Andy's Glasses

I experienced 2 crises last night.

The second was ‘the cost of living’ crisis. I read the other day that pre-covid the cost of fish’n’chips (our NATIONAL DISH, ffs, it should be subsidised, or free or available on the NHS) was average £6.43. Whereas now the average is £14 and change. But that’s not in Toffs in Muswell Hill. Do you know Toffs? You should familiarise yourself with it. They do make ‘the best fish’n’chips’. Along with all the other ‘best fish’n’chips’ you get, like at Rick Stein in Padstow, or the Magpie in Whitby. There’s a limit on how ‘best’ that meal can be. But Toffs reached that limit 50 years ago and it’s still the best around. Well, best around here. So when I went to pay, for four haddock and two chips (each ‘large chips’ could feed a family of 7; they use a shovel), the till read £73.20. For take away fish’n’chips. COME ON ANDY BURNHAM; YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE SORTING THIS OUT. HOW’S A MAN S’POSED TO EAT???

However, that was preceded by ‘the first crisis’. The one which occurred at White Hart Lane in the hours preceding fish’n’chips-gate.

We played Newcastle. A team who, like us (on a very good day), run ‘hot and cold’. They can be brilliant, they can be shit. But when they come to the Lane they’re always brilliant. Won here on the last 3 visits. Including yesterday.

It shouldn’t have been like that. We’ve had a brilliant transfer window, spending 300 million on sheer class. We even bought Newcastle’s best player. We brought back players injured last season, like Kudus, and we have a super (quite) new manager who we love. Ok, we love them all. Just not normally for very long. Plus we have Andy Robertson, who I’ve long admired, the man who captained the really (un-)successful Scotland team at the World Cup!!!

So it was all in place. Everything. All our ducks in a row. On paper; this was a great team. Certainly one capable of beating Newcastle.

Unfortunately, the Geordies hadn’t read our script and had the audacity to bring their own.

There were times when we played really well. Whilst managing never to quite look very threatening. We never seemed dangerous. So Newcastle just sat back, soaked up the mediocre pressure and took advantage of a couple of ‘breaks’. And that was it. 2-0 to them. Whilst Spurs fans the world over couldn’t help but think “ ‘ere we go again”.

But we must ‘take positives’ from this match. This loss. This seeming disaster. Paint it in a more positive light. Use it as a ‘springboard for optimism’!! Yes! That sounds like things Spurs fans are really good at. Along with ‘patience’ and ‘tolerance’.

We lost 2 nil. And that is ‘one’ better than last week when we lost 3 nil!!! So we’re improving! And in fact we’re so much better than last week’s total shit-show that we can actually buy into at least a bit of that. And the team are still ‘finding each other’. That does take time. Just, hopefully, not too much time.

So there ya go. Another (fucking!!!!) crisis. But this one temporary. We can still win the league. We’re bottom of the table, but they never used to even bother with a league table until 3 matches anyway, so it just doesn’t count. I feel optimistic. I feel I’m taking positives. I feel not in any way despondent or depressed and the bruises on my head are NOT from banging it repeatedly against the wall during yesterday’s game. I was too busy being positive for that shit.

Right, time to go and get some more fish’n’chips’. And take more meds. Lots more.

Happy Sunday

A xxxx

What is wrong with all those fucking Canadians? Ok, so they’ve been ‘independent’ since 1867, but that was independence from us. From me. From the British. But were they ever really independent from America? The relationship has been symbiotic. It has worked really well for 150 years. Until along came…

Donald Trump.

He wants Canada. Well, it’s ‘attached’ to his country, which is more than Hawaii or Alaska are. And thus, like Mexico, becomes ‘just part of America’ in geographical terms. Hence the Gulf of Mexico is now the ‘Gulf of America’. Similarly, as of Thursday, Lake Ontario has now become Lake America. As it should be. Because… well, because it should be.

So why aren’t these pesky Canucks just prostrating themselves before the inevitable force from below? They sound like Americans anyway. Why don’t they just embrace their inner Yanks and fall into Donald’s open arms? They could become the 51st state, unless Greenland beats them, start using ‘proper’ dollars and get rid of that ridiculous French shit which they can’t speak properly, to the point of linguistic abuse. Then ‘the state of Canada’ would be like… Texas. But bigger. Much, much bigger. It would enjoy all the benefits of statehood. Like… errrrr… like central taxation along with state taxes. Like… having their own designer license plates on their cars. And they could once more afford to drink Kentucky Bourbon and Milwaukee beer. Massive improvements to Canadian life.

Whilst America would get to claim all those ice hockey players as ‘their own’. And get all the mineral wealth Canada has. And reduced ski rates on Whistler mountain. It would also get a lot of bears. Both brown and polar! And tourists could visit New York and Toronto with just one visa!

So stop being so fucking Canadian!!! about it and join America. And Donald!

Because once he has Canada and Mexico he can start on Nicaragua, Belize, Guatemala, as they’ll be on the new ‘southern border’. And for the north, he can extend to… Siberia. Oh. Might be a slight problem there. Of a, sort of, nuclear nature.

Putin is a total bastard scumbag cheat, liar, murderer of his own people. But he knows what he’s doing.
President Xi is an awful, genocidal dictator and repressor of the masses. But HE knows what he’s doing.
Donald Trump is just plain stupid. He’s a child with the world’s biggest playroom. He is a moron. And he really hasn’t a clue what he’s doing.

