Andy's Glasses

Summer’s are dead boring. There’s no football. You go on holiday and spend a fortnight hiding from the sun and standing under a cold shower, eating foreign muck and spending Euros. Its so hot out there you can barely get your sandals over your socks before heading back into water. Ok, there’s a bit of cricket, some tennis, but without football, life is barely worth living. Until tonight!!!

Because the World Cup starts today!!!

Ok, its the… ‘other’ world cup. The ‘different’ world cup. I don’t think I’m allowed to use any gender specific terminology without getting cancelled, arrested or castrated by those of gender neutrality (like Switzerland) or of a trans-inclination. You see, I’m so ‘inclusive’ and ‘diverse’ and ‘woke’ that I shall just have to call it ‘the alternative World Cup’, just for purposes of differentiation and in no way implying any rank ordering of… those born with, but not necessary correctly deploying, or even keeping forever, a penis.

Talking of penises, Nigel Farage is causing trouble once more. This time he’s been sacked by his bank for being an impoverished, neo-nazi, Trump-supporting, right-wing, Brexeteering, tweeting, alt-right, totally-wrong… tosser. I don’t care that he doesn’t have the 30 grand required to keep a Coutts bank account open, in fact were I to find him begging on the street for pennies, I’d kick him and steal his hat. Or toss a Euro into his collection cup. And I get that no-one in their right mind should ever choose to have anything to do with the man. The question is: should the bank be allowed to so choose?

Farage is, unfortunately, famous for being a nob. Most of Coutts’ esteemed, wealthy and monied clientele are not famous. It would come as no surprise to me if half their account holders were Brexiteers, 96% are Tories, 87% hold right wing views and 42% don’t hate Donald Trump. But Coutts wouldn’t know because its their private lives. So by ‘un-banking’ Farage they’re actually discriminating, but against famous people who air their views. NOT just against disgraceful racists, because they don’t know who they are.

Happy Thursday

A xxxx

Everyone moans; “ohh, noooooo, not anOTHER!! destination wedding!!! That’s my fifth this week, thirteenth in the last month, 43rd this year so far!!! And because no-one ever wants to get married in the rain or snow, as the year progresses, the venues move from Southern Europe to the Middle East, then the Far East and eventually when its the only place left the sun’s still shining; Ethel from Wolverhampton and Nigel from Norwich will tie the knot at sunset at Ayers Rock because… they’ve always felt an affiliation to aboriginals, as their persecution in Australia is a parallel to that of dim-witted Black Country laggards and inbred East Anglian carpet fitters. So it all makes a lot of sense to drag the family half way round the world in sympathy, on their own coin.

But the fact of the matter is: destination weddings can be simply amazing. And sometimes, almost worth the outrageous cost of entry. I’ve been to a few like that. And what they actually do is make you realise that ‘normal’ weddings are somewhat formulaic, a bit staid, totally unimaginative, but… just a short tube run or taxi ride away.

Last weekend’s was an extravaganza of… extravaganzes. It was an orchestra of orks. It was the last wedding you’ll ever need to go to til the next one, but with pasta. It had everything. A spectacular cast of characters many of whom looked like ‘Love Island’ contestants!! Unfortunately, most had that same level of intelligence, but the photos were fantastic. Fabulous food, spectacular scenery and loads of whingeing Italian taxi drivers.

The bride and groom are beautiful, inventive, creative, entrepreneurial types who associate with similar, plus a few wannabes and hangers on, but every wedding has those, and they’re important to make us true stars shine brighter. And so it started on Friday night. With 2 challahs which I brought all the way from Golders Green, across land and sea and air. Then they were left in the back of a taxi, retrieved and finally eaten at the meal in one of the most spectacular restaurants ever.

Sunday was the wedding and it was long and luxurious, and it was in the most beautiful villa and it was late and boozy and speechy and dancey and we got back to our hotel at 2.30am. A new record. Whereas we only danced to the old records.

Monday was the beach party, at the venue in this photo. I know, its shit, innit? No significant concrete in the pic, no flash cars, no hanging gardens of Babylon, no Daleks. Booor-riiing. To complete a truly amazing weekend.

