Andy's Glasses

All last week they were saying: weather on the bank holiday weekend is gonna be shit. Dave’s coming, bringing winds, rain, snow (no joke there was a blizzard in the Herts game yesterday) and generally, weather not fit for tennis. And yet it’s been fab. Every day’s had sunny spells, warmth (almost) and loveliness. Ok, it did rain on me on Saturday morning and I had to put the top on the car at the traffic lights, but otherwise, beautiful. None more so than today. It’s so fab I did the morning, ‘zoom’ t’ai chi session in the garden. Ok, it was fucking freezing, but it looks great out there. That’s the main thing. And it’s uplifting. Its wonderful. Makes you feel so good that you simply have to wonder why so many wars are going on in places where it’s always sunny. Or maybe, always Sunni. Though Iran, obviously, isn’t. It’s the world’s biggest Shia population. But heh, it’s not all about Iran.

Because I can’t tell you how exited that Kanye West is coming to perform at the Wireless Festival this summer. Just down the road in Finsbury Park!!! And although it is geographically just ‘down the road’, conceptually, philosophically and ideologically, it is a truly different world. Firstly; it’s right by Arsenal stadium. That’s a black mark all on its own. It’s also where the country’s most controversial mosque is situated. Where Abu ‘the hook’ Hamza used to preach hate and bile before they imprisoned him and deported him. And thirdly, it’s just a bad place. The karma is wrong in Finsbury Park.

Making it the perfect venue for the artist now known as ‘Ye’. And if you’re wondering what ‘Ye’ means, it means ‘asshole’. Possibly ‘tosser’. As do all recently and often changed names. Anyone who prefaces his name with ‘the artist formerly known as…’ is a nob. John Lennon was only ever ‘John Lennon’.

But that’s not sufficient to ban the man from performing. Whereas proclaiming your own love and support of the nazis and all their ideology, including the elimination of Jews, that’s slightly more significant. Ok, Kanye (I just can’t do that fucking ‘Ye’ thing) apologised. After 3 years of overt antisemitism including a clothing range with swastikas, he profusely apologised. He’s ‘bi-polar’. Ohhhhhh, that’s ok then. Men-taw helf ishoos. That explains EVERYTHING. What we used to call ‘manic-depressive’. Virtually two different people in the same body.

So which one is coming to perform in Finsbury Park? Nice Kanye or Ye-the-total-c**t? Jekyll or Hyde? Bruce Banner or The Hulk?

The sponsors of the Wireless aren’t taking chances, Pepsi and Diageo have already withdrawn their money. Others are following. But being Finsbury Park, they won’t be cowed. They’ll defend an antisemite to the bitter end.

Kier Starmer has said that Kanye shouldn’t be allowed to perform. Possibly not even allowed in the country. I wonder if Kier Starmer knows anyone who could arrange the refusal of entry for this scumbag? If only he was someone like… the man in charge of the whole fucking country!!!, then he could actually, for just once, practice what he preaches, get off his fucking fence and stop ‘Ye’ from stepping off the plane.

On an even bigger level; if you’re too big a scumbag for Kim Kardashian, there’s surely nothing redeemable in your character whatsoever.

Happy sunny Monday

A xxxx

Joey’s in Miami. And is trying his hardest to out-gorgeous his grandfather in the battle of the balcony poseurs. Well, Jo-jo; YOU’VE GOT A LONG WAY TO GO!!! He’s not even holding a cigarette, FFS. I blame the parents. And with everything I do for that child…

Back home, my favourite politician, Zack Polanski, continues in his apparent personal vendetta against ME. Whatever I hold sacred, he wants to rip apart. First was tax. Anyone with any money at all, however hard they’ve worked for it, for however long, will get it taken away to fund wind-farms in Gaza and solar panels in Manchester. (The sun never shines in Manchester). Because ‘the rich’ must be ‘taxed to the bollocks AND BEYOND’, to fund all the wonderful social measures the Greens have planned to provide mansion style living for boat people and other asylum seekers.

