Andy's Glasses

So you come to Tenerife to ‘get away from it all’. Even though there is really not a lot of ‘all’ to be getting away from at this time of year. The newspapers, after 14 weeks of unblinking ‘pre-Christmas’, got over the anniversary of Christ’s birth as it started because there was no more advertising opportunity. So instead have now begun the New Years’ Eve pre-match. And because there’s nothing else happening anywhere in the world, the only thing really worth ‘getting away from’, the football, has followed me here. Not in a good way.

Spurs continued their run of awfulness, unpredictability and total rubbish yesterday. The only difference between that match at Forest and the preceding ones being that instead of having to walk all the way into my lounge to watch it, I had to traipse half way round this little island to find a bar which was willing to show Spurs, the greatest team the world has ever known, whilst they were all displaying combinations of Wolves, Southampton, Crystal Palace, even Newcastle! But no Spurs. We should have taken that as ‘a sign’. But Spurs fans are as diligent and persistent as we are stupid, and between Me, Joey, Tory-Boy and me new best mate, Dan, we persevered and eventually found a low-life bar on a shoddy beach, filled with mainly British scumbags too drunk to know what they were watching. We’d found ‘home’!!! Among the tattoos, the Scouse accents, the inbred children and the vomit. Perfect.

The thing with losing more matches than we’ve actually played is that you have nothing left in the season to wish for (Caribou Cup notwithstanding; we only have to beat Liverpool, how hard can that be??) other than Arsenal not winning the league. And possibly Spurs not getting relegated. But that’s all so negative, so uninspiring, so… so Spursy. If it wasn’t for Manchester United I think I’d have given up on football altogether.

We need Daniel Levy to look closely at our present government and adopt their tactic of ‘throwing money at problems’. We need, by my estimation, just 17 new, world-class players. That’s all. Then we can ‘advance’. We can stem the tide of a season getting horribly out of hand (though unfortunately not out of mind) and move upwards and onwards.

Either that or sell the club to a shell company owned by exiled Russian oligarchs, based in the Caymans, for tax purposes, and sponsored by a tortuous, slave-driven economy in Arab Oil-Land where not one penny is wasted on human rights laws.

I leave it to him.

Happy Christmas Sales

A xxxx

I’m in Tenerife. Its hot. Job done. Mrs C needs an infusion of ultra violet in the winter, there’s probably nowhere nearer than the Canary Islands to achieve that aim. They call it ‘Spain’. But it’s not. Its Africa. Just to the west of the southern end of Morocco, where it meets Western Sahara. Florida shares the same line of latitude. Could’a gone there. But it’s further. Longer flight. And it’s Florida. Possibly my least favourite state which isn’t KKK affiliated. We could have gone to Sudan, same degree of southernness. But the resort got bombed. Ok, not a ‘resort’ so much as a camp site. And there’s problems with travel insurance. So Tenerife it was. And is. Quite frankly, it’s gorgeous here. The problem is, someone brought Lila and Joey out here too. Oh no! How did that happen??? And it’s Chanukah. Which, for the 5th time in 100 years, falls precisely on Christmas Day. So you’d think; well, in a Catholic country, it’ll be all about Jesus. Yet this part of Tenerife is a little less ‘Spain’ and a bit more ‘northwest London refugees’, so on the beach last night, there was this. Lighting the Chanukah candles. By a rabbi. You don’t need a rabbi, anyone can light candles, but by having a rabbi, and furthermore, one with a proper beard AND hat, we were truly blessed. Because the more religious it is, the less calories are in the doughnuts which you are obliged to eat. And it was really lovely. Happy. Communal. With doughnuts.

Whereas in the London Borough of Westminster, they decided not to have the Chanukah menorah this year, at Trafalgar Square, like they do every year. Because ‘of the weather’. Oh, ok. Like Chanukah is normally in the summer? No, it’s always Christmas, give or take a week or two. So why would Sadiq Kahn, in his infinite (lack of) wisdom, choose to approve such a move? Maybe between the police, the mayor and Hamas, they’ve decided that anything Jew-related is simply too inflammatory, too sensitive, will cause masses of ‘upset’ among people to allow a wonderful, happy, biblical celebration to take place in our capital. They’ve now conceded to put it up for the rest of Chanukah, which is very nice of them. Now that ‘wind speeds don’t make it dangerous’. Right.

