Andy's Glasses

We’re top of the league. Don’t know if you know that. But we are. We have about 4 hours left, I reckon, before Man City (probably) or Liverpool (possibly) overtake us, or 6 hours before Arsenal play at Newcastle. Then we play Chelsea on Monday night. Ooooohhhh.

I’ll try to put this, intellectually, into a context which manifestly expresses deep felt honesty of my feelings. I fucking hate Chelsea. That intellectual enough for ya? The reasons are many. Any Spurs fan who’s spent any time at Stamford Bridge will understand. It’s not a nice experience. And I don’t just mean the football.

But now it’s more complicated. Chelsea’s manager is our beloved Mauricio Pochettino. He came to Spurs at a bad time (we’ve had many… too many to even number, but we’ll call it ‘bad time no. 5,729’, just for reference) and he elevated us. Not just in the league position but in absolutely everything. He brought back belief. He brought love. He brought fabulous football, team spirit, totally engaged fans and a new top-to-bottom cohesion which we’d lacked for decades and have only just found a way to replace under Ange.

So when Mauricio went to Chelsea we were initially jealous, then most concerned that he might take that team of over-priced, under-performing no-goodniks and turn them into the team which cost a truly ridiculous amount of money should be. Fortunately, he has (thus far) failed miserably and is the leader of a hapless bunch of divas who simply don’t appear to play in any joined up way. And we pray that lasts until at least Tuesday. Because whatever happens today or tomorrow, if we beat Chelsea on Monday night we stay top.

And that’s where we need to be. Where I need to be.

Happy Saturday, even though tennis was rained off AGAIAIAIANNNN!!!

A xxxx

We have 3 ovens. There, I’ve said it. Now you know. Because I eat a lot. Because we cook a lot. Because we cook big. Because ovens were on sale that day. Or, because now and again we get ‘the (extended) family’ over for dinner and there’s not enough room in one oven. Or two. And we had the fucking room, so why wouldn’t everyone have 3 ovens? And even if we don’t often use all three ovens, we very frequently use the timers that each one has. Boil an egg? Well set a timer for 8 minutes (10 is WAY too long, 7 is pathetically insufficient). Ah, that timer’s in use; Mel’s timing a tumble dry and the machine’s own timer hasn’t worked since Lila was born. (Should have had 3 tumble dryers, maybe, hmmm…) And in precicely 10 minutes I need to do… something special, and I’ll forget, because I do. Set a timer.

Then I sit down for breakfast, write some of this, read the paper, eat a banana, make more tea… and a beeper goes off. Ahhhh, the timer. But what for? Which was that? Is my egg ready? Is my towel dry? Do I need to… whatever the fuck I was supposed to be attending to???? WHICH WAS WHICH??? And in this morning’s confusion, at the sound of the beep I shlepped the bedsheets out of the tumbler AND turned off the eggs. Only to get another beep 4 minutes and 17 seconds later. Oh. Better put the egg back on then…

First world problems.

Then I got an email from Rishi Sunak. Honest, from him, himself, ‘personally’ and signed ‘Rishi xxx’ an’ everything. ‘Dear Andrew…’ it started. Only my mum called me Andrew and she died 10 years ago, God rest her wonderful soul. Ok, telesales people do too. So when the phone goes and they ask for ‘Andrew’, its either my mum re-incarnate or someone selling me life insurance, offering me a class action law-suit or telling me my computer’s been hacked and they need to hack it themselves, what’s your pin number? But this was the Prime Minister of the whole of England, parts of Ireland, most of Wales and (for the time being) Scotland. And he was asking for money. His exact words, if I could ‘chip in’. 100 quid, maybe 50, right down to a fiver. To help his God-forsaken, scandalised, sexually harassed, serially incompetent political party help us keep the nation free from Kier Starmer (bad) and Angela Rayner (much worse). G’wan, Andrew, chip in fifty quid, mate, g’wan.

Rishi Sunak, net worth about 750 million quid, asking AndREW Conway, net worth about £632.47 plus 3 ovens, for a hand-out. There was no box which specifically said “FUCK OFF!!!”, so I had to create my own.

