Andy's Glasses

So we’ve gone to Canada. Those Canadians have really gone out their way to stop us going. First they set fire to Newfoundland, well, one end of it, so we had to rearrange. Then having done that mammoth task, Air Canada went on strike. And to get to Canada is easy, because British Airways aren’t on strike and they’re British so therefore perfect. But to get up to Newfoundland you can’t exactly use Ryanair. Its Air Canada or Air Canada. No-one else goes there. They ended the strike yesterday. The flight attendants were chronically underpaid. According to one protester’s placard: ‘delivering pretzels for peanuts’. I like that. Was immediately sympathetic to their cause. But only once it was sorted, obviously. Then we had ‘passport—gate’ last night when I couldn’t check in. Won’t bore you but the BA site can’t handle Canadians, like my wife. I could have left her at home, or taken a different woman. A BRITISH ONE!!! And they’re all much younger. But instead, I called BA and spent a super half hour on the phone to Delhi getting it sorted. But there ya go. First world problems.

But I need to go somewhere bleak and distant and vast. I need the distraction of the open seas. The quiet and solitude (ok, as mentioned, I am taking Mel, but other than that…). I need to escape. From…

Eberechi Eze.

Because, quite frankly, I’m devastated. A word I never use lightly, but often just to exaggerate or attract attention.

I wanted Eze at Spurs. I saw him last year when he came to White Hart Lane and beat us single-handedly, just literally ‘running the game’. And I wanted him. Needed him. Desired him deeply. He was ‘our kind’a player’, but much more effective than any of ours. Efficient. Productive. Then, when Madison went lame before the season even started, out for a ‘long spell’, Eze became the target. Because everyone knew he would be the perfect fit in a position we were deficient. So Thomas Frank said ‘get Eze’ and Daniel Levy spent the next month doing his usual ‘transfer combat games’ of seemingly arguing, to the point of exiting the deal, over who gets the coffees in? And then, after all the agonies and bluffs and tactics, we’re right on the verge of agreeing terms with everyone… and Arsenal nick him. We dilly dally for 30 days; they get an injury to Havertz and 6 hours later Eze’s on the tv pointing sickeningly, maddeningly, at his new Arsenal shirt. On the back of which reads: FUCKING JUDAS!!!!

There is an alternative version of this tale, sort of the other ‘closing doors’ moment, in which Eze was always going to play for Arsenal. Presumably he has a passion for runners up medals. So he and Palace strung Spurs along, with false hopes, either to up the ante, money-wise, or because he was waiting for Havertz to be injured. (??) He played for Palace on Saturday. You don’t do that when you’re 70% sold to another club. But he knew he was never going to that club.

Whichever reality was real, he’s not ended up at Spurs. But that’s no problem. We just need someone else. Who looks like Eze, plays like Eze, scores goals like Eze, but is a decent person with a moral integrity which would preclude him from joining ‘them’.

But I’m not bitter…

Welcome to Canada

A xxxx

My name is Andy and I haven’t taken the tube for 3 weeks!!!
Hello Andy!

And that’s a good thing for Tube Trains Anonymous, but as a former addict, it can only be seen as a bit bizarre. This is England, FFS, it’s supposed to rain. Often. Annoyingly. Disruptively. Frustratingly. (We have so many descriptions for rain here; it’s like the Eskimos with their snow. Or whatever you’re supposed to call an Eskimo now). I’ll only abandon the tube for my e-bike when there is a day full of ‘zeros’ in the rainfall column of the BBC weather app. And the first day rain is forecast is next Tuesday.

But the fact remains that our verdant isle is not quite as verdant as it once was. Its more our ‘greeny-brown isle’ as the grass dries up, the crops suffer, the (fucking) flowers in the (fucking) garden need (fucking) watering every (fucking) night. A task I enjoy.