Then came Palestine. Zionism = racism!! And must be made illegal. Israel ‘abolished’ to make way for a single, Palestinian, Arab-only state where it once stood. Abolishing a state is quite a difficult thing to do, but only for ‘normal’ people, whereas ugly Jewish poofs have no trouble getting the abolition past the UN whatsoever. It’s a special clause.

And now it’s driving. Because driving is a privilege, not a right. According to Zack. So the Greens will make driving “slower, more expensive and in many cases, impossible”. That’ll keep the country going, Zack. He’d reduced the motorway speed limit to 55. I don’t care about that, I drive at 95 on all motorways, on principle. But there’ll be so many people in my way. And what kind of a nob wants to cause motorists even more misery than they’re suffering now?

What next, Zack? A new tax on supporting Spurs? New charges every time you listen to old rock tracks? Or fines for enjoying grandchildren? How about tennis? There surely must be a way of screwing tennis players over?

Zack’s parents actually stated that if their son ever became (God forbidddd!!!) Prime Minister, they would leave the country. Well, I’m going with them. And taking my car with me. And my tennis racquets. And grandchildren.

Happy Easter Sunday

A xxxx

Ali-G, God bless his immortal soul (as the actual ‘character’ is long dead even though its creator is alive and well), would always speak of ‘me mate Dave’. Invariably followed by some really stupid words, thoughts or actions. It was brilliant. Because we all have a ‘mate Dave’. Even if half insist on remaining Davids. Like they’re going to defeat a Goliath or stand naked on the streets of Florence. Or even curl in a free-kick from 40 yards. But because I loved the concept of ‘me mate Dave’, I promoted all my ‘mates’ called David into ‘me mate Dave’s. Which they hate. As I would. Because ‘David’ is indeed the name of Kings (albeit Kings of Israel, but there you are), it’s a name to be taken seriously, to command respect. Whereas ‘Dave’ is his low-IQ cousin. Educationally subnormal, struggles with numbers, can’t tie his shoe-laces properly. Oh, yeah, Dave. Right.

And they’ve named the latest storm to arrive on our shores, sometime tomorrow, Storm Dave. A name lacking in the sheer power required of a proper storm. Storm names should be bold, powerful, resplendent. Storm Ethelred! Storm Muthafucka! Not, fucking Dave. And I hate to make a Dave in a teacup about this, but really those naming people at the Met office (who dun it) have a lot to answer for.

From tea cups we move to egg cups. Big ones. For chocolate eggs. And the big question is: WHERE THE FUCK ARE THEY???

Some of us ‘live’ for Easter Eggs. They only emerge for about 3 or 4 weeks a year, during which we have to panic buy, load up and fill the spare room with them before they go off to spawn or whatever they do for the other 11 months of the year when you can’t buy them.

And they are available, but not ‘the good ones’. Not… the Cadbury ones! Because I don’t want a Marks & Sparks chocolate eggs. I don’t want Lindt, I don’t want Hotel Chocolat, (pretentious fuckers), I want lovely, humble, amazing Cadburys. And no-one seems to have them. I went into an Iceland to get these two. Having lucked out in three other major supermarkets. Are Cadbury’s no longer making them in any quantity? And any variety? Or do the supermarkets just not stock them? The two I bought were relatively expensive. Otherwise the photo would show 10 of them. So maybe they’re making them ‘rare’ to increase the price. Like with diamonds.

Chocolate is all about the texture. That’s what makes the same chocolate taste so different. Its form and density. And in Easter eggs, that’s the formula that hits my buttons. Especially the ‘more!’ button. And they’re re-defining an ‘Easter Egg Hunt’. I’m going to write to the King. Not King David, Charlie.