Happy Friday

A xxxx

‘Long covid’ has now been redefined as ‘the banging on about the pandemic long after it all fucking finished to any significant degree and we’re all bored with it’.

Well, that’s my definition. Or it was. Until the inquiry started this week. And this is the most fun you can have. I’d pay 75 quid for a seat to watch such satire and here it is, every day, on tv, completely free!

But it is a serious matter and the then government don’t come out too well. So I need to defend them. Boris, Matt Hancock, Dominic Cummings, they’re just ‘humans’ (other than Cummings who patently isn’t) and have faults and were really trying their best. And in that ‘trying’ they swore a bit on whatsapp messages. If that’s a crime, I’m a dead man. So give them some latitude.

Boris didn’t mean to be a totally hapless moron, incapable of understanding the basic nature of what a ‘pandemic’ was, until half the old and vulnerable people had died, at which point he thought that wasn’t such a bad thing, from a ‘economy of the nation’ perspective, so might as well kill of the other half too, save a few bob on pills. And he knew no better, as Italy locked down its population, than to laugh at ‘those stupid fucking eye-ties!!!’, three weeks before he locked us down.

Matt Hancock is just a tosser. His list of ‘Covid crimes’ is so lengthy it needs to be in several volumes. And it doesn’t include ‘the kiss’. As ‘health minister’ at the time he was clueless, uninformed and worse still, refused to be informed by those who actually knew quite a bit about such things.

And Dominic Cummings. The most horrible, arrogant, obnoxious sub-human ever to walk along Downing Street with political purpose. The retrospective justification for Guy Fawkes. Who bossed, mouthed off, drove 300 miles to take his covid up north and spread it around. And who swears at women. Not in a good way, like… some do. But in the ‘superior’, misogynistic, creepy way of people who were very late losing their virginity. A role model for ‘Incels’. His idea of ‘team building’ is to hold all those around him in complete contempt, but especially the women.

So forgive them. I know I have. Well, almost. Because at least we’re still alive to laugh at them.

There was no defence.

Happy Thursday

A xxxx

I’m not here to discuss whether there should be ‘a ceasefire’ in Gaza or not. And there’s a good reason for not discussing it. That’s because, probably, the government of Israel, heads of state and military chiefs don’t read my blog. They should do, they’d learn a lot. But I’m not sufficiently arrogant or stupid to think that even if I stated categorically and prefaced it with ‘let me make this perfectly clear’ as all politicians and other tossers invariably do, that ‘there must be a ceasefire!’, that Israel would listen or care. Israel does what Israel does and if it listened to external criticism or demands, it would have ceased to exist in 1949.

So why does Sadiq Kahn think that Israel is going to stop its existential war because the Mayor of London, a world famous trumped up little shit, thinks it should? Similarly, while we’re here, is Benjamin Netanyahu going to convene an emergency war cabinet meeting because David Beckham has asked for a ceasefire? Maybe Rhianna? Harry Styles? Ronaldinho?

How about Kier Starmer? Would his words rock the knesset into re-thinking its entire program for destroying Hamas and rescuing its 230 hostages? Can you name the leader of the opposition in Israel? How about Columbia? Germany? No. So it’s doubtful they could name him. If they could then they’d be the enlightened ones who would know what a useless person he is.

And yet, the Labour Party is in internal turmoil over Starmer’s failure to ‘demand a ceasefire’. Even though if he did, no-one who matters would hear nor care, let alone heed his words. And yet this is now an amazingly divisive thing in our opposition party.

Sir Kier entered the leadership office on a mission to ‘rid the horrible anti-semitism’ which his predecessor, Bealzibub Corbyn, had promoted, enabled and rewarded. So he is either tethered to this principle so strongly (as he should be) that he feels he has to stand 100% behind the Jewish community and Israel too, or he’s just totally fucked himself and can’t say what he’d really like to. Which is probably what the rest of the Labour stalwarts have said, that ‘there must be an immediate ceasefire’. And even if; a massively big IF, even if Israel listened to him; Hamas wouldn’t. One opposition front-bencher said yesterday that ‘there must be a ceasefire to enable aid to the people, and to allow time for a diplomatic solution from the UN’. My only question being “where the fuck has this guy been for the last 75 years????” That the ‘diplomatic solution’ which has thus far eluded, unlike the Labour party, even clever people like Henry Kissinger, Bill Clinton, Maggie Thatcher, Winston fucking Churchill, is going to materialise in 3 days, by none other than the UN, possibly the most dim-witted, anti-zionist organisation in the world outside of Militant Islamist groups?

