Andy's Glasses

They jailed 2 eco-warriors for 3 years. Their crime? Peaceful protest. In a nation which prides itself on its pillars of democracy, including freedom of speech and peaceful protest. The guys were members of ‘Just Stop Oil’ and nailed themselves to Battersea Bridge, or maybe superglued their buttocks to exit 23 on the M25 or something which was ‘disruptive’ but in no way violent. In fact they tied themselves to a bridge on a motorway which then had to be closed for 14 hours. And what is 14 hours in the face of advancing catastrophic climate change for the entire planet?

In that context, from my (very high) pedestal as an electric vehicle driver, concerned about every badger, every polar bear, every bit of coral and every carbon some Porsche is spewing out as I go silently and smugly by, in a fit of range anxiety, desperately looking for a plug, it is catastrophic.

The immediate irony is missed that stopping motorways results in an extra 14 hours of cars sitting around… emitting. But its the mental health of those drivers which is also worthy of consideration. Basically, people get seriously pissed off when their journeys are disrupted. And yes, there’s ambulances who can’t get to hospitals, and corpses inside funeral cars who get delayed getting to their final resting places, but for each of those, there’s 20,000 just normal people sitting there in frustration and anger.

And they’re not, at that moment, angry with the government. Nor with the gas-fired power stations, nor with the world’s seeming impotence about fossil fuel change. They don’t care, at that point, about ‘the cause’. They’re angry with the dickheads who’ve stopped the traffic. And thus will be far more predisposed against their alleged ‘causes’ than in its favour.

All demonstrations cause some disruption. Close roads round Westminster, block Trafalgar Square, and we get that. But inciting hatred against your cause, however noble that cause, is stupid. To ‘disrupt’ the Marathon would be so totally stupid and ludicrous that its really not worth even considering.

Rest in Peace Barry Humphries, funniest Australian ever.

A xxxx

What do we not like about Elon Musk?

He’s South African.
He’s richer than God.
He’s really rude, obnoxious and arrogant.
He sacked all those Twitters by email.
He dates loads of lovely women. Then marries them. Or really, he marries the same woman loads of times. Same difference.
He’s South African.

What do we like about Elon?

He’s the cleverest man possibly ever.
He’s richer than God.
He’s a true polymath.
He is funny. Very funny.

On some of his Tesla cars you select the ‘mode’ from sort of ‘eco’ to fast. And then he has “Ludicrous+” mode for maximum power. I like that. Call it what it is. And then yesterday. Ahhhh, yesterday. When his Space X company launched the most powerful space rocket ever to be launched from this solar system. I can’t speak for other galaxies. And it went up, but then it went wrong, so they destroyed it in mid flight to avoid it falling down and hitting someone on the head. But they don’t say it was ‘aborted’, or destroyed, or blown up. Not Elon. He calls it a Rapid Unscheduled Disassembly. RUD. And I love that.

And I love that whilst everyone in the world is shouting ‘disaster’, Elon’s congratulating the team on the bit that went right. Even though, in Earth-time, it wasn’t a very long bit. But heh, little by little. Baby steps. Even though each ‘step’ probably costs around $100 million. That’s my estimation. Elon won’t tell. But I mean, build a space rocket, cos you can’t exactly get one ‘ready-made’, get a launch pad, employ at least 1000 people even if all they do is sit in front of computers screens clapping the lift-off.

Elon is the chief designer at Space X. Because he’s so far ‘along the spectrum’ that no-one would argue with him. And the man is definitely a genius. In the true, Michaelangelo sense of the word, rather than the Ngolo Kante meaning. He built Tesla, having made a ‘few bob’ at Paypal. Then he made a vacuum tube through which carriages can be projected at incredible speeds. He never built a real on, only prototypes. But they work and he gave the specifications to ‘the world’. For nothing. Because he ‘didn’t need the money’. Though that may have changed since he pissed away a chunk of his wealth on a Twitter he didn’t really want.