We should import some water from Pakistan. Have you seen the pics? Entire villages under water. Death, destruction and landslides. All the work of everyone’s favourite drink; water. So whilst Spain is suffering drought and wild fires, and Newfoundland made me change my holiday plans(!!!) due to their fires, our crops are dying and yet poor Pakistan seem to be the beneficiary of all the water we all need. Though that nation, as they’re so quick to tell us at every mention of the disaster, produces less than 1% of the world’s carbon emissions. I haven’t checked that figure, I tried counting using a big telescope from my garden but gave up at ‘6’ when the football came on. And those 6 might have been coming from their neighbours, India, who are quite massive producers of carbon. Obviously nothing even close to China’s emissions.

Unless you’re an American Republican, you simply can’t fail to attribute all this shit to ‘global warming’ produced by China. Sorry, produced by carbon emissions. Even the biggest ‘climate change sceptics’, like me, should ‘wake up and smell the coffee’, except the coffee bean crops in Brazil and Colombia are desiccated by drought.

The glaciers are melting, the storms increasing, the summers hotter than hell, the rains humungous and its so fucked up you almost need Donald Trump to ‘do a deal’ between the dried out deserts and the floods to sort out some sort of compromise. As, quite frankly, the old ‘God’ seems quite incapable of keeping things in control. Sadly, Trump is a non-believer, so we won’t get much change out of him.

I’m doing my bit. We have an electric car (don’t ask where our electricity comes from; it’ll only upset you) and my ‘racing car’ only does a few miles a week and then only to upset Greta Thunberg. I travel by e-bike, I (sometimes) eat lettuce and hardly use any coal. I can do no more.

Happy Tuesday

A xxxx

Remember ‘the A-team’? I loved that show. The wonderful George Peppard. who was also Banacek, who drove one of these fabulous cars. Just so you know.

A-team. A metaphor for bringing in your best game, your top people, the do-ers, the movers and shakers, the big thinkers and the uber-strategists. That’s an A-team. And that what ‘we’ are sending to Washington today to sort out Donald Trump. The heavy hitters. The ones who won’t be intimidated by The Great Orange one (blessed be he) and his team of loud-mouthed, aggressive attack dogs. ‘We’ are going to the White House to protect little Zelensky from the brutal attack he received last time he went there.

Not this time. This time he has the unwavering strength of… errrr… well, Kier Starmer!!! And you can’t get more scary than him. Unless you go to a movie which isn’t ‘PG’ rated. Macron’s going, to provide his usual spineless arrogance, and Georgia Meloni, for a bit of right wing glam. The German chancellor will be there, just because he’s actually taller than Trump and if they decide to ‘shoot hoops’ for parts of Ukraine, he’ll come in handy. Ursula Von Der Leyen will be there too. No-one knows why, nor cares one way or the other. And the head of NATO, to make up the numbers. Because NATO remains totally taboo for Putin. Who has, according to Trump, agreed to a ‘Nato-equivalent’ security force in Ukraine, run by America. And as America pays for most of NATO, this could be a problem for the Russians.

Trump, the ‘deal maker’ is a loud, brash imbecile. Whilst Putin is a clever little fucker who you wouldn’t leave in charge of your children for 10 minutes. So whatever ‘the deal’ which never got done but will be done and was good to talk and we need to stop the killing and all the other Trumpesque say-nothing-of-substance speak, might be, to even make the attempt without Ukranian representation was a move of total conceit on the part of both ‘world leaders’.

Today will be better. There’ll be an elephant in the room, but that’s better than having Putin in the room, its safer. But it will be so interesting to see how ‘Europe’s finest’ can manage all that ‘sycophantic disagreement’ with the ‘great’ (big) Man. How do you argue and suck-up at the same time? Particularly when Starmer calls walking whilst breathing ‘multi-tasking’.

The A-Team? He’ll slaughter them. And all their ‘left-wing’ centrism.

