I can just imagine my Great Uncle Bill “You want me to do what Major? Go over the top! No bloody way it’s far too bloody dangerous. Why a bloke could get his head blown off.” Risk committee party fall in!