So ‘we’ have a love-hate relationship with Elon.

I’m sure he’s really bothered about that.

Happy Friday

A xxxx

We need to talk about Scotland. I’ve avoided it out of my love for that amazingly beautiful nation, the total majesty of which I toast every night with a symbolic sampling of its finest product.

But when the former First Minister’s husband gets arrested, their house gets impounded and the caterers set up a marquee on the front lawn to feed all the police, then the Treasurer of the leading political party gets arrested too, gets freed and promptly resigns… (pause for breath), its time to take a look.

Obviously not an impartial look, because I’m English. And a separatist. Don’t know if there are any others only too pleased to get rid of ‘that bit above the wall’ which Mel Gibson invented for a movie and it became ‘independent’. Then we bought it back and we’re still paying. Its about as ‘independent’ as Joey.

Nicola Sturgeon resigned as first minister because ‘she’d taken the Scottish Nationalists as far as she could’. By my reckoning that was ‘to hell and back’. Two weeks later her husband is arrested. He was the chairman of the SNP. Because the party had raised 650,000 pounds for the next election, and 18 months later, with no election in between, they’re down to 90 grand. Three months later Hubby ‘loans’ the party 100k so they don’t go bankrupt. The police took away ‘the Sturgeon’s’ brand new mobile home. But that didn’t cost 600 grand.

So where did the money go? Did they buy Erling Haaland for 2 weeks? I did’t notice and I would have, because in Scotland he’d have scored 30 goals in that fortnight.

No-one’s saying La Sturgeon has done anything wrong. Nor her husband, nor the former treasurer of their party. But take my word for it; once you get a marquee on your front lawn with ‘Police’ written on it, its way more than a ‘casual inquiry’.

Is there smoke without fire? I make no judgments. But might imply loads.

Happy Thursday

A xxxx

I embrace ‘new technology’. Normally, once it has had a chance to ‘mature’ a little and become fairly ‘old technology’. I’m scared of new shit, basically. Find it opaque, hostile and nasty. I was the last person in the world to use an app in any meaningful way. I only downloaded WhatsApp because of pressure and demands. Of course, once I overcome my seemingly endless ‘good reasons’ NOT to embrace some new feature or piece of kit and join the club, I become evangelical about it, in quite a smug way, obviously.

Now, of course, I have apps absolutely everywhere. I want one on the toilet, crAPP, or in the sandwich bar, bAPP, possibly wrAPP if I’m feeling exotic. I even have one for Mel; slAPP. Or my favourite: nAPP. And I have everything a state-of-the-art dude should have from Ring doorbell to (fucking) Alexa, to pads, pods, smart-shoes, everything.

I also have a sound bar. For the tv. I’ve had it ages. But was frightened to use it. Because… because its new. New-ish. I acquired it in a deal with a friend who was moving onto a boat and had to leave his vast and overkilled collection of massive TVs and accompanying paraphernalia behind. So I got an incredible tv and a sound bar in exchange for an incredible pair of spectacles.

TV was easy, off with the old, on with the new. After removing all the artwork from the wall as well, obviously, its a big tv. Moved the window away. So then, the other day, I remembered the sound bar (about 6 months later), dusted it off, plugged it in, battled with the instructions, phoned my brother (software engineer), and… it worked. Sorry, IT WORKED!!! Its loud. Wonderfully so. I finally had ‘volume 11’ which I’ve sought my whole life.

Then I found the sub-woofer which accompanied it. That was even easier, just plug it in and bluetooth does the rest. The little light turned to green and so I called up This Girl is on Fire (why would anyone ever listen to any other song?) and checked it out. It was brilliant. Rich. Then the drums and bass kicked in. The windows broke. Sofa fell apart. Tiles dropping from the roof. Perfect.

I love technology.

