Andy's Glasses

Yesterday the Labour Party Conference began. Possibly Kier Starmer’s last one as the leader. Because, according to reports, either Andy Burnham will soon be taking over the leadership, or we’ll just go straight to a General Election which Nigel Farage will win with a majority of 100 seats. So really, Kier might as well go home. Because no-one really wants to hear his ‘fighting for the soul of the nation’ shit, particularly a week after he sold our soul to a bunch of murderous terrorists in Gaza to try and get a life-line of support from within his party. But like a list of MPs before him, he’s running scared of a man who’s never held any power. But a man, in Farage, who speaks the language Starmer needs subtitles for. The language of ‘the people’. David Cameron ran scared from Nigel and now it’s Kier’s turn. Whereas Andy Burnham is a different kettle of traitorous ambition altogether. The full-time professional Northerner and part-time mayor of Manchester is a long way off stealing the leadership of the party. First he needs to resign as mayor, then he needs to win a bye-election. Somewhere. Anywhere. So he can become an MP. Then he needs to force a leadership campaign and finally, win it. By which time, you’d like to think, even his own party would realise what a back-stabbing little shit the man really is. You’d like to think. So, after Rachel Reeves has stripped the population of every material asset it used to possess, we’ll have to see what the ‘soul of the nation’ looks like, devoid from everything but the shirt on its collective back. Unless she decides to tax that too. Its all a bit ‘Jesus’ really.

And this was different. Sunday morning, at the crack of 9.30 (well ya gotta fucking get there), we were on the good ship Wakefield, sailing from Tower Pier.

Well who gives a shit. Even, who gives a ship. But I do, that’s who. Because the ship in question is a steam ship. With pistons as big as your lounge and chimneys which work and paddles on the sides and… lots of other things which only steam ships do. We sailed East. Through Tower Bridge (today’s pic), which opened up for us. That was worth the price of admission on its own. The thought of all those South Londoners being held up trying to cross to the North, frustrated in the traffic jam waiting for a bunch of old people (its a nostalgia thing; no-one on the boat was under 60; the young’uns hadn’t woken up yet) to wave at them as they steamed past. But then, after the beauty of the Tower, the elegance of the Shard, a few other good bits, you get to the shit bit of the River that no-one ever sees. Abbeywood. Barking Dock. Dagenham. Tilbury docks. Ok, the Dartford bridge is spectacular, but the rest, other than maybe Gravesend, was suitably industrial or vacant.

It took about 3.5 hours to get to Southend. We docked at the end of the pier (England’s longest, possibly the world’s longest) and walked the mile onto ‘land’. Unfortunately it was deepest Essex land, though what do you expect down the Thames? Tierra del Fuego?? I haven’t been to Southend since about 1969 but it hasn’t changed. Kiss-me-quick hats, dodgy ice creams and, obviously, fish’n’chips. Which we duly ate. Then went to the train station to come back and… no trains at Southend today; we’ll put you on a bus instead. Of course you will, because you’ve stopped MY train!!! That took us to Thorpe Bay where we duly got trained up and back to Fenchurch Street. A great day. Fun. And very little rain!

Happy Monday

A xxxx

So I’ve checked my ‘digital ID’ and it turns out I’m an AI avatar called Rodney. I’m non-binary, poly-sexual (sleep with parrots), and I live on a commune of like-minded deviants in Ayrshire. I have a National Insurance number but choose not to use it for work, only for claiming benefits. Which I do in abundance, at every opportunity. I support Middlesboro but still hate Arsenal. So at least they got something right.

It does seem a little ‘mis-timed’ for the government to introduce the really belated concept of ‘digital IDs’ (Spain’s had them since 2007), as if its really innovative, in the same week that 8,000 Ids were hacked from a kindergarten database, Jaguar Land Rover are on the brink of collapse following their hack and the COOP is in trouble too, and not just for imposing a ‘total Israeli ban’ long before it was even fashionable with later-arriving antisemites. They were hacked too.