Happy Monday

A xxxx

So I had every intention of giving my tenner’s worth of daily rant about two megalomaniacal egotists bromancing round Anchorage working out just how big a bus they need to throw Ukraine under so they can divvy up the land and resources between them. But then the football season started and… and…

I got distracted. I can possibly concentrate on world peace and the avoidance of nuclear conflict when Richarlison scores one goal. My concerns for the poor people of Kyiv and the Dombas could possibly extend after a second goal. Just not that second goal.

It was a thing of such outstanding beauty and magnificence that quite frankly, my life instantly took on new meaning. I was humbled by its extraordinary perfection. So humbled that I immediately messaged 15 Arsenal fans to gloat about it. That’s ‘humility’, Spurs fan style.

Yet really, best of all was the smile on the Brazilian’s face. For 2 years he’s been the face of misery. The man with troubles, distractions, the inevitable ‘mental health issues’ and a horrible string of injuries. I just thought he was someone who never smiled. Wasn’t in his make-up, his image, whatever. Then his face simply lit up and I fell back in love with the guy who starred for Brazil in the 2022 World Cup. And has done approximately ‘fuck all’ for his club team ever since. We always knew he ‘had it in him’. We just weren’t sure where he hid it. So maybe it’s the Thomas Frank effect, or maybe he’s just ‘recovered’ or become ‘better medicated’. I don’t know and quite frankly (no pun) I don’t care.

But one man can’t win a football match. And the rest of the team were outstanding. New signing Kudus was brilliant. A true ‘Spurs player’. An entertainer. Ok, that’ll cost a few giveaways over the season but it’s what we love to see. What everyone loves to see. And if he can create 2 assists every game (as if) we’ll ‘indulge’ his extravagances. Lovingly.

Bergvall and Gray, both still ‘kids’ really, starting to show their true potential.

It wasn’t a happy return for Scotty Parker. I can only wish him well. Not against us, obviously, but particularly against Chelsea, Arsenal and all the other horrible teams who inhabit our league.

This league table was published during the match, at an ‘as it stands’ moment of pure beauty. The season was about 70 minutes old. But I still love it.

Very happy Sunday

A xxxx

So me mate Dave… well, I have 17 of them, so best clarify; it’s not the one who lives up the road, nor the one who went to court for beating his wife. Not the one who for 6 years became ‘me mate, Doris’, neither. This is the one who lives in Canada. Oooohhhh, Canada. As their national anthem calls it. And his son’s getting married, in like 2 weeks time. But he did warn us. We had a ‘heads up’, about a year ago. So, dutifully, last October, we booked our flights to Toronto. British Airways were very helpful and said we could splash a few thousand Air Miles for a pair of tickets. Very nice of them. And we thought… that it’s too far to go for a weekend, so let’s make a holiday of it and go somewhere I’ve (for some totally unaccountable reason) always wanted to go. Newfoundland!!! Up there in the sub-arctic wilderness of Canada’s most easterliness, sits this island that is remote, bleak and apparently geographically stunning. So last October we booked it. All of it. Flights from Toronto (its over 3 hours), to St John’s, the ‘capital’ (population just over 100,000), get a car, work our way slowly across about 400 miles to Deer Lake, on the other end, and fly back to Toronto for the wedding. Easy peasy. Booked some lovely hotels… ok, Newfoundland doesn’t do ‘lovely hotels’ like other places, so we booked places where hopefully Mel won’t need her full-body rubber gloves to get to the shower. One week, leisurely drives, lots of hikes. Ahhhhhh. What could possibly go wrong?

I’ll tell you what could go wrong. Last week Newfoundland caught fire. That wrong enough for ya!!!

Wildfires erupted all over mainly the Eastern end of the island. Where we’re flying to. Oh. Never mind, I can just accelerate through the flames… but in fact it’s the smoke. Ruins the air, pollutes and affects the views. In that you can’t see them.

