Andy's Glasses

Next week Mel and I are headed to northern France. Mel wants to see it and I want to drive somewhere. Don’t care where. Le Touquet is as good as anywhere. Hit the road, Jack.

Why we’re actually going over to Calais is to see some boats launching. We’ve seen them arrive here for years, but never setting off. Small ones, big ones and lately, fucking humungous ones, filled with… men. Young men. Few women, couple of children, but mainly, men. Coming to England because of their desire to… errrr… to be British. To intermingle and adopt the local customs and traditions and absorb the Kingdom’s culture for all they’re worth. Eat fish’n’chips, drink warm beer, play cricket and sing Land of Hope and Glory at the Proms.

In fact no-one knows why they all leave the perfectly safe havens of France, or Spain, even Italy or Greece, to come to the UK. It costs them a relative fortune and they stand a good chance of ending up as fish-food when they do it. But come they do. 44,000 arrived by end of March, just this year alone.

But here’s the problem. They have to learn our culture, and our ways and, most importantly, our laws. Which aren’t always the same as the laws in the countries they left.

So the government have written a pamphlet to hand out to all arriving boat-people, as we take them to their new accommodations in towns and cities all around the country, to live free of charge and not allowed to work, for the foreseeable future. Into the waiting arms of their local communities who are only too happy to receive them.

And when these immigrants read this pamphlet… oh, its written in English. And most of these people aren’t English, or they wouldn’t be on boats. Never mind, I’m sure anyone from Somalia or Eritrea or Afghanistan or Syria will have no problem understanding the words. Its the concepts they’ll find really challenging.

Because the pamphlets tell them that women aren’t here for the purposes of rape. That sexual assault is NOT a way of life in the UK. And sex with children is really not approved of. Even for politicians and pop stars.

A Taliban governor said this week that women are ‘mindless and deficient in intellect’. Which is fairly accurate if you’ve stopped them from acquiring an education. But that’s where the Afghanis are coming from. That’s where a massive majority of these people come from: countries with no understanding of what we consider ‘normal western values’.

Of course, they’re not all knife-wielding rapists. We just don’t know which ones are. And Shabana Mahmood’s efforts, and her stupid fucking pamphlet will not stop the boats. Because with or without a pamphlet, these guys will be where they want to be. The rest is just time, and they have all the time in the world because we’re looking after them in the meantime.

The plan to send refugees and asylum seekers to Rwanda seems more and more like the brilliant idea it was. Because it gives the message: IF YOU ARRIVE IN THE UK YOU WILL GO STRAIGHT TO RWANDA. No asylum appeal whilst here, no wandering round our countryside bored shitless, no Great Britain. And that will have the effect that all politicians pay lip-service to: stopping the small boats.

So why aren’t we doing it?

Happy Monday

A xxxx

Never doubt the power of the press. The ‘wonderfully impartial’ BBC, whose news is my daily obsession, even though I hate 72% of what they say, and more importantly, THE WAY THEY SAY IT, demonstrated this last night. With just one ‘throw away’ sentence. When speaking of the beloved Harry & Meg, the newsreader told us that Harry was going to have a meeting with the Home Office to “decide whether he will receive TAX PAYER FUNDED security”. Nothing wrong with that, its true, its accurate, its grammatically correct. Yet it is highly inflammatory. It inflamed me. I’m not paying for that free-loading, spoilt little rich kid with my hard earned money, when he has sufficient millions in his bank to pay the Daily Mail £9million this week, following his failed law-suit against them. Fucking poncing Prince.

If Clive Myrie had instead said that Harry was trying to receive security from the state, it is exactly the same point but without the horrible, personalising slant which immediately has every British tax payer fuming. Ok, had this British tax payer fuming. And please remember; it’s all about ME.