So a digital ID. To prevent illegal working. And illegalS from working. The problem is; we’re so ‘good’ to immigrants anyway, I’d rather they were working. Rather than sitting around in hotels all day getting taxis across the country for remote hospital appointments, all paid by us. The authorities won’t give asylum seekers a bus pass, but insist they get taxis, all paid by ‘us’. My tax bill now comes from Uber.

As an honest (ish), hard-working (hmmm), tax-paying (if I must), citizen of this once fine nation, (now obviously turned to shit), I really have no issue with carrying an ID card, wearing an ID tag, deploying an ID app, or having a chip inserted into my cerebellum which gives me 1000 volts every time I think ill or speak badly of the government. If you have nothing to hide, you don’t care who knows where you are.

What a ‘digital ID’ won’t do is stop the small boats from landing on our shores. It won’t stop them, reduce them, affect them in any way. As most of the occupants have absolutely no ID on them anyway and aren’t entitled to a new, fancy-shmancy ‘digital’ one from here.

There are people around, deeply cynical people, who reckon that the Starmer has suddenly got all ‘digital ID’ as a deflection from the disasters his government has faced in the last few weeks. And in all likelihood will face in the weeks/months/years to come. Which is what happens when you’re hopeless.

So now they’re fighting ‘for the soul of the nation’. Really Kier?? Gimme a break. Pitching himself as a figurative God against Farage’s Devil.

Happy Saturday

A xxxx

Look, I’ve talked about Donald Trump, Sir Kier Worthless, Sadiq (effin) Kahn, Thomas Frank, Benjamin Netanyahu, Nigel Farage, Lila, Joey and Tommy bloody Robinson. But what about me? I haven’t played tennis for 8 weeks!!! And its all about hips. And scars.

You see I’ve given up my season ticket at Spurs and replaced it with one for Highgate Hospital. Mainly because the parking’s easier. And at those ‘odd times’ when you can’t park there (10.00 to 12.00 Monday to Friday), my mate lives round the corner and he gets me a ‘vistior permit’ on his app. So I can go at ALL times. Which is brilliant. When you get to my age.

My left hip has been bothering me for 8 weeks. Hence my absence from the tennis courts and my frequency at the physio. Who told me that digging needles in my bum and wiggling them around until they hit bone was the best way forward. Well, we better try going backward then, cos I’m not having that. It was awful. He tried other ministrations, ultrasound and ‘deep tissue’ massage and possibly prayer. Was it getting better? Most of the time. So just as I was about to alert the world’s media to my imminent return to the game I love… my RIGHT hip went lame. But like, unwalkably, limpingly, horribly lame.

At which point I visited a bone-man at Highgate over hip-gate. I just had one question: WTF????

Prior to this I’d had a mole removed from just beside my naval. Which turned out to be, thankfully, not a melanoma. Instead, it was so close to a melanoma that they treat it in the same way. Which is to cut out a few inches all around (ok, millimetres. Felt like fucking inches) ‘to be safe’. I didn’t mind. I reckon I lost 3 grammes weight without dieting.

So on Monday night I went to my new ‘second home’ for an MRI scan of both hips, and my lower back too because… well, why not? I was ‘in there’ an hour. Panicking. As I do in confined spaces. Especially ones that go BANG!BANG!BANG! all the time.

Then Wednesday I went back to have the stitches removed from my belly and get the ‘all clear’ about mole-gate. And as soon as the bone-hacker gets back from his holiday (fucking cheek) I’ll learn about the hip(s) issue.

But meanwhile, because I’m an impatient git and not playing tennis has become dreadfully boring, AND because most of the time my hips aren’t that much bother, I’m going to just play on the weekend. Just ‘gently’ and ‘slowly’ (as if). And if Spurs Paul has to carry me to Highgate Hospital in his arms, so be it.

So I’m still alive, but apparently only just.

Happy HEALTHY Thursday

A xxxx

Basically, if you know what you’re talking about, then I’m listening, but if you don’t, SHUT THE FUCK UP!