So I called Air Canada, see if I could change our flights to fly to Deer Lake instead, and just tour round the western half of the island. But Air Canada (just like every other fucking airline in the world), have replaced customer service with plink-plink music, which plays for all eternity. So I was forced to ‘do it online’ and actually got a full refund for that flight!!! When does that happen??? Booked the new one (eventually), sorted out the car and then had to cancel our first 2 hotels. Hmmmm. Who both have a ‘cancellations within two weeks cost the price of 1 night’ policy. So I emailed them. Told them (lies!), tales of woe (more lies!), Mel’s respiratory issues (MORE FUCKING LIES!!!!), and before I even had to invent the burial of an aunt, they were cancelled, no charges. I felt bad. For… just a minute. I love Canadians. The whole process couldn’t have taken more than 17 hours.

Obviously, the cost of everything new we booked was 6 times that of those we’d cancelled; I hate Canadians.

But the holiday will be had!! Leaving Thursday. Stay tuned or you might miss something important! Like breakfast. Croissants. Moose.

Happy Friday

A xxxx

The City of Venice is beautiful. So Italians always tell you. And I get it; all that water, all those fab bridges, gorgeous canals and spectacular old buildings dating back to 810 since it was the ‘Republic of Venice’ and it ruled the Adriatic as well as lots of other places too. I don’t know if it consciously chose to become the Disneyland caricature of Venetian concept, almost the Las Vegas of southern Europe, without so much gambling, but with levels of ‘taste’ which have been heading towards the Nevada dream for decades. Pretty much since the first cruise ship pulled up next Mark’s Square and spewed 10,000 Americans onto the land which they filled with their dollars. There’s still fabulous art and antiquities there. Amazing glass. But you have to search under the gondolas and the kitsch souvenirs to find it.

And now they’ve let Joey in!!! Cos that’s where he’s gone. On his own, obviously, with a few friends from school. Half a dozen 6 year olds travelling unaccompanied to Venice, so they can watch Spurs play tonight in Udinese, up the road. They’re going to hitch-hike. Should be fine. They’re all armed.

Ok, he’s gone with his dad. I lied. So call off Social Services. Although, taking a 6 year-old Spurs fanatic to watch them get slaughtered by PSG may be considered ‘abuse’.

Though it seems to be that you can actually do whatever you want; abuse people, attack them, rob from them, whatever you like. Its only words that can hurt so much that the police get involved.

The shopkeeper in Wrexham who posted a sign on his door saying “due to Scumbags shoplifting, please ask for cabinets to be opened”. He was visited by a man in blue who suggested he re-write the sign ‘so as not to be offensive’. So you have to ask: who would be offended? Only a scumbag. Self-confessed or it wouldn’t bother him/her. You’d have to know you’re a scumbag to be offended, and then its accurate so how can you be? Or shoplifters; they might be offended at being described with a pejorative term. And do shoplifters have the right to be protected from abusive terms? When abuse is our only weapon because you’re not allowed to give them the kicking they deserve.

To be fair to the Wrexham police, it was just one copper who had been stopped by someone who made the complaint, so felt duty-bound to ‘follow up’. Instead of telling the complainant: are you so fucking stupid that you want to waste police time in case the indefensible should feel offended by the truth?

Come on Spurs!!

No, really, Come on Spurs!!!

Happy Wednesday

A xxxx

What a fab weekend. How can it not be when the sun shines for 26 hours a day? But it’s what you do with those days which make them special.

On Saturday we had an event. It’s called an ‘aufruf’ and involves synagogue, prayers, slaying of the third born, ritual sacrifice and drinking blood. Usual religious shit for Jews. It’s for the groom to be. A pre-celebration of his wedding to come. So he gets to say lots of prayers, then we all go eat lunch. ‘Aufruf’ translates from the Yiddish as ‘WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU THINKING????’ It’s the groom’s last chance to run away before ‘the big day’.