So good luck Kier. You’re gonna need it.

Happy Wednesday

A xxxx

I shouldn’t be a snob. I’m an East’enda, ain’ I? We give up the right to snobbishness with the first glottal stop. But many years ago, when I moved to the gentrified suburbs around ‘ampstid, I found all the Hs I’d spent my formative years dropping. They were in a little heap on the HHHeath Hextension and they’ve been firmly affixed ever since. Not always in the right place, Hi grant you, but I try to be careful.

So, as a snob, I shop… ok, ‘we’ shop in Waitrose. You have to or they take away your License to be Middle Class. And Marks & Spencer food hall. We’re allowed to shop at ‘convenience stores’ because… because they’re convenient. But only if they’re nice ones with massive displays of fabulous fruit and veg outside. Otherwise we’re not allowed in. “Sorry mate, ya can’t come in ‘ere, this is a scummy shop and we don’t allow posh people inside”.

We have a Co-op round the corner which I boycotted the day they opened, even though their stuff is pretty good and very cheap. But Co-op boycotted Israel long before it was even fashionable, so fuck ‘em. They can wait for Roger Waters to come in for an avocado, I’ll buy mine over the road at ‘the Turks’ (most fabulous ‘convenience store’ in the world). And we don’t go to Tesco because it’s a bit far. Ok, it’s 2 miles away, but with the Electric Vehicle, every journey’s a worry. And I have no idea where a Sainsbury might be and nor do I care, I’m covered.

And then there’s Aldi. The lowest, tackiest, most grobbiest form of shopping humility a man can take. But now and again we drive all the way to… North Finchley!!!, that post-apocalyptic netherworld so deprived and desolate that it has no Gail’s!!!, and we slouch into the Aldi. Not just to buy their quite amazing single-malt whisky, but also for certain other things which are just so much cheaper than anywhere else. Ok, I’m not saying its a pleasant experience. I’m not saying everything there is top quality, but some things are just ridiculously cheap. 12 2-litre bottles of diet lemonade later (I love lemonade), a dozen pack of water (for Mel, obvs), whisky, some wine, prosecco, few other bits and bobs… 50 quid. I offered to pay more, to help the deprivation, but they wouldn’t take it.

Fortunately no-one saw us enter or leave, and we were wearing balaclavas anyway, just in case, and also because everyone else in North Finchley wears them anyway as part of the government’s shop-lifting initiative.

The joys of shopping.

Happy Tuesday

A xxxx

So what, would you ‘estimate’ is a ‘proportionate response’ to the brutal (and if you want details, its all online, but you’ll need a strong stomach or a bucket) murders of 1400 people? Should Israel have simply gone ‘an eye for an eye’ and murdered 1400 Gazans? Randomly and with horrendous brutality? That would have been pure, but ‘proportionate’, revenge. Which really is not what this current assault on Gaza is all about. This is not for ‘revenge’. It’s about proportionality of intention.

Since its inception Hamas has had but one goal; the destruction of Israel, the death of all Israeli Jews and better still, all Jews in the world. That’s it. The statement, its in their charter, unapologetically. But it’s been a battle cry, a bold statement to rally the troops, mere words. ‘From the River to the Sea’ may sound almost biblical in its origins but it is the statement that Hamas wants all of Israel’s land, but none of its people alive. Which is why there is no current ‘2-state solution’, its been offered numerous times but always rejected by the PLO or Hamas.

What happened on October 7 turned this intention from rhetoric into stark reality. Leaving Israel in a truly existential crisis. Here is Hamas, murdering innocent Israelis, as always promised. Spurred on by a lifelong passion against Israel, armed and abetted by Iranian dollars and rockets, they embarked upon their lust for death. Which, if left, would repeat. As threatened. Leaving Israel no choice but to eliminate Hamas before it eliminates them.