Happy Wednesday

A xxxx

Rishi Sunak wants every adult to be ‘numerate’. To have maths skills. And I completely agree. But to what level does he wish us to achieve? Addin’? Minus-in’? Multiplyin’??? Diviiiiidin’??? That’s really hard shit. I get that if you want to be a decent darts player you need both adding AND subtraction skills to a fast and proficient level. But what, precisely, does he want us to know?

There’s basic numeracy, there’s the ‘easy’ stuff; trigonometry, geometry, algebra, ‘sets’, graphs. But they flummox a lot of people. Its only nerds like me who really love all that. Integral calculus, chaos theory, fractals, relativity, quantum physics, 4-dimensional hyperspace, where does it fucking end?

I was good at maths. Until I met… statistics!!! Which was from another planet, mentally speaking. I just… couldn’t. It was only when they invented Sky tv that, like every other football fan in the country, I became a statistician. Because our national game had become, and still is, obsessed with ‘statistics’. How far Roy Keane ran in any match before he killed someone. The percentage of Spurs passes which went to the opposing team (87%). Useful stuff. Essential.

But that’s not real statistics. Its not probabilities and analytical test models and chai-squareds and non-parametric t-testing and stuff. If I was a gambler I’d have been better at probabilities. Or broke. But alas, that was the one addiction/obsession that I missed out on.

So does Rishi want us to do easy things, like proving Fermat’s last theorem (still never done, ever, by anyone, whatever the book said), or become so numerate that we can attempt the completely impossible, like working out whether paying 27p per Kw/Hour for our electricity with a standing charge of 35p per day is going to be better value than paying 24p per Kw/hr and a 43p standing charge. Or what are the cost benefits of not declaring your wife’s business interests in laws you’re pushing through parliament. I think he needs to clarify.

Happy Tuesday

A xxxx

If I was an American, from San Francisco, say, and a massive 49ers fan, but I then had to move to Boston for work/family/affair-with-a-Kennedy/whatever, I’d spend every Sunday thereafter as a fan of the Patriots. All the claret-and-gold shit, the caps, shirts, flags, would be ceremoniously or metaphorically burned and in would come the New England paraphernalia. Its logical (San Francisco is 3,000 miles away) and sensible and; why not?

If a Spurs fan moved to Newcastle, he’d still be a Spurs fan. He might even go watch Newcastle on occasion, but his heart would be 300 miles away in N17. If he moved to Paris, he’d be a Spurs fan. If he moved to fucking Sydney, he’d be a Spurs fan. Its no longer a geographical or convenience issue; its just what you are. I have friends in London who are season ticket holders at Old Trafford and Anfield. I have a mate in Sydney who gets up at 4 in the morning every week to watch Arsenal lose a 2-goal lead to whoever they play. I have another who’s lived in San Diego for decades but comes over to watch ‘important’ Spurs matches (so he doesn’t fly much).

Because football team support over here, probably in all of Europe, is more like affiliation to an army. Its a brotherhood of… probably fools, unless you happen to support Manchester City, for whom your support is unquestioning, undying, unyielding and forever. Its like a marriage with no possibility of divorce, EVER! Even if that relationship becomes controlling, toxic, abusive and destructive.

It is nonsensical, it is hurtful and it is painful. So why do we do it? Why be an Arsenal fan, or a Chelsea fan, or an Everton fan and endure all that discomfort? Or a Spurs fan, possibly the worst because every match, every season, every cup, starts with so much promise and then… and then… and then…

But booing Davinson Sanchez off the pitch on Saturday was a bit much, even amid the immense frustration Spurs fans were feeling at the time. He’s not our best player, never has been, not one to fill anyone with confidence. But that was just cruel. Venting the collective agony onto one guy.

However, that was my ‘brothers’ so united we stand.

God help me.

A xxxx

So I was mowing my lawn, as ya do… well, as I do, you don’t cos you’re an old bourgeoise capitalist, probably Brexiteer, who wouldn’t get his hands dirty. Well I love dirty hands. Always have. Anyway, as I was filling up the mower I thought: I now spend more money on petrol for the mower than in the car. Cos if I put any in the new car, its a big mistake. And the old car doesn’t get used a helluva lot. For ecological, holier-than-thou reasons. It is no longer smug enough for me to drive.