Me and my synagogue are pretty much total strangers. Like distant cousins; we love each other from afar as long as we never meet up. But we had to meet. And I couldn’t stand outside with a stab-vest and walkie-talkie; my usual ‘synagogue attire’, I had to actually… enter!!!l The whole service!!! Well, I did my morning tai chi class first, obviously, then we strolled to shul (as it’s known).

Instead of the usual sabbath greeting of ‘Shabbat shalom’, all I got was ‘what are YOU doing here????’ All manner of witticisms along the lines of ‘your tennis club shut down then?’ As if to question my spirituality and commitment to prayer!!!

At the end of the service, you have the blessings on wine and bread then you ‘snack’. I tried to be restrained. I stopped myself mid-fish-ball, on several occasions. Only to fail. Mini-bagels. They’re only tiny. Better eat 5. Its just ‘THERE’, how can you not eat it? Even though we walked to the groom’s parents’ home for a sit down lunch, just minutes away. I can see why religious people are fat.

Sunday was also incredibly ‘civilised’. This time a 60th birthday party for our mate. In the garden, more food, this time ‘brunchy’ type foods. Which, as we all know, have zero calorific value. So might as well have ‘another’. The waiters sang songs from musicals, the birthday girls family grabbed their guitars and made their own musical offerings. And we just stood around eating. And drinking. And eating.

And here’s the best bit about lunch parties; you then have the rest of the day to do stuff.

Next time you have a party, make it lunchtime. Oh, and sunny.

Happy Monday

A xxxx

What the fuck is our government taking with its tea? What is the drug which makes seemingly (or hopefully) sensible, slightly knowledgable people, take massive world problems and think that some kind of facile ‘just world theory’ can be used to solve ALLLLLLL the problems. Add a little fairy dust and EVERYBODY will be happy and live in peace forevermore!!!!

Well I have some tragic news for Sir Kier and his fuckwit-in-chief Foreign Secretary: the world ain’t ‘just’ and it never has been. So by stating, along with a few other Euro-tossers, that ‘Ukraine may have to concede some land, but we’ll insist on a security backstop including membership of NATO…’ they show an ignorance beyond anyone’s imagination. The war started (that’ll be Putin, then) because Ukraine stated its intention to join NATO. Putin’s worst nightmare. American military on his doorstep. So Putin’s reaction is, as always, just take the place over. All of it. Throw a few million of its finest young men at it and you get what you want. To prevent having NATO there. And Lammy thinks that’s the way forward. What I call (in tribute to the Marx brothers) ‘the insanity clause’. Yes, no-one believes in-Sanity-Claus. Other than David Lammy.

Who then, in talks with JD Vance, told the American our government’s ‘solution’ to Gaza. Just recognise a ‘Palestinian State’. JD said that the first aim is to get rid of Hamas. Oh yes, agreed Lammy, the ‘new State’ will have to be without Hamas, obviously. So we’re all agreed on that then. Oh, just one detail: how do you get rid of Hamas? Does Lammy think they’ll just put down their arms and hand over their missiles and walk out with their hands up? Does he imagine that after the last almost 2 years the insanely jihadi terrorists who revere death will just walk away from everything they’ve done and leave it for others? (Though who those ‘others’ might be is another question altogether).

Vance represents and reacts to the real world. Lammy is playing the ‘fantasy football’ version. In his quest for a ‘happy ending’ (and a knighthood), our foreign secretary is living in a world of make believe. In order to try and delude the more realistic among us that our government know what’s going on and are fit and able to solve international issues.

It’s like Wayne Rooney running a symposium on AI.

Happy Sunday

A xxxx

I just read that ‘55% of the food consumed by Americans is Ultra processed’. Wow! 55%!!!

What they don’t tell you is: 55% of what? The overall calorific values? The overall weight? And is that an overall figure for the nation? Or that the average American eats 55% u/p food?

However, as there is no accepted, scientific definition of exactly what constitutes ‘ultra processed food’, it all becomes a bit academic. Literally.