Happy Married Life, Bamber

A xxxx

The first thing you notice when you arrive in Ischia is the heat. And approximately 3.7 seconds later, just as you’re looking to change your t-shirt because that dry one is suddenly soaking wet, you notice the humidity. It is intense.

However, as someone who has quite literally sweated all over the entire world, this is possibly one of the most beautiful environments in which I’ve ever chosen to abundantly perspire.

The island, a mere hour’s sail from Naples, is, like everything else in this part of the world, volcanic. So its not blessed with endless golden beaches. Instead, it would win a rock contest with anywhere. And for a tiny island, its very hilly and mountainous. So you don’t really drive ‘round’ it as ‘up and down and in and out’ of it. And you find some fantastic little coves, like the one pictured, on the south coast, where the sea itself is so full of volcanic… stuff, that merely swimming in it makes you at least 12 years younger, fitter, stronger, healthier and better at ‘wordle’. Of course, in the land of Ulysses, you don’t just ‘get’ there. Life’s little rewards have to be earned in truly epic fashion. So you drive until the road runs out. Then you walk and descend hundreds of steps to the cove. Which is rocky. And only after you spend some time stumbling over those, heading towards the sea in 40 degree heat like a baby turtle hatchling trying to get to the water before they die!!!!, only then can you submerge into the volcanic wonders and thermals of the region. Although the sea ‘bed’ is in fact just more big rocks too, which is interesting in a ‘don’t fall over and don’t cut your arms and legs’ kind’a way.

Lunch there was fabulous in the beach bar and also possibly makes you younger and healthier.

Today’s Wimbledon final is something special. Is Carlos Alcaraz, the world number one, really ready to get between a Djok and a hard place to prove his arrival at the top? Winning endless tournaments that no-one’s ever heard of is all well and good, but Djokovic on Centre Court? I hope he succeeds, I really do. Everyone in the crowd really hopes so too, except Goran Invanisovic and Mrs Djokovic, and even she’s not decided who she’s cheering for. Carlos will need to bring a game of such A-ness, as he never has before. I’m not sure the man has been invented who can beat the horrible Serb. Not yet.

Happy Wedding day

A xxxx

We need to talk about Naples. The City. Ok, we checked in to our hotel at about 10.30 on Thursday night and at 2.35 the following afternoon we were on a ferry to Ischia. So our experience of this fine city is… a bit limited. And our experience can be pretty much defined by: “stayed in a fab hotel, but not the best part of town”. Unless you would describe a building site, 6 months after demolition, 3 years before building due to start, currently used as an ad hoc rubbish tip, as ‘the best part of town’. And everyone we spoke to reported the same thing: “I don’t think we were in a nice part”. So if you add up all the parts which weren’t nice, in sufficient numbers, at some point you have to accept that Naples is just a dump. Filled with mafiosi, cut-throats, pick-pockets and murderers.

This photo of Mel was taken on the walk from the tube station back to our hotel and I think, is the ‘picture that paints a thousand words’ about Napoli.

However, it is an access point to two true wonders. Pompeii, which we went to about 20 years ago (though its ‘changed a lot’, since, I’m informed. Like, really? The whole point is that it is as it was in 89 AD when Vesuvius shot a big load) and Herculaneum, which is ‘the other one’. The town on the other side of the volcano. Which was also totally wiped out in the eruption, but thanks to God’s eternal mercy, although no people survived, some of the buildings were saved in much better condition than in Pompeii. And Herculaneum is just fab. Brilliant and fascinating and, like Pompeii (in July/August) hotter than hell. And we’ve wanted to visit it for ages, and now we have. And in the ruins, they found the world’s oldest pizza. Honest. They were invented there. And Naples. Florence. New York. Chicago and Rome. Though we really have to burn those places to the ground to decide who was really first. One petrified cheese and tomato sandwich tastes just like another, right?

Ischia is something else. This is no-one’s rubbish tip. Its beautiful. Ain’t big. We drove round the entire island today in a Smart car and it’s less than 2 hours to get round it. Though we stopped, obvs, you can’t eat ice cream without stopping, FFS. And on slow, mountain roads most of which are the width of one and a half Smart cars. Interesting drive. Amazingly beautiful island. More about that tomorrow; ‘wedding day’!!!