Then my thinking becomes along those lines. Why should WE pay for HIM? And, more importantly, for HER??? And in that respect, I diverge from most people. Because everyone hates Meghan. Except me. She is simply too good looking for me to hate and I am THAT superficial and sleazy that I’m prepared to ‘forgive’ all the terrible things she’s done and is pretty much still doing. She’ll need security, just from being attacked by other mums on the school run. From the check-out guys at Tescos (as if), from everyone. Her father-in-law hates her. Her brother-in-law despises her, as does his wife. To our entire, extended ‘royal family’ she is hate figure number 1.

So why are they returning? When everything is so wonderful and successful in Santa Barbara? Well, there are, unsurprisingly, only rumours.

Meghan is going to star in a tv show being filmed over here. Which turns out to be Guy Richie’s gig, and also turns out that she isn’t. She hasn’t got the part.

Harry doesn’t want his children speaking with American accents. Obviously his wife’s doesn’t bother him so much. Though her’s is a bit Canadian/American, so maybe that doesn’t offend Harry’s posh, English ears. Or he may just want his kids educated here, as he was, and as every Royal has been ever since Eton was invented. Apparently Harry and Meghan even intend to educate Lilibet and educating women is quite contentious is Royal circles.

Maybe just wants to be near his dad. Ok, the man hates him, but when Harry knocks, he has to the let the boy in. And that dad, our KING!!!, ffs, has cancer. About which we, the public, know absolutely nothing. And it could be bad. We aren’t privy to such information.

I’m kind of a fan of Harry. But when he moved to America he was so positive it was a ‘forever move’ that he burned virtually every ‘bridge’ he had over here. Insulting his mother-in-law, slagging off the whole family, accusing every national newspaper of hacking (as if he’s that fucking important!) and accusing our beloved, but dead, Queen of being a racist. Wearing a KKK pointed hat on top of her crown. Sort of.

So to come back was never likely to be easy. And guess what, Harry? It ain’t.

No mention of football, I noticed. How odd. Maybe disconnecting the tv, muting the radio and burning the newspapers this morning had something to do with it.

Happy Sunday

A xxxx

We have such a fabulous squad this season. We bought Tonali; he’s great, now he’s out of prison over his gambling… commitments; we have Fernandes who was deemed even too good to play for West Ham, and now we’re getting Savinho from Manchester City. As well as another big Dutchman in defence to create a matching pair. Ok, we’ve lost Djed Spence who was, for about 4 weeks in the summer, the best footballer in the whole world!!! But NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR SPURS!!! Ok, he was plenty good for anyone, but at a massive cost. He’s trouble. Always has been. Back at Forest, Spurs, England, he’s bad news on the team. Don’t know what he does (I’d personally forgive him ANYTHING!!!) but he obviously does it consistently enough that no-one wants that fantastic talent in their squad. Except Inter Milan, obviously but in Italy being a ‘destabilising troublemaker’ is seen as a ‘desirable quality’ in any player.

Some people say we’ve overpaid. Probably the same people who spent all the Daniel Levy years moaning how we lost out on so many good signings because he’d never pay enough.

Because ‘overpayment’ implies that transfer fees are somehow ‘criteria based’, or work from a multiplier of their OPTA statistics for the preceding year. That any player is worth, precisely, ‘this amount’ of money. But that’s not how it works. The ‘value’ of a player firstly depends on who wants to buy him. If its Chelsea or Man City, add on another 50mil. If its anyone really ‘desperate’ (that’ll be Spurs then) just add 25.

The unknown thing is how well any player will fit in with the existing team and the manager’s philosophy. If it works and flows and gets all really Son Heung Min, then the player is priceless. If it goes a bit more Richarlison, the 2 bob’s too much.

Its all a gamble. And Spurs have rolled the dice. with about 350million on table. Tonali would appreciate that analogy. But its De Zerbi’s gamble and in him we trust… for the moment, obvs. These are ‘his players’. So, yes, no-one else to blame, but really, I do like Roberto, quite a lot. And I like the way his teams play. And if he thinks he’s found something worthwhile, then quite frankly ‘no price is too high’.