And those academics probably discovered this horrible truth in their chronically obese nation by watching people in McDonalds. Who, as a demographic grouping, probably consume 85% of their own bodyweight every day by ‘supersizing’ everything, then going home to eat crisps and drink beer in front of the tv.

One good thing about u/p foods is that they never really make you feel full. They just make you want more. Salt, sugar and fat do that. Protein fills you, but its terribly overrated.

I went to McDonalds yesterday. Its now a kind of ‘red letter day’ when I do that. As opposed to 10 years ago when going to McDonalds just meant there was a ‘y’ in the day. Ahhhh, life before statins…

When you order, on the McScreens, its almost impossible not to end up with more than you wanted. Everything you order is then offered bigger, double sized, with chips and a drink, with a ‘side’ of another hamburger? Then when you try to pay, they’re still offering to supersize you ‘for just 80p!!!’ Like they used to until it was banned after that movie. Yet obviously has become socially acceptable once more to try and force ‘just’ another 475 calories on your child’s meal. I ended up with a ‘double’ Filet of Fish. To accompany my other burger. I didn’t want a ‘double’. Didn’t even know they made one. But if your concentration slips for just one second in McDonalds, you’re 300 calories worse (better?) off.

I want to know what percentage of the u/p food eaters vote for the parties in America. I like to think that ALL the Republicans are massively obese and eat shit all day, whereas the Democrats are careful, diet-conscious, health-aware gym bunnies and lettuce munchers. I may be prejudiced.

And what about Sydney Sweeney?? Nothing obese about her. And a card-carrying Republican!!! Must be the only Hollywood star in that particular demographic. Shame she’s so un-woke that she’s almost a nazi.

Happy Friday

A xxxx

I read the most terrible thing this morning. Convertible cars are doomed. The motor industry has conspired to take away the bestest, most fun, incredibly enjoyable experience that driving can offer in order to normalise the world into a homogenous gloop of faceless SUVs. Nah mate, ya don’ need a convertible, ‘ave one a these, looks jus like a farkin’ Range Rover, dunnit? Only comes in black…

Hence the number of manufacturers NOT making any convertibles at all for the UK market has grown from 20%, 20 years ago, to 70% now. A tragedy.

What are you supposed to do for your mid-life crisis!!! Run off with the paper-girl? Get a Harley?? Take up line dancing (shoot me now, FFS)??? Acquire a Fender guitar?? Ride an ebike???

But the first option was ALWAYS: get a convertible. Just because you need a car that is functionally almost completely useless. Though if you live in a country like England where it rarely rains and is warm and sunny 365 days a year, you’re ok. Hmmmm. Otherwise, half the car is taken up with ‘the place to store the roof’, you generally lose a couple of seats, there’s wind noise, leaks, and always a risk the roof may get slashed. Or the car may get slashed in, if you leave the top down.

I always wanted a convertible. As a kid I watched a program on tv called “77 Sunset Strip” and the coolest of the characters drove today’s pic. Still, possibly, the most beautiful car ever made. But ‘Cookie’ (the character in the prog) always had the top down. Ok, I get that Sunset Strip in in California, not Hornsey, but still… I fell in love with the concept. As soon as I could afford one, I bought a drop head. A Fiat X19. Another truly beautiful car. And so it went on. I managed never to outgrow the love of that feeling. The freedom. The air. The rain-panic to GET THE TOP UP!!!

And they want to take it away. Government will probably ban it. Or tax it to death. Well, THEY WILL NEVER PUT A LID ON MEEEEEE!!!!!

Had a new idea today for a really cool fitness concept, I’m thinking of taking out the patent. As Mel came back from her ‘spin’ class, I arrived on my ebike. She was sweating like a… sweaty thing, I was cool as ya like. I’d gone further. So I’m going to set up ‘E-spin’ classes. Where the static bikes are all motorised. Like mine. Then you can do the class without all that horrible strain and sweat. Remember: you heard it here first!!!

Happy open-top Wednesday

A xxxx