Meanwhile, Tenerife has reached official swimming temperature for those of us who don’t swim when it’s cold. Or cool. Or even ‘not very hot’. So I’m on it. Following Mrs Conway up and down the pool like a whale on heat. Or in the heat.

Happy Chanukah

A xxxx

We need to talk about Matt Gaetz. The American former Senator who left the House of Representatives to become Trump’s next Attorney General but was vetoed by his own party on the grounds of “you ‘avin a larf, or WHAT??” Because, other than Donald Trump himself, Matt Gaetz is possibly the most inappropriate man to hold any form of high or governmental office, on the entire planet. Though I must stress: he has NOT been accused of any crime. Unless the statutory rape thing sticks. He’s only been investigated by an ‘ethics committee’ of his own party. And the 37 page report on his ethics found incontrovertibly that ‘he has none. Not a single ethic in the man, whatsoever’.

Which, obviously, made him first choice for Trump, they probably partied together, grabbing women by various ‘bits’, as you do when you’ve parted with good dollar for the privilege. But attorney general? A man with a history, and a present, of serious recreational druggage? Often purchased using PayPal, in the interests of ‘transparency’. Ok, stupidity.

I’d also like to stress that paying prostitutes for sex is NOT a crime. So possibly, paying lots and lots of money for sex is even less of a crime? Otherwise I can’t imagine how his hooker-bill came to $90k. But that came as part of an ‘all inclusive’ package with drugs too. Which doesn’t sit so well with the ‘not-crime’ thing.

The Republican Party is Conservative. In the traditional, social and political sense. It is based on proper Christian values. Though in light of recent revelations in our own Church of England, sex with minors is possibly a very Christian value. But ‘family’ is a value. Honesty. Marital vows. Loyalty. And, obviously, the right to shoot lots of people with powerful weaponry. Whilst viewing abortion as ‘MURDER!!!’ Ok, this is Donald Trump’s party so there’s no place for common sense or logic, just a lot of shouting and repetition. But even the Republicans must surely see that just a fleeting brush with some kind of ‘morality’ should really be a prerequisite for attorney fucking general???

The girl in question was 17. The age of consent in Florida is 18. If he’d have gone next door to Georgia the age of consent is dependent on your level of shared genes. Eeeuuuwwwww. And don’t get me started on Utah.

Gaetz ‘didn’t know she was 17’. She didn’t tell him. He didn’t ask. It was consensual and contractual ($400) and therefore a much better quality of under-age sex than you get from the abusers in the church. But still statutory rape.

We know Trump likes to be controversial so may well have nominated Gaetz for AG just to provoke. And yet there’s kind of a parallel between the two. They both inhabit a world of such abject hypocrisy combined with complete immunity from immorality, that neither is aware of it.

The difference is; one is heading for some minor kind of slap-on-wrist, albeit career-ending, politics-wise; and the other is going to be the single, most powerful man on the planet.

God help us all.

Happy Xmas Eve

A xxxx

Just one more question, to the neutrals it is aimed,
to check if our levels of fun are being adequately sustained:
WAS THAT FUCKING ENTERTAINING ENOUGH FOR YOU???
or was our ‘goals conceded’ level still a bit too few?

They came from the North, in fact from Liverpool
Where shoplifters abound and no-one goes to school
Home of the Beatles, no less, the source of their only pride
Yet you don’t find many locals playing in their football side.

Those Scousers were magnificent, of that there can be no doubt
Playing with an ease, a style, a superb flow throughout
Yet Tottenham rose to the occasion, enabling the impossible
They made Liverpool look magnificent, whilst we remained a rabble.

Not many teams could arrange such a really high level of farce
that enables their opposition to seemingly kick them up the arse.
The goals came in a flurry, one and two and three
The third though scored by Tottenham, that one nobody could foresee

So they scored a couple more, aided impeccably by our defence
Who were apparently playing for the neutral fans, with not much common sense
They were simply left floundering, half way up the pitch
in accordance with Ange’s methods, life can be a bitch.

‘We play the high line!’, rinse and fucking repeat
Never go backwards with the ball at your feet
We never gave up, our attacking was heaven sent
Except the ball kept going to that horrible geezer, Trent.

Nine goals was the final tally, an afternoon to be enjoyed by all
as our slippage down the table continued to bleedin fall
The pundits were a’ravin’, how Spurs are entertainin’,
it wasn’t even rainin’; but did my fucking brain in!!!