Hamas is NOT ‘the people of Gaza’. It does not ever represent their best interests. It uses them as disposable, throwaway pawns in a PR battle against its enemy. Hamas murders Palestinians. The hospital that Israel yesterday demanded be evacuated has a Hamas command centre built in a tunnel underneath it. Not in a dark, dusty, muddy place but lined with concrete, carpeted, filled with computers and an arms depot. Rocket launchers are strategically placed near schools. If Palestinians disagree with Hamas they are killed. Thrown off of buildings. Hamas does not care about Palestine or the people in it, other than as their use in scoring points and garnering sympathy from naive imbeciles at the UN.

And from Jeremy Corbyn who yesterday demanded the end of ‘killing innocent children’. Whereas during all the Russian bombing killing Ukranian children, all he could say was: ‘the West must stop supplying Ukraine with arms’. He didn’t mention the Israeli babies and children killed or burned alive during the initial raid. Why would he? And anyway, the world’s forgotten the October 7 raid now, because other people are being killed by Israeli bombs. And that’s far more important. Far more inflammatory. Far more a worthy cause for marching, protesting and shouting ‘Jihad’ and ‘death to the Jews’ in Trafalgar Square.

What is really ‘disproportionate’ is the level of hatred that has suddenly arisen for Israel and for Jews. In Russia yesterday a plane due to land from Tel Aviv had to be redirected because of a group of ‘protesters’ waving Palestinian flags who broke into the airport and actually made it onto the runway ‘looking for Jews’. For a ‘pogrom’. Another pogrom. The Palestine flags waved here are now slowly being replaced by Hamas flags, Isis flags and all manner of other jihadi hate mongers. And the waving is not just by Muslims but by good, English Corbyn-types so easily and moronically led into anti-semitic rage. Of course ‘its not anti-semitism to be anti-zionist’, but when you only and ever protest against Israel and never when Syria murders 10,000 of its own civilians, or Russia destroys working schools and hospitals, then it kind’a looks like anti-semitism, smells like anti-semitism, as demonstrated by the United Nations so regularly.

I wish I knew what the answer was. But getting rid of Hamas (or the current incarnation of it, at least) is definitely the place to start. As many have said, but few have listened, ridding Gaza of Hamas would free the Palestinian people as well as safeguarding the state of Israel so that us Jews of the diaspora still feel we always have that safe haven should ‘the shit hit the fan’. Again. And currently, I’m not standing too close to any fans.

Happy Monday

A xxxx

I feel this burning need to talk about football. There’s so many other issues pressing down on me, but in times of stress, we all need some relief, some hope and, even, some joy. Because we came third in the rugby World Cup; winning it became a touch difficult after losing the semi-final last weekend, so third will have to do. So that’s fairly good. Then I watched as Harry Kane, who at one time played for Spurs, if you can remember those days, scored a goal yesterday for Bayern Munich, from inside his own half. One of the hat-trick he notched up yesterday. And there is no easier way than scoring that kind of goal to forever after become a ‘legend’. It happened when Beckham did it against Wimbledon, when he was so young he wasn’t even married to a Spice Girl. Nayim did it against Arsenal and never even met a Spice Girl. And Pedro Mendez did it for Spurs against Man United and… and… it was disallowed.

So then, wonder-kid Jude Bellingham scored twice for Real Madrid against Barca in the El Classico yesterday and one of his, although well inside the enemy half, was a thing of memorable beauty. And he’s only 12, been in Madrid about 3 weeks and reached legendary status on just about his first match anyway.

So England’s strike force is looking more potent than ever. Even if it’s not playing over here. Yet of the teams who are playing over here, we need to see who is the best, currently. And perched confidently, quite beautifully, and for more than just the usual ‘2 hours before Man City play’, sit my very own Tottenham Hotspur. Because after our win against Crystal Palace on Friday night (whilst I was knee deep in Japanese food) we went 5 points clear at the top and so will stay there until we fail to win a match. Though it must be noted that Arsenal won so reduced our lead to 2 points. But Arsenal’s win was tainted. I suppose they had to play Sheffield United, the team which defines the massive gulf between the Premiership and ‘the rest’, and who have amassed one whole point in their 10 matches at the top table, but Arsenal shouldn’t really be gifted points at this important part of the season.