Also, a reminder to those bemoaning ‘paying too much’: IT AIN’T YOUR FUCKING MONEY!!!! WHY DO YOU CARE WHAT THEY SPEND??? iT WON’T AFFECT YOU IN ANY WAY AT ALL.

Ticket prices won’t rise, they’re so high already, and none of us will enjoy ‘a dividend’ or ‘bonus’ if everything goes wonderfully all silverware and glory. We must just all remember that our rewards will be in heaven, and also, in how well we do compared to Arsenal. That’s all that really matters. Don’t ever lose sight of that.

Bring on Brentford!!! (God help me)

Happy Friday

A xxxx

So poor Jason Arday goes from international hate-figure, cheat, scam-artist, liar, plagiarist and truth-avoiding con-man, to ‘poor fallen hero’, with just one… overdose? rope around the neck?? hari-kiri??? And all because of…

Me.

I am the problem. I wrote a post about Jason and he topped himself. I never knew he read my rants. Ok, a few ‘others’ wrote about him too. Probably more scathing than my sad offering which was more ridiculing his initial selection process and the dim-wits at Cambridge University than an attack on him. But I accept my responsibility. Because collectively, the national press and tv commentators and anyone else who has the barest of ‘platforms’ (like your breakfast table; the water cooler at work; the pub), who all chose to attack the man, quite ruthlessly.

So ruthlessly that no less (an arsehole) than Zack Polanski(!!!) has accused the press in no uncertain terms for Jason’s death and ‘demands’!!! that Andy Burnham take measures to limit what is written and spoken of. In other words, he wants to kerb free speech.

Quite rightly. People speak too much. Especially people I disagree with. Like Zack Polanski. Who only the other week was demanding the rights of Palestine Action due to ‘freedom of speech’. So; if the Green’s get into power (you’ll know because it’ll be the day I move to North Korea; the only country prepared to have me) the rules will be: anything Zack agrees with is ‘freedom of speech’ and anything he doesn’t is ‘fake news and lies’ and will be censored by the write-police. A bit like Trump. A lot like Putin.

There’s a kind of unwritten rule that if its true it can be published; whether hurtful or damaging or otherwise. Obviously ‘trolling’ generally crosses the line when it becomes ‘hateful’ or ‘threatening’ but here its different. The press told the truth about Jason’s life. And when it all came out, and the extent of the duplicity, Jason couldn’t cope with it. It wasn’t the reporting that killed him; it was the exposure to his own truth with no-where to hide.

Still pretty tragic though.

Happy Wednesday

A xxxx

Last night…

It fucking rained!!!

I hate the rain; my very clean car got wet! I have to take a
rain-proof jacket on my bike. It’s… wet!!! Stops you having fun
outdoors.

It’s always bloody rainin’ here.

Ok, it hasn’t rained for 6 weeks and the entire country is totally
desiccated. This ‘verdant isle’ is no longer verdant. It’s now ‘this
browndant isle’. Half of its on fire, despite the warning alarm on
Friday night, and reservoirs have run dry. The Thames still has water
but you really, really wouldn’t want to drink it.

So it’s a funny ole time to have a big discussion about ‘energy’. A
euphemism for ‘oil and gas’. The horns of the environmentalists devil.

Scotland have found an oil field, up by the Shetlands, and a gas one,
in the middle of the North Sea, 150 miles off the coast of Aberdeen.
So really convenient for popping out for milk and eggs. Possibly a bar
of chocolate. Uber Eats will not deliver there. And the oil companies
have built their drilling facilities, all the way out there. But they
need a license to drill. And the government must decide to give them
one. As they sit there on, probably, 100 million, 200 million? pound
investment in the rig and pipes needed to ship it all to land.

Andy Burnnham is torn.Like, really torn. Between the horrendously
unfashionable dependence on fossil fuels, investing into the future of
carbon emissions they create. And the more pragmatic consideration of
‘energy independence’ and keeping warm next winter. Yes, winter will
definitely come. And probably be as horribly extreme as the summer.
And we can’t fill the hot water tank with environmental ideology. We
need ‘energy security’ and the current batch of wind farms and solar
panels can’t give us that. Only… hydrocarbons!! can do that.
Currently.