Happy fucking Monday

A xxxx

I went out for dinner last night. Oh wow, did you, Andy, I’ll alert the fucking media…

No, I did. Round to friends. Not just any friends but to Mr & Mrs My Favourite Gooner in the World, friends. Possibly the only Arsenal fan in the competition as I generally try to avoid such friendships for obvious reasons. Anyway, come to dinner, for 7.30. So we duly arrived and by 7.40 I was comfortably sipping a nice Scotch and trying to change the subject away from Arsenal’s 5-nil win at Southampton. Which finished, not coincidentally, at 7.27. We ate, we drank, we talked, we shouted, we laughed (these are decidedly ‘good people’, not in any moral sense, obviously, he’s a Gooner, but good nonetheless), just six of us, having fun.

Then, The Judge, for that’s what he did when he was still a valuable and contributing member of our society, announced that at 10.00, he was taking his leave of us. Oh. To go upstairs and watch the boxing. Well, Tyson Fury fighting Usyk for the uncontested, most contested contest the world of boxing has ever known, in the fat bastard class, simply couldn’t be missed.

And I love this. Love the fact that he simply knew we wouldn’t mind. Love the fact that the remaining five of us just carried on anyway. And I love the fact that the delightful Mrs Favourite Gooner (even though she’s a Spurs fan ‘by birth’) arranged a super meal, eaten in comfortable relaxation, within the parameters of the day’s essential sporting events. She should be knighted.

But I didn’t want to watch the boxing. I’m not the biggest fan of the sport in usual circumstances. But these weren’t usual circumstances. These were two very distinguished gentlemen engaged in battle. With their major distinction being that they are both fucking horrible, vile, disgusting people. Fury is the scumbag’s scumbag and Usyk an evil piece of shit. Ok, Ukrainian shit, to whom we’re supposed to exhibit national support, but shit nonetheless. And I don’t mind watching horrible people in sport if they’re going to lose, much like I watch Manchester City currently, or Novak Djokovic, but when you know one of them has to win? Nah. The only exceptions are Emma Raducanu, Keely Hodgkinson, Katie Boulter. Who knows if they’re horrible, they look great, therefore need to be watched. Chelsea and Tyson Fury? Don’t think so. Unless they were playing each other, then one would have to lose.

It’s hard being a sport’s fan. Harder if you have a misplaced sense of decency combined with a love of long legs.

Happy Sunday

A xxxx

Not Joey, nothing reformed about him. Nigel Farage. Was UKIP-er in chief, then resigned after Brexit because the one-trick pony had run his final dressage, and then was re-incarnated as the leader of Reform. After the required length of time for refusals, denials and ‘what, you want li’l ole ME to do that???’s, the Faragist is back, heading up the latest incarnation of… well, lots of parties really. Which originally were simply based on White Supremacy and abject racism, and then, when the market for such neo-naziism struggled to sell, the kind of ‘spruced up’, suit-and-tie’ versions which changed their ideology from racial purity to ‘populism’, adopted as much Trump-ese into their rhetoric as they could and announced themselves in the ‘centre-right’ slot. Just behind the number 8.

Being Nigel Farage when we have a conservative government intent on shipping dark people ‘back’ to Africa, is a difficult place to be. But as soon as Labour ascended to our throne, his job is made simple. We are now led by a group of morons. So much so that the Americans actually re-defined diplomatic protocols to describe the new proposed ambassador to the USA in that precise term.

And being Farage just go a whole lot easier. For who better placed to pull to shreds the imbecilic plans of the Cabinet, seemingly intent on realigning us with the EU, than the man who has made his life’s commitment to extricating us from just that.

I didn’t want Brexit. Still don’t. But… ‘the people hath spoke’ and must be respected. Even the most rampant Brexiteer never minded free entry visas when he visited Paris or Rome. Was always happy with the free trade agreements. It was the dictat of the European Courts that was the problem. Forcing ‘us’ to adhere to ‘their’ mainly ridiculous laws. All of them. And now, in Starmer’s panic to do something with the economy he’s promised to fix, he’s so desperate to re-open full trade with Europe that in March he will agree to putting us back into the European Courts of Justice so that we can eat cut-price Camembert.

The Tories were scared of Farage. First Cameron, hence the Brexit vote in the first place, then all the others. Because by (initially, at least) taking us just a smidge over to the right, he’ll gain the support of all the Tories plus all the Brexit voters. And if he does get backed by Elon Musk (yes, its not ‘allowed’, but if there is away, Musk is definitely the man to find it, even if it means a completely new system of mathematics being introduced worldwide) then little old Nige could yet become our PM.