A concept Donald Trump hasn’t quite got his head around. In his mind, if he says it; its true. Valid. Scientific. Proven. Just by the power of his words. Unfortunately, there are people out there who actually know things. People just like us really, perhaps better informed in their specialist subjects. So when Trump states that ‘paracetamol causes autism’, it is total bullshit. Accepted as such by everyone in the world. Except, obviously, his minister for health, Robert Kennedy. The world’s most ‘anti-medicine’, anti-vax, anti-pretty-much-everything dickhead. Why he’s minister for the health of 360 million Americans is something known only to his boss.

Then yesterday, at the UN, Trump held forth. For a long time. Always dangerous to give that man a platform and let him ramble. But ramble he did. And he said some good things. That Sadiq Kahn is ‘the worst mayor in the world’. That’s totally accurate and statististically proven to within a probability of 0.05. He said that the UK recognising ‘the Palestinian State’ is rewarding terrorism. Can’t argue with that. Well, you can, but you’d be: a. a member of government and, b. wrong.

And we need those statements from the world’s most important man, other than Thomas Frank (Spurs manager), because from him they carry weight. But then when he states that London is under sharia law and that ‘all immigration is bad’ or paracetamol in pregnancy causes autism, he is so wrong that it dilutes the impact of the stuff he gets right. You start to take everything he says with that proverbial ‘shovel of salt’ (a pinch is way short of the mark).

And then (Sir!) Ed Davey, leader of the Liberals, Democrats & Tossers Party, in a fit of anti-Trumpism, in fact turned into Trump when he accused Farage of wanting to allow guns-for-all in Britain. As if. We’ll be ‘showing schoolkids how to deal with a mass shooting event during maths’, was what he said. There again, we’re all aware that Ed Davey is major plonker so we kind of expect rubbish, and desperate rubbish, from him.

Happy Wednesday. Unless I decide its Friday.

A xxxx

In a wonderful announcement yesterday, Sir Kier Bland declared, on behalf or our fine nation, that ‘we officially recognise the Palestinian State’. A statement of such import and magnitude that it will immediately affect… nothing. Though in the future, it will have In a massive effect on… nothing. The same effect caused by the same statement issued by France, Canada, Portugal and the 150 other countries who currently recognise ‘The Palestinian State’.

The main problem is: there is no such state to recognise. For state recognition, according to the Montevideo Convention, 1933 (we must all ‘give’ to Wikipedia, we all use it, its free and there are no adverts, so send em 25 quid now), there are 4 criteria for ‘recognised statehood’ and arguably 3 aren’t anywhere near.

So it can’t become a ‘state’, yet it is in a great state. So why did Kier bother? Why waste the time and energy and risk offending new bff Donald Trump by making a statement of complete worthlessness?

“Because”, as the fuckwit claimed, “this is the only path to ceasefire, to peace and the 2-state solution”. Oh, so that’s why. The mythical 2-state solution which is the path to everlasting peace forevermore, amen.

The main obstacle to this dream of Nirvana is Hamas. Everyone is in agreement. ‘Hamas must GO’. Though no-one, other than Israel, seems to understand what that involves. I’d send the general secretary of the United Nations(!!!) himself, into the tunnels of Gaza with an injunction commanding Hamas to lay down their arms and just ‘leave!!!’ Because that would take care of yet another overpaid worthless fuckwit. Perhaps Starmer and Macron and Mark (effin) Carney could join him in this quest for peace in the tunnels.

So why do it? Why declare our ‘recognition’?

Because he can jump on the international virtue-signalling bandwagon and endear himself to the hard-lefties, the knitting-circle Palestine Actionists and a high proportion of the Muslim vote both in the population and in his party.

And all he’s had to do for this ‘high moral stance’ is reward Hamas for torturing and murdering 1200 people and kidnapping 500 more. Sending the clear message that ‘terrorism really pays BIG’. Slaughter a few Jews and you get exactly what you want, endorsed by World Leaders!!! Go murder a few more and you might end up with Greece as well!!!

Keir Starmer does not speak for me when he makes such a declaration. His short memory precludes him from knowing that since 1947, the Palestinians have been offered a ‘2-state solution’ no less than five times and rejected it each time.