I used to be a petrolhead. So what am I now? A battery head? I like to think I’m an airhead but to be honest, the air quality is so awful due to fuel emissions which YOU produce, that the air is currently unworthy. I really think its time that Sadiq Kahn’s wonderful Ultra Low Emission Zone be extended beyond the M25, up to Hadrian’s Wall. And those poor northerners who really can’t afford to be changing their cars will understand, in the approach to the next election, just what the Labour Party can really do for them. I wish to share our Mayor with the whole country. As I’m not allowed to drown him.

I would feel guilty about all my carbons whilst cutting the grass but it is completely mitigated by the guilt about waking all the neighbours from their afternoon naps. Electric mowers just lack the noise, as well as the potency of a good ole little 4-stroke.

Speaking to a Liverpool fan this morning, I briefly alluded to ‘football’ (from the depths of my team-induced misery and depression). And this saintly woman replied (from the depths of her very own team-induced misery and depression), “football? There is no football, not til next season”.

Yessss, I thought, the ostrich principle; bury your head in the sand until its safe to come up. Next season, that’s what its all about. Currently, there is NO football, so no need to comment. Report. Cry. Slit wrists. Nuffink.

Very happy Sunday

A xxxx

We’re going out looking for life. Its out there somewhere. Not here, on Earth, that’s all doom and depression and gloom and Arsenal top of the league. We’re looking for life… elsewhere!!! To be precise, on the moons of Jupiter. Well, why not? Gotta start somewhere. So we are going, and that’s proper, European ‘we’, even though it ‘got done’ and everything, we’re still included, on geographical grounds, plus we gave all those foreigners 1.4 billion quid of MY hard-earned tax money to pay for the trip. And what a trip.

The rocket took off yesterday, in French!!! …trios, deux, un… bang! Never heard a countdown in French before, quite disconcerting. Thought all the French speakers were on strike and rioting or retiring early before Macron can change the age. Anyway, it took off, that’s the first worry over. Big rocket. Not electric, I’m guessing. By the amazing amount of smoke, steam, emissions and pollution coming out from the back of it. Even though there’s no Americans involved in it at all.

When it gets above the atmosphere it’ll drop its space probe called ‘Juice’ (Jupiter Icy Moons Explorer) which is quite a neat little thing, other than the two massive ‘sails’ on either side, each about 10 metres across which are solar panels, otherwise how’s it gonna get there? Refuel? Plug it in on Venus, FFS? And then it will travel 6.6 billion kilometres in the next eight years!!! In fact, thinking about it, it doesn’t need ‘propulsion’ once its moving; there’s no friction to slow it down, its a perfect vacuum so it’ll just go. For just eight years, which I worked out is an average speed of 94,000 kilometres per hour. Which it can only achieve because there’s no speed cameras in outer space.

The power supply is for the electronic gadgetry, cameras, imagery and controls and stuff which may be rather useful otherwise it’ll get lost in space, which is no good to anyone.

It will visit 3 of Jupiter’s moons, all of which contain water, so may possibly hold ‘life’. We’re not talking little green men, nor women, not even, like, a few cows, or fishes, but just bacteria. The stuff we avoid here ‘like the plague’ (plagues are defined as ‘bacterial in nature’, in case you didn’t know), so we fly 6 billion miles to find it on Jupiter. Hope they have hand sanitiser on board.

And its so exiting, the next eight years will have us… well, not much really, not til we get there.

Happy Saturday

A xxxx

We went to Northampton yesterday. As ya do. Well, there’s an amazing play centre there, the likes of which don’t exist down in high rent land as you need acres of space for laser-quest and dodgem cars for kids and climbing walls and indoor mini-golf and all the other wonders that little kids lurve. We didn’t take the kids, just fancied it. Ok, we did. But Northampton? Well, that’s ‘an hour’ away. As long as… obviously, when the M1 is concerned. Its 55 miles. But really, that depends on what you consider ‘a mile’. Because accounts may vary.