Happy Saturday

A xxxx

I spend a lot of time… ok, 3 minutes a night, but according to Mel it’s ‘FOREVER!!!!’, flicking through 862 tv channels to see what’s on. FOMO. Which, in the world of streaming, is probably particularly annoying. But the thing is, streaming is great if you know what you want to watch. Yet is way more confusing than it is inspiring if you don’t. You go on, you watch what you wanted, you leave. Whereas channel surfing shows what’s on. Ok, you get QVC, and how many gold plated bracelets does anyone really need? You get religious channels, fucking darts, snooker, golf, you know, the ‘sort-of sports’ for people who prefer beer to exercise, and you get loads of re-runs of programmes which were shit when they came out but have the redeeming quality of being dirt cheap for tv companies to show. But now and again, you find…

Top Gun.

Which, along with Terminator, Pretty Woman, Kill Bill, Fast and Furious (only part 1) and a few, select others, are simply compulsory viewing. And thus, at 10.30 at night, just out the bath, in my dressing gown, I ‘felt the need for speed’.

But even among the select few movies mentioned, Top Gun is extra unique. The acting is absolutely terrible. Awful. Dire. Wooden. And yet, the story is so good, even if 100% predictable and runs as if Tony Scott had read a handbook about how to put every cliche in known fiction into one single movie, it just works. You know that the amazingly gorgeous Kelly McGillis is ‘falling for…’ Tom (her actual words), before she says it. Because you’ve already ‘fallen for’ both of them. And Val Kilmer’s script was headed: ‘start sneering now and don’t stop til the credits roll’. Because that’s how ‘good baddies’ need to look. It got late. Went to bed. Just stopped for one little moment to press ‘record’ before I went. Even though I’ve seen it 100 times and I’m fairly sure I know how it ends. I had to check to ensure they hadn’t changed it.

It was the perfect movie for Passover. With Tom Cruise as Moses. A short Moses. Leading his ‘tribe’ out of… trouble. Vladimir Putin, who sent the Mig fighter planes, played Pharoah (not Joey, as above) and they parted the seas. Ok, even Paramount couldn’t get the sea to actually ‘part’ in any meaningful manner, so they stuck a massive aircraft carrier on it instead. Same difference. Allegorical. Innit. Don’t be so bloody literal! It was the Passover story and done very well. Except the sex scenes. They’re not normally part of that story. But heh, that’s life, right?

Happy Easter, Happy Passover, Happy Friday

A xxxx

I’ve created my own political party. Well, England used to have 2 parties, which served us well for a hundred years, with a few ‘peripherals’, like the Raving Loonies, the Monster Zomby party, the Greens and the Lib Dem’s (this rather insulting ranking is 100% intentional), just for the appearance of good democracy. I don’t count Scottish Nationalists, Plaid Cymrus or the IRA, cos they don’t live round ‘ere.

It’s all changed. The Tories, sadly, disgraced themselves progressively during their last 14 years in charge and Labour showed within about 3 weeks why the truly massive election majority they enjoyed was possibly the biggest political mistake that mass of voters ever made. And that has ‘opened up the ends’ of the political spectrum. Basically, the centrists of the Tories and Labour are untrustworthy, look further afar. Thus we now have Reform on the right and the Greens holding temporary sway on the much more left than any party except Corbyn. But as that fuckwit remains incapable of even hoisting a Hamas flag without strangling himself, the ‘party with no name’ is pretty much stillborn. But we’ve instantly grown to a four-party nation. With the Greens and Reforms actually ahead in the polls.

Which could possibly end in ‘alliances’, the joining together of maybe the Tories and Reforms. Possibly the Greens with Labour, adding on the Scots in Westminster as they share the same core values of equality for all, long as they’re not employed; those we tax the shit out of and send the money to terrorist training camps in Gaza.

Or, if not alliances, then we’ll end up like virtually all the Europeans and so many other democracies, with a ‘coalition’ government. The worst possible scenario. Other than the Greens, who can never be worsened. Coalitions just stop anyone ever doing anything positive. Agreements between those with diametrically opposing views is never easy.