So he can just fuck off.

Happy Recognition Monday

A xxxx

To be engaged in a ‘local derby’ football match, there needs to be a degree of equivalence. When Manchester City play Manchester United, this happens. Even though it’s a battle between ‘the big team’ now, against the ‘bit team’ then. When Arsenal play Spurs, it’s the same. Ok, Arsenal have over the last… few years, been ‘the better team’, but they haven’t won much. And we now have. But there’s an equivalence. Not necessarily a moral one, as Arsenal count both Jeremy Corbyn and Kier Starmer among their ‘faithful’. There’s Fulham and Brentford in West London but no-one really cares about either of them. And then you get West Ham and Leyton Orient. Even though West Ham are really really terrible, Orient are so lowly as they don’t meet the equivalence criteria that purists like me demand. Obviously, they hardly ever play each other so it’s a bit of an irrelevant rivalry. Until West Ham simply yield to the inevitable and drop a couple of divisions.

And so to Liverpool against Everton. There is no equivalence. Liverpool have masses of past and very present glory. They have trophies galore. They have superstars. Everton have a new stadium. And… errrr…

Liverpool beat Everton yesterday. Wasn’t pretty, wasn’t ‘convincing’ but that is of no concern to Liverpool whatsoever. They just keep winning. One way or another, they get it done. And Everton… they didn’t.

Spurs went to Brighton and did the most un-Spursy thing ever. They came from 2 goals behind to draw. Apparently we should have won. But coming from behind is never easy. My favourite statistic of the weekend is that if Everton trail at Anfield, they haven’t come back to win since 1923. 102 years. So no pressure when they conceded yesterday then.

Spurs lie a totally deserved 2nd in the table. Arsenal host Manchester City later today. What we at Spurs call ‘an easy 3 points’ but I understand that our ‘local rivals’ may struggle and hence fail to overtake us. Bournemouth can overtake us too so we’re hoping big things from regular-disappointments Newcastle. Possibly praying.

Happy Sunday

A xxxx

I think I must be a masochist. Whilst everyone else ‘just can’t watch the news any more’, I can’t get enough. Any evening without Clive Myrie is a wasted one. All my fantasies involve Sophie Raworth and Rita Chakrabarti. Possibly together. I’ve always watched the 10 o’clock news on BBC and I probably always will. Even though they’re about as unbiased as Donald Trump, as ‘balanced’ as a one-legged, one-armed Millwall fan and as ‘neutral’ as Russia. Particularly when it comes to reporting on Israel. They follow the left-leaning bias, the quote-it-first-check-it-later ethos, and generally have offended anyone who has any affiliation or connection to Israel. I’ve watched al Jazeera and it shows a lesser anti-Israel bias than our BBC.

But that’s not enough. I need more. More pain. More aggravation. More frustration and screaming at broadcast devices. So I listen to LBC. And if that’s not almost suicidal for any Zionist at the moment, I’ll even listen to James O’Brien. Who is about as pro-Israel as the Ayatollah. And he’s not just vile because he’s an anti-Semite, glaringly obvious to anyone and everyone… except him. Who maintains, just like Corbyn always does, the ‘he’s not prejudiced against anyone’, whilst shitting on anything Israeli or Jewish. But in the most horrendously quiet, considered, smug way. Gimme a shouter and screamer any day; it’s those pseudo-intellectual diatribes calmly and quietly delivered, showing wonderful compassion, which incite me to violence. I’ve broken 9 Alexas since October 7 2023.

And what I hear, in praise of the mythical ‘2-state solution’, which is wanted by neither Israel nor Hamas, but remains a fantasy of masturbatory proportions for Kier Starmer, is always the same. It’s ‘simple’. You just negotiate with the Palestinian Authorities, get rid of Hamas and divide the land. What could be easier than that?

I hear this all the time on LBC and always have the very same thought. Which is:

HOW THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING TO GET RID OF HAMAS???

All, even the ‘liberals’ and the very pro-Palestines, feel they have to condemn Hamas to some degree, certainly on the radio, or at least accept them as an obstacle to peace. And therefore ‘they have to go’. Ok, I’ll tell them.