Happy Saturday

A xxxx

So it was Huw Edwards wot dunnit. Oh no. I love Huw. He’s been my main man (and I NEVER miss the 10 o’clock BBC news, series record, alarms, warning alerts, post-its on the tv) for 20 years!!! And now this! He’s just a… he’s nothing better than… he’s a downright… hmmm…

What’s he done then? If the police have stated that there is no investigation because nothing is illegal, then why are we even ‘here’? Oh, because The Sun brought us here. Oh, that’s fine then. Slam out a few amazingly provocative headlines making wildly inflammatory, career-destroying, BEEB-destabilising allegations, for which ‘they have loads of evidence’ which they’ve not shown to ANYBODY!

And then, its just ‘oh well, it appeared to be a bit tasty, a bit illegal, but anyway, its downright disgraceful, inappropriate and fuckin’ IMMORAL for a newscaster to act in such a way’. No foul. No penalty.

So here we are now. With basically, The Sun newspaper ruining a man’s life, on grounds of immorality. The Sun. Immorality. I’ll let the sheer hypocrisy and laughable irony just sit there for a second. The newspaper who only stopped showing its daily pair of tits because of a government act, the one which has more employees listening to hacked phones than listening to the radio. The sleazy, scummy, low-rent rag now decides on matters moral.

What really happened was the newspaper speculated and lost. And yet the only real loser is Huw. A long-time depressive, he’s currently in a hospital sorting out his head. And he may have acted in ways ‘unbecoming to a news presenter’, that’s yet to be proven. But his life is ruined. By a filthy newspaper on a fishing expedition for a scandal.

Let’s face it, if you published a headline ‘FAMOUS GOVERNMENT MINISTER/HEAD TEACHER/CORPORATE CEO/CONSULTANT FILMED WITH RENT BOY!!!!’ you have 14,000 very important people sweating over their morning cornflakes.

Get well Huw. Even though, it would appear, if all pans out, that you are a bit ‘odd’.

Happy Thursday

A xxxx

This was Joey on Monday night… leaving the hospital. Where they’d just applied a few steri-strips to his head. I could’a done that. But Joey was kept waiting for 4 hours and I’d have made him wait for 5. Just because. So the local hospital got the job. And not the neatest job I’ve ever seen either. I know, they have to check after a head wound for possible concussion. But as he was chatting happily and generally fine, other than the blood and the hole, its safe to eliminate that, I reckon. And after head-gate 1, when he split open the other side of his forehead one friday night during dinner, Mel actually went and bought some special glue. Like Superglue… ok, it is superglue, but its sterile and has anti-bacterials in it. So you buy it from the chemist instead of the builders’ merchants and it cost 14 times as much. We call it ‘Joey glue’ because he’s Joey and as such needs to give blood once a month. To the pavement, the playground, the park, the kitchen floor… because its what little boys do. Lila never did it; she never identified as a little boy. So she rarely goes looking for hard, pointed surfaces to bang her head against.

Tomorrow we’re going to Ischia. Ischia? Yeah, its a little island off the bay of Naples, just past Capri. There’s a wedding. No idea whose but what the hell; food, drink, dancing, possibly a rabbi, how can you go wrong? We gatecrash a destination wedding every month. Just go anywhere nice and there’s bound to be a someone tying the knot, ok, may have to give the rabbi bit a miss sometimes but that’s the story of my life, avoiding rabbis wherever possible. Except for the 2 who’ll be going to this wedding because they’re the groom’s cousins.

But I’ve never been to Ischia. Who the f*** has? You have to take a boat from Naples to get there, and as my over-60 tube pass doesn’t take me to Naples, its just one more lost opportunity. Until tomorrow! Yet Naples would seem, by reports, to be Italy’s ‘crime central’. Don’t carry money, valuables, small children, cameras; don’t speak with a foreign accent (but all Italians do, I don’t get that bit) and avoid ‘scammers’. Which, after reading for a bit, you realise is absolutely any local.

Which really, is my normal policy. Anyone who sounds like they weren’t born within the M25 should be avoided at all costs, run from, beaten or murdered.