So I want a party. Not, like, balloons and cakes and shit type ‘party’, I want a political one. And I want to demand a complete end to Denmark. It’s simply too Danish. I want instead a democratic, socialist nation placed there, only for non-Danish. They’ve have their sway far too long. And it’s repressive having all those blond people in one place. Anyone in favour of Denmark will be considered ‘racist’!!! Murder of Danes is to be encouraged.

And if that sounds stupid, in any small way, this is a motion presented at the Green’s spring conference. That ‘zionism’ should be considered a ‘racist ideology’. That Israel should be ‘abolished’ (these are the actual words in their ‘motion’), and replaced with a ‘single, democratic Palestinian state’. To which end, the motion calls for ‘the right of Palestinian people to resistance and liberation from the Israeli occupation, including armed struggle’. In other words: go kill all the Jews you can find. And fuck the ‘2-state solution’; we want 1 and it’s ‘ours’!!!

Zack Polanski presented this. It never actually made it to the voting session because their technology (it was a zoom conference) was as shit as their ideology, and also because there were arguments about ‘misgendering’. Which, to be honest, tells you everything wrong about the Green Party, other than the rabid anti-semitism.

If this motion should pass, and if the Green’s should win the General Election: I would personally take Zac Polanski, the gay Jew, to ‘new Palestine’, so that he may get to enjoy ‘his idea of heaven’, for the 4.2 seconds it took him to get from the rooftops, to the ground where they throw gay people, so he can develop another idea of ‘heaven’. A more permanent one. A more ‘Democratic’ one.

Happy Thursday

A xxxx

Ok, here’s the situation: Spurs are 17th in the league. One point above relegation. We’ve lost 5 out of our last 6 games. The last of which was to one of the four teams below us in the table. At home. By 3-nil. So we need a ‘Blues Brothers moment’.

‘There’s 7 matches to play. We have a full squad, a fantastic stadium and a new manager.’ Let GO!!!

And unlike the last incumbent in the managerial seat, this one is not not greeted with WHO????. This is one we know. Roberti De Zerbi. One time leader of Brighton. And it has to be agreed; with great effect. They not only improved up the league, advanced in cups and made it into Europe, they played great, attacking football. Stylish. Flair was encouraged and incorporated into the game plans. He then went to Marseilles (s’in France, innit) and led them well too.

So he has ‘the pedigree’, he has the quality, he’s available NOW, (FFS), and we are fucking desperate. He’s also agreed that IF we get relegated, he will stay. As many managers would not sign to that. It seems a match made in heaven.

But footballing heaven is different from that other one. Its paved with stumbling blocks, populated by short-sighted morons and led by a group of Spurs fans who’ve suddenly discovered ‘moraliteeee’ and misplaced it quite ridiculously to try and depose De Zerbi before he’s started.

We can’t work with HIM!!!, they cry. He’s TOTALLY UNACCEPTABLE!!, they post their little online groups. And why this dissent? Because Roberto stood by Mason Greenwood. When all else painted him a hate-figure.

Greenwood was a ‘star’ for England and Manchester United. A really gifted player. Who was accused of rape, sexual assault and controlling behaviour. As about half the Premier League could be accused of. And most BBC presenters. Man United immediately kicked him out, all hell broke loose and he was instant pariah. But then, all the charges were dropped. All of them. Which is pretty remarkable. Because there were a lot of them, he was arrested twice. And we have a kind of law here, (there and everywhere, except possibly Dubai) that your ‘innocent until proven guilty’. But apparently that’s not the case for footballers. And certainly not for Spurs Fan Groups, who still find you guilty long after you’re proclaimed innocent. And thus anyone in favour of you is guilty by association. Or ‘guilty by association football’ in this specific case.

De Zerbi greeted Mason warmly at Marseilles (the French love a rapist) because he was, legally, ‘an innocent man’, with oodles of skill and reputation in the dirt.