The good thing about Nigel. Ok, the only good thing about Nigel, is that he ‘gets’ where Israel is coming from, and is in the minority of hoping they can actually stay there. And as cities here consider setting up Shaira Courts, with limited power, Nigel understands the growing threat of Islamisation. A bit like his mate Donald does.

Its interesting. Farage is ideally placed to attack the government in a way the Tories aren’t, because they’re mired in centrism and fear moving either side of it. Whereas Nigel can only ever be left of where his rabble started from.

Could I ever vote for such a man? Probably not, yet I’d feel safer with him than Starmer.

Happy Saturday

A xxxx

You see, being a Spurs fan means you are committed, totally and absolutely, to ‘entertainment’. Football is not for ‘winning’ in any normal sense, its there to ‘entertain the masses’. To provide neutral fans with ‘a match to remember’. Even if Spurs fans remember it even longer, until they finish therapy. I’m going to have special flags printed to sell outside our ground which just read: “WTF???” and can be deployed every time that emotion enters your head. There will be much flag-waving.

Last night’s match was a case in point. We played equally ‘entertaining’ Manchester United. Also using ‘entertaining’ as a euphemism for ‘chaotic as fuck!!!, headless chickens half the time, brilliant for at least 10 minutes a match, the rest; who knows?’. And we took a ‘comfortable’ (for any normal fucking team) 3-nil lead early in the second half. Job done. Or rather: ‘job done???’ Nah. too easy. Let’s give them two goals. Makes it ‘entertaining’, dunnit?

To enable this level of ‘entertainment’ the fairly shitty Manchester United needed help. They can’t entertain unassisted. So Fraser Foster, our goalkeeper in the absence of our proper one, just gifted them two goals. Here ya go, have the ball, I’ll just wait over there so you can find the net. I would suspect him of being in the pay of Chinese gambling syndicates, but I checked his phone and he’s had no contact with Prince Andrew at all.

But then… our dear beloved Sonny scored a goal for us. Of course, it was a controversial goal, the only ones worth scoring. But it stood and that was 4-2 with just 2 minutes of normal time left. Ahhhhh, ‘safe’. You’d think. But ‘safe’ is a million miles from ‘entertaining’, so we let them score a couple minutes later, during the 6 minutes of stoppage time. Which, (times10 when you’re one goal ahead), felt like an hour. And we hung on. Like… champions? Like… winners? Like entertainers. That what we are. We are a dog that barks in tune to ‘Jingle Bells’; a clown who makes balloon animals for kids, a woman in a g-string who slides down a pole wiggling her spinning tassels. We are Tottenham.

Happy Friday

A xxxx

What are you doing on Christmas Day? Eating turkey? Watching re-runs of a Queen’s Speech? Fun with the family? Well why not do the decent thing and invite Prince Andrew round as well? You’re supposed to find lonely, unloved people, who would otherwise be all alone, watching The Morecombe and Wise Christmas Special, eating a tv dinner, microwaved from Aldi’s ‘ultra-high-processed Christmas Treat’ selection, out of its tin foil container, whilst their old dog, Rufus, farts in the corner. And YOU have the power to just CHANGE A LIFE!!!

Because that’s what Andrew will otherwise be doing. Except his dog ran away after the Epstein business so he’d have Fergie farting in the corner instead. Nobody loves him. His own brother!!!! has told him not to come for dinner. He’s ‘unwelcome’. They can’t find a place for him among the 70-odd ‘extended family’ who’ll be sharing the Royal Turkey. No, I don’t mean it was like ‘the king of all the turkeys, strutting round the farmyard in a sodding crown’, just the turkey royals eat. Probably need 2 for all those people.

Yet no room for Andy. Which is fucking mean, if you ask me. But they won’t have him. Even though he promised he wouldn’t steal the silverware. Well, not too much of it.

So Andy and Fergie, the great unloved, are cut off from those they truly love and deeply abuse financially in any way they can. Is this really what King Charles sees as ‘the spirit of Christmas’? Would Jesus have invited Andrew round? Let he who hath not sinned cast the first pig-in-blanket, kind’a thing? I’d invite him myself except we’ll be away for the festivities. And, obviously, I wouldn’t let him within a mile of Lila. Or Joey, but that’s just for his own safety. He may have survived charges of paedophilia, corruption and spying over the years, but he wouldn’t last 10 minutes with my grandson.