Happy Wednesday

A xxxx

The current and latest (of oh so many) scandal to hit the BBC is ‘presentergate’. A nameless (so far) ‘top’ BBC presenter was paying a young man, arguably and allegedly, a ‘boy’, when the saga began, for naughty images or videos, in exchange for quite a lot of money.

I won’t speculate who this ‘presenter’, now suspended by the Beeb, might be. That would be presumptuous and ungentlemanly. I have a very strong adherence to the presumption of innocence and thus will refrain from entering into the ‘but who could it be???’ debate. Everyone has the inalienable right to present their case and defend their integrity. Even Welshmen. Not that I’m sayin’…

The young man was paid 35 thousand pounds over three years for lewd type images sent to the presenter. So said young man’s mum. Enough money that the kid developed a serious crack addiction. As you would?

Note for any other ‘presenters’ out there: I’ll send you lewd selfies for 20 quid. 30 if you want any dangerous animals involved. (Snakes not included).

But hang on!!! Wait just a moment before crucifying any possible, unnamed and unknown grey-haired news readers, before dismantling the national institution that is the BBC, for failing to act quickly enough about the allegations, because the boy/man in question hath spoken, and in stark contradiction to his mum. Well, his lawyers did, anyway. They said ‘nothing illegal has happened’ and, basically, ‘you can all just fuck off’.

And that’s the interesting bit. The only actual illegality in this is if the boy was indeed 17 when this started. If not, then indeed, ‘nothing illegal has happened’. How a newsreader chooses to spend his money is his business. Morality aside (ok, quite a big ‘aside’, but I try to run my whole life with that disclaimer) if the boy was 18, then its just 2 consenting adults engaged in mutually beneficial sleaze. Nought wrong with that.

What Rita Chakrabarty does with lemmings is no-one’s business but her own. If Clive Myrie engages in an orgy of masochism with 3 whip-wielding dwarves; that’s fine by me. And as for Sophie Raworth…

So no more speculation, no more pre-judging, no more guessing who it might be!

Happy Tuesday

A xxxx

Just before I start on the tennis (OMG, the tennis!!!!), we need to talk cricket. Specifically: The Ashes, third test at Headingly. And the foe was bested. Ok, it wasn’t ‘comfortable’. When Ben Stokes left the pitch English heads dropped. Mine included. Which wasn’t great because I was driving when it happened. Perhaps cars sold in England need to offer a ‘heads down display’ for just such moments. Of which there are many. Spurs fans would never look up. But we fucking won. And that’s brilliant.

So I watched the tennis which I STILL can’t play because of my hip issues. And it was, quite frankly, brilliant. Not the hip, obvs, but Wimbledon. And my pick of the day was… not the Djokovic match because it didn’t finish, and was, quite frankly, a bit boring with him playing some giant with a massive serve, up to 141 mph, ffs, and in the first set getting over 90% first serves in. Djokovic on the other side is no slouch at serving either so the first set went to an inevitable tie-break, but in about 20 minutes because there were no rallies. And much as I love Novak like I love Kier Starmer and Vladimir Putin, he was simply bloody brilliant and beat the glumph to first blood. Because we may not like the man, but he is simply brilliant.

My match of the day was between Victoria Azarenka and Elina Svitolina; battle of the unpronounceables. It was a simply brilliant game, start to finish, hard-fought and swinging both ways, sometimes at the same time. Then Elina won the final set deep into a long tie-break.

And that’s when the trouble started.

Because Elina is Ukranian and Victoria is from Belarus, which remains Russia’s strongest (and only) ally in the current… special… whatever; the shitstorm. Elina had stated that she would NOT be shaking hands with any Russians or Belarussians. So Victoria, who had just entertained the centre court crowd for 3 hours with her amazing contribution to an incredible game, politely raised her hand to her opponent as she walked off, to spare her any embarrassment at the net. And then She left the arena for Elina to receive rapturous applause. And the crowd booed Victoria off. And I thought, even with my ‘Ukraine f’rever!!!’ hat on, I thought: what a bunch’a fuckers. Azarenko is NOT Aleksandr Lukashenko. She’s probably lived in America since the Florida abduction centre for tennis prodigies from East Europe grabbed her. I get Elina’s point. But fans should appreciate the fucking tennis, its not a comment on a political system, nor proof of a love of Putin.