You should also know that although a lot of footballers are rich, thick and arrogant to the point of committing terrible offences against women, some footballers can fall foul of ‘cries of rape’ by women looking to make a killing on the blackmail circuit. It happens.

And thus, because this man was nice to a man proclaimed innocent but had been accused of horrible crimes, ‘he’s not the man for our job’ and he won’t be welcomed.

Its almost like my entire football club is engaged in self-destruction.

Happy Wednesday

A xxxx

I’ve never been to Dubai. I will do. Just as soon as I’ve bought the gold Ferrari, finished the gold leaf of the toilet seat and had the Range Rover diamond-encrusted. Also, if I’m honest, Mel and I need a ‘bit of work done’ before we’d feel comfortable in the Emirates Airlines first class lounge. To step off the plane in that particular Emirate with, like, ‘normal lips’ which haven’t been filled, puffed and inflated to the point where you can barely see over the top of them, would make you a pariah. No-one would take you seriously in Dubai without a boob-job, bum-lift and a half-neck tattoo.

I make no judgments.

Dubai came about, as a ‘destination’ at about the time of Wolf of Wall Street hit the screens. The 2, in my mind, run parallel. A time when people who made loads of money, felt the need to show it to everybody who didn’t. There was no moral question involved as to the decency of such a life-style, because these people were morality-free and worked in a complete moral vacuum. Everything had to be loud, lairy and as flashy as could be imagined. Excessive was the byword of the time. And they needed a holiday. All those long hours of robbing the financial markets by every devious method, before it became illegal, took its toll.

But Marbella was a bit 1970s, Cannes a bit stiff, Monte Carlo too French and Tuscany lacking the ‘flash’ they needed to validate themselves.

So they invented Dubai. They quite literally took a bit of land on a coast and created everything from the hotels to the beaches, from the offshore islands to the shape and quality of the sand. Fortunately, sand was an almost limitless commodity there. Just grab a wheelbarrow and find the nearest dune. Help ya’self.

But somewhere along the way, the decision was made that Dubai would not be a normal destination. Lacking any cultural or geographical interest whatsoever, it instead became a place to demonstrate the virtues of monetary display. The MOST fabulous hotels in the world. Unbelievably brilliant restaurants which you’re taken to in submarines. Bigger, better, flashier, more sparkly. Las Vegas without gambling (a bit haram) and obviously alcohol (even more haram), but compensated for by adding gold.

For some reason, Dubai has never really appealed to me. Until now.

Because it is the only place in the world where you won’t be surrounded by dickheads taking selfies. Its illegal there. Take a selfie of you by the Burj al Arab tower and you’ll go to prison for 25 years. Photo of the kids by The Dubai Centre and you’re in handcuffs and on your way to jail before you can say: ‘and salaam to you, too’.

70 Brits are currently jailed for ‘having photos on their phone’, if those photos contain any images of missiles, drones, destruction of anything, brick-dust, shrapnel or anything ‘which may spoil the image of Dubai’ as a tourist haven.

Whereas arresting people for taking photos will do wonders for the trade?

One day…

Happy Tuesday

A xxxx

I grew up in a different world. Kids were allowed to have fun, and most unusual for anyone born after 1970 to understand, we were allowed freedom. Jeffrey Epstein wasn’t invented until 2013, Jimmy Savile was still a national (vomit) treasure, even though there was not one person in the entire nation to whom he didn’t ‘give the creeps’, and Rolph Harris played with his (own) didgeridoo. The clergy at that time were (apparently?, superficially?) still more engaged in worship and community work than in fiddling with little boys and Harvey Weinstein was thinking about a career in movies. Even Harrods was just ‘the best department store in the world’, before devolving into the London Sexual Abuse and Rape Centre under Mohammed Fayed’s later stewardship.