Maybe Andrew can have Christmas with Harry & Meg. That would be the obvious move. All the Hated Royals together.

Or YOU can invite them all.

Happy Thursday

A xxxx

Ok, I’m over this government, they’ve done nothing! Nothing worth having, that is. They’ve put tax up, reduced growth, knackered the Christmas economy, fucked up the workforce, re-funded Hamas (ok, UNWRA, same difference), caved into the unions and negotiated with a terrorist state (Syria). So we’re going to get rid of them. Furthermore, Spurs are still languishing mid-table, so what fucking use is a fucking Labour government to anyone?

But help is at hand. If I read this correctly, Elon Musk, the world’s most richest-est person of all the entire spectrum of human types, not just the weirdos, is going to buy us a new government. He can afford it. He’s worth more than Uzbekistan, Madagascar and South Korea combined. (Trust me on the figures, it’s too difficult a calculation to ‘share’).

What’ll happen is this: Musk has bought Nigel Farage, for £322.43, on ebay, and will instigate a coup in which Donald Trump will invade Westminster, blow up Kier Starmer and instal Farage as his puppet PM, whilst he pulls OUR strings from Washington. Effectively we’d be the 51st State, but privately owned by Elon Musk. On a leasehold agreement. Voting will all take place on Twitter, but all votes for anyone other than Nigel will be discarded. Proper democracy. Illegal, corrupt and run totally by a foreign nation.

And by Trump’s rules.

Guns for sale. Everywhere. Any age.
Walls built. Everywhere.
No more Mexicans will enter our nation from either Wales or Scotland. We may possibly have a wall around Manchester too. Just to stop people getting out.
Hertfordshire will become the world’s biggest golf course and be re-named ‘Trump-shire’.
Grabbing women by any part of their anatomy will become acceptable once more, as it is in any civilised country.
Any boats found anywhere within a 6-mile radius will be blown up, possibly nuked. Any papers subsequently found a’floating will be assessed for refugee status and asylum.
All car sales after 2025 will be of Teslas only.
Every political statement will be stated twice. Stated twice.

Happy revolution day

A xxxx

When I first heard about the coup in Serie-A, I thought it a bit unusual for a football league, even an Italian one, to be taken over by armed militia, but was thrilled by the prospect that the Premiere League might suffer a similar fate and then stop showing matches on (fucking) TNT. Then I realised that it was Syria, not Serie-A, even though they’re pronounced the same way, and that was a bit upsetting, though it made more sense. And Assad did a runner. Although claims he left ‘reluctantly’ and ‘after finishing off his work’. Which might mean just murdering a quick few hundred people, as that seems to be what his ‘work’ involved. And so there’s nothing cowardly about him at all. Even though his life expectancy in the New Syria would have been measured in minutes. Very painful ones.

So now ‘we’ (ie Britain) are in the strange position of entering into talks with the new boys. And as they are proscribed terrorists, it does make David Lammy appear even more ridiculous than he normally appears. No mean feat. And now we have to wait and see how the ‘promises of inclusivity to all in Syria’ may extend to Muslims who aren’t Sunni, as the new governors are, to the Alawites, who represent Assad’s team and hence are not going to win any popularity contests any time soon, and the Christians and Druze. And also, how the other Sunni militias accept the leadership, or vie for some type of control.

Within 10 minutes of Southampton’s loss to Spurs on Sunday, the team at the very bottom of the pile sacked their manager. With Wolves, the next one up, already sacking theirs.

The sheer brutality of Tottenham’s win was so magnificent that, at 5-nil down at half time, there wasn’t really any way back. For team or manager. The Saints did well not to concede seriously humiliating numbers. The win was so emphatic that I actually chose to watch Match of the Day, for the first time since the Man City game. Because I have now become ‘that person’. Ok, I have become quite a lot of different versions of ‘that person’, but this is the football one. Who simply can’t bear to watch his team lose. Again. And again. Though in fact, that I can bear. What I can’t is listening to Alan Fucking Shearer explaining, in a version of English so poor its only heard on football programs, what Tottenham did wrong. Like we can’t see for ourselves. Seeing what went wrong is not the same as preventing it. Its just much, much easier.

This photo is Rich playing at Dingwalls, Camden Town, in about 1971/2. Sent by an old mate who also playing there.

Happy Tuesday

A xxxx