So is giving licenses to drill condemning us to more heatwaves due to
emissions? Or keeping us warm in the winter whilst we wait for
‘renewable’ sources to become more productive. (For ‘renewable’, read
‘nuclear’; its the only viable option. Except it scares the shit out
of most people.)

Consequently, they’ve shelved the decision for a few months. By which
time, Burnham hopes the heatwave has finished and it all becomes a
little less emotional.

Happy Tuesday

A xxxx

Tony Blair is the man for a crisis. He managed to orchestrate peace in Northern Ireland, FFS, so how hard can the middle east be? Compared to a bunch of militaristic kneecapping Irishmen who’d been murdering each other for 30 years? Oh, the Israelis and Palestinians have been doing it for nearly 80 years and disputing land-rights dating back to the burning bush. And on a more ‘industrial scale’ than Ireland. Oh.

Either way; peace must come. Says everyone whose not directly involved. So send in Tony Blair; he can charm anyone, and peace will ‘flow’, as surely as night follows day.

Well Tony, welcome to the white nights.

Jared Kushner went to Cairo to ‘speak to Hamas’. Even though they’re terrorists and ‘we don’t negotiate with terrorists’. And Jared told them ‘they had to disarm’ and ‘leave government in Gaza’. They probably told Trump’s son-in-law to fuck off. And they in turn ‘demanded’ a complete withdrawal of Israeli troops from Gaza. Which Benjamin Netanyahu would agree to in a minute. Just not this particular minute.

Whatever you think of Hamas; they are the ‘government’ over there, ‘duly elected’. Ok, that was back in 2007, but as there’s been no elections since, they’re still there. Where they’ve spent their truly massive (on a per capita basis, more aid than any other nation, by a long way) funds not on their population, not on building businesses and infrastructure, but on building 500 miles of terrorist tunnels and filling them with missiles and arms with which to attack Israel. The ‘education funds’ from UNWRA famously went to schools teaching lovely young children how to hate Israelis, how to despise Jews and how to wear a suicide vest when they get older. Along with the ‘joy of martyrdom’, 101.

The fundamental problem is that Israel wants peace and Hamas wants Israel. And the murder of all current occupants. Plus a few relatives currently living overseas. That’s the whole ‘from the River to the Sea’ thing.

Israeli elections are coming up in October. Most Israelis want Bibi out. Others want any government which doesn’t include horrible, inflammatory extremists like Ben Gvir and Smotric. The hard right orthodoxy are happy with the status quo. Normal, decent people aren’t.

But first; Tony Blair and ‘the peace deal’.

He likes a challenge. He’s got one.

Happy Monday

A xxxx

So we were sitting in the garden on Friday night, before dinner. Drinks. Nothing posh, more: how can I get pissed most quickly and efficiently? Because of the temporary absence of Lila, Joey & co, cos they’re in Crete, it was a small affair. Just us, the younger daughter and the adopted daughter. Well, we’ve never really adopted her but she’s an Aussie and when she lived in London for a few years, she was just ‘part of the team’. Long story but she’s been Rachie’s best mate since they were 2. Anyway, she’s on holiday, so over she comes.

And there was Friday night whisky (totally different from Sunday, Tuesday or Wednesday night’s) and there was chatter and laughter and chopped liver.

When, SUDDENLY, an alarm went off! In fact, three alarms went off. Which is a bit racist; don’t the government care if Aussies catch fire!!!! And the message was profound. A ‘warning’! “DON’T START ANY FIRES NEAR THINGS THAT MAY CATCH FIRE!!!!, it essentially said. Oh. I was on my round to the Heath with a box of matches for a bonfire. Glad they told me.