Basically, all this shit was happening in the early 60s but it was either ‘not talked about’ in decent society, mainly because a high proportion of ‘decent society’ were engaged as perpetrators of what would later become crimes; or no-one believed it was occurring.

So children played on the streets. Without minders, carers, nannies or armed guards. We just ran around, dodging the cars (most of the time), running down alleyways to our mates’ houses and, essentially ‘running wild’. My parents were good people. Caring, loving, devoted to their family. But in 1963 that apparently included operating on the ‘enough rope to hang themselves’ ethos. Ok, my brother was 3 years older than me and, unlike me, he was pretty much ‘born sensible’. You could trust Rich in any situation. He was blessed with the common sense that, genetically speaking, he should have shared with me. Genetics just doesn’t really work that way though. But if we were together, my parents knew he would do the right thing, even at 10 years old.

And the most fun we had, the best of all ‘freedoms’ was going out on our bikes. Because at 7/8 years old, with that wonderfully ‘limited world view’ which stretched all the way from Gants Hill Roundabout to Valentines Park, as boundaries of the ‘known world’, we could go ‘anywhere’. Long as we avoided the main roads. And long as I LISTEN TO RICHARD!!!! Yeah, good luck, Richard. But we went down to the Roading River, to ride around the densely wooded banks (known as ‘the race track’) and our other favourite was ‘the dump’. Which was a dump. Literally. But we found amazing stuff there. Though ‘amazing when you’re 7 has a slightly different meaning from the adult interpretation.

Bikes gave us freedom. A feeling I still get every time I get on a bike now. Electric, ‘normal’, someone else’s, doesn’t matter. You get on, you can ‘go anywhere’!

So we’re always keen on Lila and Joey riding bikes. We bought them bikes a couple of years ago, we got them lessons to ride them and we love them on them. Even though Joey has issues with the process. As he does with any process which involves listening to people. But he’ll get there. Lila is proficient. And they’ve now outgrown their bikes. So this afternoon we’re all going to Halfords for new bikes. It’s Lila’s birthday on Wednesday and Joey’s next month, so we’re getting biked up. I promised Lila that she could have… ‘gears’!!! Because I remember how big a deal that was for me. So Joey will have gears too, obviously.

And I reckon I’m more exited than either of the kids about this.

Happy bike day

A xxxx

The foot is fine. Thanks for asking. So fine, I’ve forgotten about it. And I forgot today when I played tennis. In the glorious sunshine (good thing) and the howling winds (bad thing). The arctic temperatures we can cope with (indifferent thing, but shrivelled testicles is a bad thing).

And feeling young and fit and fabulous (DON’T LOOK IN THE MIRROR!!! EVERRRR!!!), I opened the mail to find my driving license renewal application. From HIS Majesty’s government, no less. I’ve had my license for almost 53 years. Same one, other than when they did the photo thing. Why do I need another one? Because when you get to 70, the driving authorities in our fine nation start to think along the lines of: “is it in any way possible that the person who passed his driving test at 17 may have, in some small way, changed at all, by the time he reaches 70? Like, physically, mentally, healthwise? Is he now prone to blackouts, have both his legs been removed surgically, can he still count backwards from 10 without dribbling down his shirt?? Has he died?? Can’t go allowing dead people to drive. Vampires and undead have to answer special section: DVLA 14.6.293G, only available in the hours of darknesss.”

Yet rather than actually call you in, check your eyesight, maybe a brief physical, ensure that your mobile oxygen tank can fit into your car along with your nurse and carer, they just ask you. “Can you see OK?”, great, we’ll tick that then. “Do you suffer more than three epileptic episodes between home and Brent Cross?”, no, great. “Do you drive a car with hundreds of horse-powers even though your speed of reaction is now measured in glacial time?”, no problem. “Do you remember what a car is?”, well, mental health seems great too then. It’s what we call ‘self assessment’. You just ‘do-it-yourself’. Or guess. Or just lie. No difference.

The entire process takes approximately 4 minutes on the online portal.