Right. So for all those who have this ‘blueprint for peace’, even though its pretty much what neither side wants or would accept in a million years, here’s a newsflash:

This is what ‘getting rid of Hamas’ looks like. It’s Gaza today. They hide under hospitals, store their weapons under schools, prevent their population from moving to safe havens, and they keep moving underground, using ‘their people’ as human shields.

Though of course, if anyone thinks there’s this much easier, 10-minute, boil-in-the-pan version of ‘getting rid of Hamas’, please contact:
The IDF
Israel.

I’m sure they’d love to hear it.

Happy Saturday

A xxxx

So yesterday we had Trump, part 2. The second course. Trump against the B-team. Possibly the C-minus team. Because whereas Wednesday he was royally entertained at Windsor Castle, yesterday he was forced to spend the day at Chequers with The Dullard. Our Prime Minister. A man who obviously struggles with Donald J Trump. Everyone struggles with that man, but those gifted with a quick mind, a quicker tongue, and a degree of fortitude, can fare quite well. None of which, obviously, applies to our sterile and wooden political leader. He just looked scared of what was next and managed to get his pre-prepared answers into the right context. On migrants. On Gaza. On Mandelson. And on Epstein.

Then we saw both the best and the worst of Donald Trump, all in a few hours.

He ‘disagreed’ with Starmer about our leader’s decision to ‘recognise the state of Palestine’. I don’t mean as in “have you seen the fucking state of Palestine lately????”, but I mean as in official UN recognition that the murderous, hostage-holding, ‘GEN-O-CIDAL!!’, terrorist run shit-show, will be ‘recognised’ as the reward for all of Hamas’s fabulous humanitarian work. So Trump called Starmer a virtue-signalling, bandwagon-jumping, vote-chasing, moron-appeasing dickhead. Ok, I would have, Trump made nice.

Then did the next brilliant thing and slagged off our esteemed mayor. He’s a ‘bad person’, ‘I’ve never liked him’, and best of all ‘he’s the worst mayor in the world, and there are a few bad ones out there’. Loved that. Those few kind words from the Prez and Sadiq’s international credibility is now on ground zero. Where it should be. If not for uttering not one word during the entire week of crippling tube strikes, in HIS city, then certainly for failing to attend or mention the march against Antisemitism.

But then Trump, after all that good work, went all stupid.

The battle cry of the Republic(ans) has been ‘free speech’. ‘The First Amendment’. To the point of attacking the United Kingdom for arresting and locking up… ok, primarily right wing hate-speakers.

And then Jimmy Kimmel, darling of the Democrats, very successful late-night tv comedian, and Trump satirist, suddenly gets sacked by ABC. Followed by Trump’s people actually implying that tv channels being critical of the President may lose their licenses. Read that again and then, altogether: HOLEEEEE SHEEEEEEETTT!!!!

That’s Putin. That’s Kim Jong Un. That’s that fat fuck from Belarus. But that is not democracy. The 9th amendment to our own constitution (ok, we don’t actually have one, but if we did…), known as the ‘Monty Python clause’, states that taking the piss out of the government is absolutely essential in any decent country.

So, Fat Don. Can’t live with him, can’t live without him.

Happy Friday

A xxxx

I’m a republican. Opposed to the Royal family and other privileged aristos and all the no-good rich fuckers who should be forced to give all their wealth to the NHS so that we can afford all the wounded jihadis arriving by boat. The king should be deposed and replaced with Jeremy Corbyn so that real changes can happen. Not the wooly, windy ‘change’ that Kier Starmer (bloody fascist) keeps banging on about, but a total restructuring of the nation. And Comrade Corbyn would be the ‘Chief Executive’ of GBUK, with absolute power and for life. He could impose sharia law. A bit like Putin running the Islamic State. A good place to live. Where rules are rules and the train drivers would all live in the mansions vacated by the billionaires who’ve been ‘repossessed’. Where anyone rich, or worse still, Jewish!, would be either stripped of all their assets or forced to live in third rate hotels in Epping so the refugees could live in the comfort they deserve. This is the dream.