I have friends in Israel. They get ‘alarms’ quite frequently. To tell them missiles are coming. Get to a shelter. INCOMING!!! Clear and present danger. That’s the purpose of ‘alarms’. Shit is happening, and it’s happening NOW! Not: oh, best not to light fires near stuff like bone-dry wood; there’s a bit of a national problem going on, in case you missed it, cos you live in a fucking news-free vacuum! Half the country’s on fire. Yet what he sent was just a ‘warning’ and our PM should just address the nation with a list of ‘things to do and things NOT TO DO!!’ Not using ‘the alarm!!!’ It’s like sending out a national alarm to see if anyone could pick him up a pint of milk on their way home. Not its purpose. And so by using the ‘A-bomb’ for a warning which everyone knows; and those who don’t know aren’t going to listen to him anyway, dilutes the impact of the alarm system. We won’t be rushing to our phones to see what the government is saying. Because it’ll be something obvious and not any kind of emergency.

I’m not hating Andy Burnham. Just so you know. I want to. I almost need to. But he does talk a modicum of good sense. Not sure about ‘Number 10 North’, because it’s just more expense when all his plans are going to require massive amounts of cash. Which I will have to pay. When I’m not even allowed to use a hose pipe.

So I wouldn’t say I like him. But not hating a PM is no faint praise.

Happy Sunday

A xxxx

The A-level results came out on Thursday and, as a consequence, anyone with A-level statistics will be fine understanding the vast output of ‘data’ available in the press. If you got history/French/economics; don’t bother looking. You won’t understand.

But two ‘trends’ simply have to be mentioned and explained and understood.

Boys averaged higher in A-level grades achieved than girls. Why? Probably because they’re more clever. I mean; why else? I haven’t yet seen the data on trans kids but that would be interesting. Would trans boys perform better than trans girls? Is the aspirational gender more significant than a pair of testicles in the exam outcome?

Secondly is the ‘regional difference’. The fact that there is a massive and increasing difference in top grade achievement between the South East and the ‘north’. This will cause great upset, anxiety and probably political changes from the Prime Minister, the consummate ‘northerner’. And yet he will now have to face another undeniable fact. That ‘the south east’ is about 10% more clever than ‘the north’. It’s there, in black’n’white, on the tables. London had about 33% of kids getting an A grade. The north-east had 23%. The northwest (Burnham’s obsession) only did about 1% better.

Northerners are thicker than southerners. It is now a proven fact.

Ok, there are ‘over-riding effects’ which much be taken into consideration. For most northerners, English is not their first language. Well, it sounds like that when you hear them speak. And that must disadvantage the children during exams. Others will quote socio-economic variations between the regions. The south-east is ‘richer’. And for some reason, ‘poor people’ don’t use books, preferring to sit their children in front of the tv for 7 hours, eating crisps. No children complain about this. Yet books are available, free, in any local library. Whereas Netflix costs 8 quid a month, Disney £7.50, Sky… lots.

This would cause some to try to improve the educational standards in the North. Andy Burnham, raised on the ‘politics of envy’ and ‘lowest common denominatorism’ of long-term Labour educational policy, will probably work out ways to make Southern kids more stupid.

Basically, Southerners are massively aspirational for their children. To the point where in some cases the parents are so obsessed that they don’t allow their kids any ‘down time’ at all. But somewhere is a happy medium, where kids are encouraged and assisted with their schoolwork at home and maybe read together, and even make it all fun.

But essentially; northerners don’t just sound ‘a bit divvy’, they are so. It’s in the numbers. Results don’t lie.

Happy Saturday

A xxxx

Did you see the eclipse??? Wow!!! Amazing!!!

But of course, you didn’t ‘see’ it, or you’d be at Moorfields with patches on your eyes hoping to restore your destroyed retinas. Unless you’re in the tiny minority of people who actually had ‘eclipse glasses’, accredited with the exact British Standards number! Obviously, if you’re an exploitative nob from Romania making cheapo rip-off glasses, it’s much easier to just write a number on the specs than to actually produce them properly. But I’m no cynic. And because we’re clever, we ordered our eclipse glasses in advance.