There’s old-fashioned miles, like those we’ve driven for decades using those old-fashioned petrol cars. Remember petrol? Amazing to think we used to go TO a special place where you could stand there high as a kite from fumes, for 6 minutes pumping tree-killing, planet-destroying, animal-threatening hydrocarbon-emitting fossil fuels into the car, then, like paying for it? But really paying. Ahhhh, those were the days…

Because along with ‘superior’ methods of propulsion, we’ve also managed to create a new ‘mile’ to go along with it. A more… ‘variable’ mile. A lot shorter. The actual shortness of which possibly depends on how cold it is outside, how loudly you play the stereo and how many times Joey opens and closes his window.. It all gets rather complex.

I ‘filled up the car’ on Wednesday night so when we left home its stated range was ‘325 miles’ with 100% charge. Wow. So many volts I barely knew what to do with them all. So off we went. Had a totally brilliant morning (couldn’t afford the afternoon as well; but seriously), then out for lunch. To McDonalds. Because Mel & I love Maccy Ds. And never allow ourselves to eat it. Except when we have a viable excuse. So although Joey was yelling for fresh vegatables, Lila screaming to go the ‘Vegan Curse’ restaurant next door, we dragged them in to McDonalds. Had to park the car round the corner because McDonalds don’t allow drivers of electric cars inside. Obviously. Then, happy with our lunch (me) and our ‘happy meal’ toys (Mel) we came home.

And the car showed our remaining range of 105 miles. We’d driven 220 ‘new’ miles on a 110 ‘old’ mile trip. I think, if they’re encouraging electric vehicle usage, they need to redo the distance signs on the motorways. Something like this:

LEEDS 175 MILES
IN AN EV 295 MILES
HEATER ON 325 MILES
JOEY FUCKING ABOUT WITH WINDOWS 365 MILES

Just for clarity and simplicity.

Happy travels

A xxxx

So here’s the question: do you want to be fat and fertile or slim and sterile? Its a big question. But may get less big if you opt for the latter. Because they’ve been examining the new ‘fasting diets’, where you don’t eat on Tuesday, or you only eat til 7 at night and then nothing til 2pm the next day, every day. Including Tuesday. Because they think that these fasting diets upset the body’s metabolism and reduce the energy required to produce healthy eggs and sperm. So young people have a choice. Do they stay fat as a blimp but with perfect sperm or eggs or do they slim down, possibly enhancing their chances of actually finding a ‘mate’, but with damaged reproductive stuff once they’ve found him/her/it/them/something?

It must be mentioned that this study was actually performed on Zebrafish. Which, I understand, may produce a mild ‘WTF???’ reaction, but apparently zebrafish have a ‘similar genetic structure’ to humans. Do they fucking really?. I wanna know how ‘similar’, bearing in mind we share a genetic structure with trees, plants, worms, slugs and aardvarks as well. Anyway, zebrafish it was, cruelly starved of food then subjected to the degradation of having their bits manipulated for testing. Don’t zebrafish have rights? If they’re almost human?? A trade union? Support group? The Royal Society for the Protection of Zebrafish or something?

But that’s what they found. Fat zebrafish are more eggy, more spermy, that thin, starving ones. Therefore, obviously, the same will apply to humans. Particularly those who only breathe underwater, or have stripes. The evidence is simply overwhelming.

One could almost be forgiven into naively thinking that any diet’s purpose is to intake less food and reduce weight so might possibly have a similar effect on fertility as these new, ‘fasting’ ones.

People looking for a mate should go to their local aquarium at the earliest opportunity or try the new dating app: FishFingR for a quick hook up. (Hooks to be removed immediately thereafter).

Happy dating

A xxxx