The process of proving your identity to allow this to happen, takes 14 hours, 3 apps, 14 photo downloads, half a dozen ‘selfies’ and scanning the mole patterns of your left calf.

As you know, I am in the peak of physical health and vitality. In fact, I have been described by some (me, mainly, possibly Mel if she needs something really badly) as ‘perfect’. The only difference between me now and me at 17 is that I know more. And forget more. And ache more. And… forgotten. But I hate old people driving. They wear hats. In the car, FFS. And they adhere to speed limits. Which is quite frankly ludicrous, obstructive and a waste of time.

They should be calling people in at 60 for an eye test. Just a visual scan if nothing else. 20 seconds. To avoid having the roads filled with blind septuagenarians wearing their wife’s glasses to reverse. Check mental health. Speed of reflex. but they don’t. They’d rather develop really ridiculous and difficult tests just to prove you are who you say you are, then let you drive in any condition whatsoever, just because you say you’re ok.

And they wonder why driving standards are dropping.

Happy Saturday

A xxxx

Meta and Google have been found guilty of making kids addicted to ‘social media’. So fuck Meta and Google. They can afford the law suit which surely won’t amount to much more than… 5 million quid times… every kid in America plus… lawyer’s fees… errrrr… about 537 billion dollars. Plus change. Because the floodgates are open. The ‘Bill-Gates’ as they’ll now be known in this context. The American legal profession will be at every school in the land signing up kids for the class action suits, know here as either ‘Class 4B action’ or ‘Giraffe Class Action’, depending on the State concerned. In Mississippi it’s the Martin Luther King Class Action.

Firstly, for the defence. How do you apportion the fuck-uppage-ness of a kids mental state? Into what would normally occur in any teenager, and what is the ‘sole responsibility’ of social media input? How do you work that out? And much as I’m no fan of social media channels… other than WhatsApp which IS THE MOST IMPORTANT THING IN MY LIFE!!!, kids are desperate to get on them. To ‘follow’ the same fucking imbeciles on Insta as everyone else does. To ‘conform’ as kids ALWAYS want to do. If these kids overdo their exposure, is that down to Mark Zuckerberg? Or their parents? More difficult is the ‘addiction’ bit. Which really is the key word here; the case was not about the evils of social media, that would be longest case ever, but specifically, that ‘they go out of their way to get kids addicted’. And definitions of ‘addiction’ aside, this is where I have to switch and make the case for the plaintiff.

Firstly, Meta and Google KNOW that kids under 13 are using their platforms. But do nothing about it. They get paid for high numbers of users, why would they reduce that willingly? But worse still, much more cynical, is Big Tech’s use of algorithms. Its ability to ‘know’, based on past usage, exactly what pushes each kid’s buttons and presenting them with precisely what they love seeing. Gambling sites use the same thing. Give the users exactly what they want, time and again, to keep them coming back. And whether that is ‘clever marketing’ or ‘cynical exploitation leading to addiction’ is the valid question of our times. But gambling sites are legally prevented from dealing with kids, whereas the Tech dudes are given much more leeway. They can only ‘try’ to detect underage users. And they obviously don’t try very hard. Much as they don’t with self harm issues, Manosphere promotions, suicide assistance, toxic pornography and a host of other ‘lovelies’.

The question then comes as to how much screen time should your kids have? The kids’ answer would be ‘as much as I could possibly get’ whereas grownups feel differently. And yet…

Often don’t exactly ‘lead by example’. If parents seem less obsessed with their phones, perhaps the kids wouldn’t become excessive users themselves. Possibly if parents left phones aside when reading to kids, doing homework with them, picking them up from school, playing with them, maybe the kids wouldn’t be constantly turning this ‘wonderful thing’ into something iconic and magical. Just maybe.

Or, we can fuck up the kids and get 5 mil each from Zuckerberg? What do ya reckon?

Happy Friday

A xxxx