Liverpool look like beating Forest, right now, but football is a game of two halves and they’ve only won the first one. The Manchesters play each other later today and Chelsea don’t count because they’re useless, a state which we hope will continue until at least well after next Monday’s match against Spurs.

South Africa beat the All Blacks in the rugby last night, to claim the title of World Cup winners by one point. Having won the last three games each by just one point. Leaving a trail of opposing kickers ruing any missed conversions or penalties. But that’s rugby. New Zealand down to 14 men because of a high tackle and that’s massively punitive and was duly punished by the relentless, formidable, quite outstanding but really quite horrible South Africans.

Spurs don’t play rugby.

Happy Sunday

A xxxx

I was so blessed this morning. I played tennis in the gorgeous sunshine (though a bit low, if we’re being picky, a bit ‘horizontal’ and in-yer-eyes) and as we were putting our racquets away, the rains started. We were blessed.

However, I’m a bit ‘off’ today. Woke up feeling a bit fragile, a touch shaky, a bit… nyeh. Never mind, on me bike, off to tai chi. Where I had ‘conceptualisation issues’ with putting spatial movements into how I’d thought them. Which is a bit of a problem when you’re trying to defend yourself from a jihadi with a knife. Even though he looked like me mate Mike holding a stick. My movements were somewhat uncoordinated. I was, in a word I rescued from 1972 and mention for historical value only: a bit of a spaz. Which translates into 2023 (bollocks-)speak, as ‘having a minor spatial disability probably relating to mental health’. But it was only (I hope) only temporary.

So I went and played my tennis, perfectly between the rainstorms, and found my coordination way below par too. Odd. I’m only 2 weeks older than last time I played but seemed 15 years older in performance.

I attribute this to last night. We went out for dinner. With Me Mate Dave. A different Me Mate Dave because we all have at least 5. And we went to MMD’s girlfriend and ate the most amazing meal ever. Literally. It was a Japanese meal of the most outstanding quality and content. Spectacular. Just before eating, as we sat, in Japanese style, around a central bar with the cooking and preparation done before our very eyes, I was going to make accusations of CULTURAL APPROPRIATION!!!, but realised she is in fact Japanese, so I’d need something else to upset my very delicate PC-meter. But then I started eating. And really, just carried on eating as our gorgeous cook just kept putting wonderful things in front of us and made, right before our eyes, the best sushimi I’ve ever eaten, and more, and more, and all manner of amazing and amazing-looking things to feast upon.

But that wasn’t the cause of today’s malaise. That was down to Me Mate Dave. Who purposefully and with malice aforethought, continuously and calculatedly, kept filling my glass. With Spritzers, then saki, then more saki, then a bit more, followed by shots of all manner of wonderful Japanese spirits, which he appropriated in non-cultural way from his partner and poured into my glass. All of which combined to remove this morning’s ability to perform hand-eye related movements. Which is pretty much all of them. He has a lot to answer for.

Happy Saturday

A xxxx

Complete this well-known song:
“we’re top of the league, we’re top of the leaea-eague, Tottenham Hotspur, we’re top of the league…” (You complete it by repeating it non-stop until Saturday, depending on future results, but if we win on Friday… if we beat Palace… then it doesn’t matter what happens on Saturday and you can keep singing it FOREVERRRRRR).

I know, it’s a long season, I get that, and we’re still ‘early on’. But we’re about a quarter the way through. As someone who is happy with being top on week 2 because we’ve scored one more goal than all the 7 other teams who’ve won 2 games, this, 9 matches in, feels more like ‘the real deal’. So I’ve asked the Premier League if the season can stop now. And they said ‘no’. Therefore we’ll just have to keep winning. ‘It’s in our own hands’! ‘Ours to lose!!!’

I’m not under any illusions… ok, I’m totally deluded, but that hope, coupled with my sheer amazement at my team’s total transformation under Ange Postecoglou’s stewardship, in play but mostly in attitude, that I’m allowed to dream. Who said Man City HAVE to win the league every fucking year?