Whereas Georgia Meloni knows precisely what she’s doing. This week she’ll become (as long as she’s not assassinated before Thursday), the longest serving Italian Prime Minister since the war. If 24 hours is a long time in politics, 4 years is fucking unheard of in Italy’s democratic system. She will overtake Sylvio Berlusconi this week. He had ‘issues’. Of a deviant nature. Which, in any other country would have precluded him from public office, but in Italy, corruption and sexual abuse are perceived as trustworthy characteristics.

But if you can name one other Italian Prime Minister, you win a pizza. Because I can’t. They don’t last more than ten minutes. Name 3 and I’ll put peperoni on it.

Happy (fucking rainy!!!) Saturday,

A xxxx

Please don’t judge me. I am NOT a vegan. Honest. My shoes are leather. On principle. I eat steak tartare. Again, on principle, because I don’t love it.

So you can see, I am a man of principle. The foremost one being: don’t eat it unless it was walking/flying/swimming/crawling (eeeuuuuwww) more than a few days ago (aged beef excepted).

And with an irony common in most carnivores, I really like animals. As in, living, breathing ones. I really like them. They’ve always held a fascination for me. So ‘hitting the jackpot’ for me, many years ago, happened in a South African safari park. We safaried, we saw kudu and springbok and ostrich, in the wild, magnificent, galloping across the veldt in vast herds, then we had a ‘brai’ and ate them all.

But I don’t like the zoo. You get to see animals, but…

Its not right. To see a bear in a little ‘cell’, 20 foot square. Lions in cages. Elephants in… big cages. Its just wrong. They’re not happy. Tigers are made for runnin’, not pacing like convicted murderers. The zoo upsets me. I know, I’m a hypocrite, because I get no upset at a butchers block.

So Lila and Joey took Mel and me down to deepest, darkest Kent to go ‘glamping’ in an animal reserve and ‘safari park’, near Hythe, close to Folkstone. That famously animalistic region of the world.

And there, in Port Lympne (as its called), they have animals in ‘enclosures’ the size of small parks. And an amazing selection of animals at that. To see, not to eat. Unfortunately. But lions, tigers, bears, red pandas, all manner of apes, rhinos, antelope… basically, if it runs across Africa or Asia; they got one. Or some. In families. Mating pairs. Because, like all ‘zoos’, they have to be ‘conservation centres’ where ‘reproduction of endangered species’ is what they’re all about! And NOT busing round families from Bromsgrove, Hartlepool and Clapham in big, open-sided jeeps shouting ‘LOOK MUMMY, A SQUIRREL!!!!’, which happened to scamper into the Leopard enclosure. They even have fucking dinosaurs!!!! Don’t get them in Regents Park Zoo, do ya??

Its a great place. Glamping was… ok. Lila and Joey loved it completely. Mel’s a tougher audience because she couldn’t demand a better room.

But it was fun. Great fun. And the only bad thing about the whole trip is that you have to actually drive through South London to get home. There’s no other way to do it. And it takes fucking hours of agonising, endless traffic. Why couldn’t they just put Kent up near Potters Bar? There’s loads’a room there.

Happy Friday

A xxxx

All the talk is about jobs for the kids. Where they gonna work? How will they compete with AI, particularly if they don’t posses much non-artificial intelligence? Where are the ‘starting jobs’? Which you can’t get without experience, but how you gonna get experience if no-one will employ you? Should you go to university or do an apprenticeship or vocational course instead? Lumber yourself with 95 grands worth of lifelong debt, at the ‘special student government interest rate’ of about 15% per annum (fuckers) to get a 2.2 in Fine Art and Lumberjacking from Newport Pagnell Polytechnic. Or go become a plumber? Mechanic? How about drug dealing, very lucrative, no experience required but ability to shoot a gun will bolster your cv.

Yeah, impossible to even start thinking about solutions for the youth and what Lila and Joey will do for work. Though I could see Lila in construction. And Joey in destruction. But who knows.

I started working at 14. My dad’s mate, a bespoke tailor, needed a ‘Saturday Boy’, as we were known, back in the day. Now the term is ‘Non-specific gender person on a given but unspecified day’. I was a gofer. It was fab. I spent all day walking round Soho picking up buttons and cloth and stuff, ogling in the horrible little ‘sex shops’ for which the area was famous, and talking to the ‘really friendly girls’ who hung out in Berwick Street, wearing very little. The other ‘featured speciality’ of Soho, back in 1970.

I left there eventually, as working in the West End was a commute I tired of. So I went to work in Mr Byrite in Ilford. The most down-market, high fashion chain there ever was. Come in, buy a shirt to wear tonight, it looks fab, sir. Then just throw it away and buy another next week. You wouldn’t wanna try and wash it. Though, obviously, the residents of Ilford weren’t that big on washing things anyway. It was a great job. Lots of guys (about 20 of us on a Saturday; never girls. It was the first ‘toxically masculine’ environment I experienced and it was great to be a part of it, 30 years before Andrew Tait was born).

Then I drove loads of van for various people. I love driving. I love vans. Ish. But it was fun. I delivered displays of watches all over the country. And on weekends I drove a van full of dresses to Petticoat Lane market and back.

I sold double glazing for a year. I can confess now that the statute of limitations has expired. That was an incredible experience. 18 years old and staying in hotels all around the country, selling a (brilliant) product that no-one knew they needed and sharing rooms with other sales-people, often of a contradictory gender. We, basically, shagged our way round the nation making sufficient money that I bought myself a brand new Mini at the end of the year. What’s wrong with that?? Other than… errrrr… the legal and moral implications of the process, perhaps.

And that was my cv until I became an optical person. Though a few years later I arrived in California and, not realising that I could actually work there, I acted like the illegal immigrant I was and pumped gas at a Chevron in Hollywood. The best job I ever had.

Can I clean your windshield?

Happy Working Days

A xxxx

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