Appalled of Norf Lundun

xxxx

Whilst we’re waiting for the new football season to start, this weekend represents some kind of pinnacle of ‘other sports’ stuff. As England enter the 4th day of the 3rd Ashes test with every chance to win it but, obviously, an equally ‘every chance’ of losing it. Should the former happen, ‘THE SERIES IS ALIVE!!!’, but if the latter it just becomes damage limitation and seeing just how hateful Australians can gloat.

I have to decide whether to keep sending blogs out about my beloved Premier League or whether to instead write about the Saudi Arabian league for £365,000 a week. Possibly a day, need to read the proposal again. As if.

And then we have the tennis. It took me a few days to fully engage. Seeing Roger Federer sitting in the royal box did nothing to help me. The player who based his entire style of play on me, and the most elegant, wonderful, perfect exponent of the game, now reduced to babysitting Princess Kate and wearing a tie. No Rafa, just a limping Andy Murray and a still obnoxious Novak Djokovic. Plus new wonderkid Carlos Alcaraz and a few 7 foot 3 east European serving machines.

Then there’s the women’s. And I started not knowing any of the gels, they just drift into so many pony-tails with -ova on the end. But once I got over that, I realised the thing which makes Wimbledon so wonderful and special is precisely that. That they don’t need names. Because they all dress the same. None of those green and yellow twin sets they wear at the Australian; no black shorts like in France, no… no nothing!! Except little white dresses and long, tanned legs. And that would be enough, even without the tennis. Then I re-discovered Katie Boulter and I was in love again, until she lost. Yet they know how to play the game too. Which is not ‘that’ important, compared to the length of their dresses, but it helps.

So this week it gets even more exiting. And the cricket’s just gone a bit off as we need 8 runs and there’s only 4 wickets left. Nooooooooo…

Happy, not-depressing-yet, Sunday

A xxxx

America’s announcement yesterday to send cluster bombs to Ukraine to help ‘our side’ against the Russians has been met with many different opinions and posed many moral and political questions.

Firstly, and perhaps most importantly; are cluster bombs any less vile, evil, nasty, indiscriminate, vicious and illegal (in most countries) if you refer to them as ‘cluster munitions’ as it has become suddenly ‘the thing to do’? Cluster bombs are deployed by scum-ridden dictatorships and gap-toothed mercenaries, whereas cluster ‘munitions’ are up there with Louis Vuitton handbags, Moët & Chandon and Wimbledon as the epitome of gentility and aspirational desirability.

Change the name all ya want, cluster bombs cluster fuck! That’s their job. Causing major, widespread (literally) death, destruction and fuckage. And best of all; there’s always some of the cluster left unexploded for later on. Just lying around waiting for future generations to ‘enjoy’. As they go off under foot/car/baby-carriage.

Most decent countries in the world have pledged never to deploy such things. Including nations like Great Britain, so noble as to deplore such weaponry, but not so stupid as to stop making a living selling them to less wholesome countries, like to Saudi Arabia, who have used them in Yemen. But three countries who haven’t agreed to ban them are Russia (no fucking surprise there), Ukraine (they never previously had any so jury’s out on them) and America (questions of morality don’t count if asked between the Pacific and Atlantic oceans). So Russia have been using them and now, courtesy of America, Ukraine will too.

The usual arguments that such bombs are indiscriminate if falling near civilian populations hopefully won’t count as you can’t see Ukraine bombing its own people. They’ll presumably only use them in ‘Russian only’ areas.

Oh, that’s ok then. Indiscriminate killing doesn’t count if its against poor Russian kids, dragged away from college and forced onto the front line without pause for question, debate or appeal.

And personally, I have issues questioning ‘war’ on any ‘moral issues’. Because war is bringing death to other people. If that is in any way acceptable in any situation then you’re either an awful person or a politician.

The whole thing is a cluster-fuck, now they’ve just made it official.

Happy Saturday

A xxxx