And just a note to our Home Secretary: there may be many meanings of the word ‘jihad’, everything from minor self-improvement to an all out declaration of war upon all ‘non-believers’, and you have to decide which is acceptable. Because the police can’t; they’re neither linguists nor so sensitive to the contextual nuances of the Arabic language. But its safe to say, such a word, when shouted, repeatedly, passionately by members of Hizb-ut-Tahrir, in the context of the current Gaza crisis, is probably nearer the latter end of the spectrum. As the word is always understood in the West because that’s generally the only context in which we hear it. ‘Holy War’.

Hizb-ut-Tahrir are not a ‘proscribed organisation’ here, like Hamas, ISIS, Al Queda, but they’re cut from exactly the same cloth and hence are banned in most sensible countries. And you don’t get banned for issuing public proclamations of ‘improving yourself from sin’. Especially if you’re doing it whilst screaming support for child-murdering terrorists.

So Suella, get your shit together, Babe, and sort out the ambiguity, its not the police’s job to make decisions, just to enforce unambiguous laws.

There ya go: the good and the bad.

Happy Wednesday

A xxxx


We went to Birmingham yesterday. We love it there… Ok, no one loves it there, we went because there was a little mini ‘conference’ of a worky nature and that’s where they held it. At the National Motorcycle Museum, which is the coolest place ever, if you like motorcycles, and pretty lovely even if you don’t. It is, precisely, 111 miles from home. I checked. So I ‘filled up’ the car on Saturday night, giving us an amazing, totally sufficient with surplus, should be ‘relaxing’, 343 mile range. Holy shit! (My special ‘app’ told me, so I could check it without having to go out in the rain. Yes, I have an app!!) I may go to Manchester on the way just to use up some those excessive miles! And this is precisely why you buy an electric car. So you can sit smugly in the fast lane with the cruise control set at ‘69’, just for some added annoyance, and peer down your ever-growing nose at the polluters, the destroyers, the murderers of baby polar bears and those churning out all the shit that Greta Thunberg would hate. Then reality hit. Hard!

Well, its only ‘hard’ in an EV kind’a way, its not ‘hard’ like floods in Scotland, not ‘hard’ like losing the rugby, but its hard in a mild anxiety kind’a way. Because by the time I’d driven half a mile to Henley’s Corner, my mileage was down to 334. I quickly calculated, even though it’s not really a strong point, but I reckoned at that rate of usage, we’d need to charge up again at Mill Hill. Possibly Edgware. Oh no.

I needn’t have worried, by the time we passed Watford the initial ‘discrepancies’ seemed to have ironed out, the car picked up a few ions from the atmosphere or something, and we were back on some kind of schedule which would at least get us to Birmingham, if not further, the current exchange rate being 1 real mile = 3 electric ones.

We made it. Using up exactly half our miles. Which then begs the interesting question: is the next half going to be bigger/longer/better than the last one? WILL I MAKE IT HOME??? Yet, I was confident. I have no idea why because I know from bitter experience that if we ‘have to charge’ on the way home, that can be a disaster; a mission impossible, a tow from the AA, yet confident I was. And even though there was an accident at Rugby, and even though we crawled on the M1 for hundreds of miles (real miles AND electric ones), we still managed to arrive home with 48 miles left on the range-o-meter.

And for the first time in my life, I drove within the speed limits. Honest I did. Because if you go faster it uses more ‘lectric, so I set the cruise on 70 and sat there willing my right foot to stay where it was and not do what it desperately wanted to do.

The rugby was a tragedy. We were vastly superior to those South Afrikkers for 60 minutes. Then we weren’t. And then they were better and stole the game from under our very noses. I don’t know that I’ll ever get over it. But if Spurs win tonight and go back to top of the league (where we BELONG!!!) it’ll help.

Has there ever been a ‘better’ footballer in England than Bobby Charlton? Its a debate. You wouldn’t have the debate for Harry McGuire, Jamie Vardy, John Radford, so that in itself speaks volumes. But has there ever been a nicer player? A more gentlemanly player? For that, there’s no debate. RIP Sir Bobby.

Happy Monday

A xxxx