They’re arriving today. Ok, yesterday would have been slightly better, but we’re so ready for the next one. We’ll keep them in the special ‘eclipse glasses drawer’ we had installed 20 years ago, just in case. Yeah, they’ll be completely forgotten about by tomorrow. But if I’m still around in 2080; I’m ready for the next (almost) total eclipse.

Someone told me a neat trick. View it through a CD. Yup, get a cd and hold it up, seemingly opaque, but enough gets through to get a fab little ‘sun-with-a-bite-out’. Mel ‘made’ a pinhole camera, which we had to take out to dinner with us when we met some friends. (At the Hummus Bar!!! I fucking love the Hummus Bar, even without a pinhole camera.) But its usefulness at eclipse viewing was… limited.

So half way through the eclipse I went and took a shower. Cold one. We only do cold ones currently. And by the time I was dressed the front of the house was getting dark. And still, the best place to ‘view the eclipse’ was on the Sky channel who were showing it; BIG and safe. I know it’s not like sitting at Stonehenge invoking the devil or chanting ‘ohmmmm’, but it was functional.

Did it, as all the pundits on tv asserted, ‘make me feel man’s insignificance in the grand scheme of the universe’? Was it ‘totally humbling’? Did I ‘connect with the people hundreds, thousands even, of years ago, who would have watched the same thing?’.

No, not really. I’m not big on humility, as you’ll have gathered. Humiliation? That’s part of my life. But it’s an eclipse. Unlike our historical forebears, we don’t think it’s ‘the sign of the Antichrist’, nor the ‘end of the world’, we get it. It’s basic physics.

Yet… and yet… there is something truly magical about an eclipse. Oh, and it’s free. Though I bought tickets online for 50 quid each, just in case.

Happy Astronomy

A xxxx

Tomorrow is ‘our day off’. Its Lila-Joey-day but due to them being in Crete, our daughter has reluctantly agreed that our services will not be required, having made extensive inquiries with various airlines about flight availability for ‘day trips’ for ‘staff’. So we had booked, a few months ago, a trip to Wakehurst. That’s ‘the other Kew Gardens’, the much bigger one, down in Sussex. Supposed to be fab. And when we booked it, in March, going in August sounded a great idea. I love a road trip; anywhere, and trees are always… well they’re always trees.

Except when their dying from dehydration. And the rolling fields of green are now the dried out fields of brown. And 2 hours each way on the M25/M23 way past Gatwick suddenly seems not so great as we overheat in the inevitable hold-ups/ road works/ disasters.

So we’ve cancelled. We’ll go when the weather’s nicer. With the daughter’s permission, obviously. And hopefully when the trees have recovered and the grass is a bit greener once more.

How fucking weird to be cancelling a trip in England ‘because of the weather’ and not referring to horrendous rain, freezing winds, horrible wintery shit? And they were showing pictures of Kew yesterday and its tragically arid and ‘orrible. So four hours in the car with the top down suddenly doesn’t sound so good. And there’s no way I’d put the top up! Who do you think I am, FFS??? I would die of sunstroke rather than turn on the Air Conditioning. That’s who I am. An idiot.

So instead we’re going to Trent Park. Apparently you can’t fry unless you go past Hadley Wood. Trent Park House was a spy centre during the 2nd world war. Spying for our side. I’ll let you know more once I’ve been. Unless we’re sworn to secrecy, then I’ll tell you, but I’ll have to shoot you.

The House was owned by Sir Philip Sassoon. Scion of the Sassoon family who left Baghdad, made zillions in the opium trade during the 19th Century when based in Bombay (as was). By the time they came here they were in all sorts of more ‘sanitised’ interests, like shipping and finance. And were so rich that despite their druggy beginnings, they were made aristocracy upon arrival. Things were like that in ‘those days’.

Happy Wednesday

A xxxx