But meanwhile, we have King Charles. Who, yesterday, entertained ‘the enemy of the state’. Donald J., fucking Trump!!! That day cost an estimated 20 million pounds. Money which could have been better spent creating new jobs in the Transport and General Workers Union. You could employ 40 people to stand around at tube stations drinking tea and reading the newspaper for 2 years, on £250k per year for that money. On a 32 hour working week, obviously, due to the ‘mental strain’ of such an important and demanding and responsible role in society.

But instead, we pissed that money away trying to impress a great fat orange ‘child’. Who laps up attention like a 3 week old Cockapoo. We basically tarted up the entire fucking army and all the brass bands we could find, brushed every horse in the country, polished all the carriages and flew the nine remaining fighter jets the air force owns, painting the sky red, white and blue. I mean, the fuel for the planes must’a cost 500 quid. Then they sit him down and feed him!! Look at him!! Does he look hungry to you?

Trump is NOT an ally of mine. Or (therefore) of this country. He is the enemy of working people. He funds genocide by arming the ‘Israel project’, which has failed and will be ended by Comrade Corbyn on Day 1, of the new world. Which, if nothing else, would make Eurovision Song Contests much easier to manage.

So while the workers in this country, like me, are all busy, or on their allotted 5 hours of tea break or ‘wellness time’, our nation pisses away millions just to try an impress Donald Trump. So he reckons he’s brought about 20 billion dollars worth of investment in the UK with him, contracts in the digital world, but what use are they?? The last thing we need here is jobs where you need to think, FFS. We don’t want workers thinking, that’s where the problem starts.

I’m looking forward to the glorious day of the revolution.

Happy Thursday

Comrade Shmuck xxxx

Spurs played last night. Villarreal in the Champions League. Entry to which we qualified for by winning the Europa League last year. It’s the first time that winning the ‘2nd class’ cup actually rewarded you with entry to First Class the following season. But we’re in. And we won. I’m not saying we won with any degree of style or beauty, but we were gifted a quite ridiculous own goal in the 4th minute and clung on for grim death. None of which bothers me to any extent, nor does it reduce the 3 points we won for the victory.

But what about Joey?

He’s 6. A fanatical Spurs fan. Obsessed with football generally. And his initiation to European football, the first Euro match he actually attended, was the final last year in Venice.

Because Joey has ‘prior commitments’, like, er, school, and he burns up sufficient energy every day to power a small town, he needs to be in bed by 7.30 ‘for 8.00’. So he goes to bed at 7.30 and by the time he’s finished jumping out, annoying his sister, having a story, demanding another, all the usual antics, he’s out for the count by 8.

Or ‘kick off time’ as we call it for midweek European matches.

So negotiations start. Because he desperately wants to watch it on tv. The ‘normal’ settlement is that he can watch the first half, a short story, then sleep. 9 o’clock. That’s workable.

But Joey’s not really interested in ‘workable’, nor sensible, nor anything else really other than watching football with his dad. All of it.

So he calls in ACAS, phones the leader of the schoolchildren’s union and they ‘sit round a table’ for further discussions. In the end Donald Trump came to help ‘do a deal’. They thought Qatar might be the proper place for such deliberations but… Where it was decided that the plaintiff would be allowed to watch the second half, as long as he promised to be a good boy in the morning. No ‘I’M TIIIIIIRRED!!!!’, no moaning, no refusal to get dressed, no fuss at school.

Spoiler alert: Joey breaks promises. All day. Every day. All kids do. They’re just like adults in that respect. Say whatever you have to get what you want and worry about the consequences, the promises, later. Because by ‘later’ you’ll have forgotten the promises you made.

This morning, Joey refused to get out of bed. It took four lawyers, an injunction and replays of ‘the deal’ before a judge ordered him to school. And by playing the ‘then you can’t watch any more midweek games!!!!!’, threat.

Joey 1, Rest of the World 0.

Happy Wednesday

A xxxx