Andy's Glasses

There’s a lot of issues about the Iran war. I mean, petrol went up, FFS, and no-one wants that. We’re strapped for oil, inflation’s rising and there seems no possibility to a ‘meaningful’ end to the war. Ok, Trump ‘extended’ the ceasefire at the 11th hour, as he fairly consistently does. As would any sensible person who has no idea where the fuck its going or what the hell he’s doing there.

But we do know what Israel is doing there. I’m no fan of Benyamin Netanyahu. But I’d want him on my team in times of crisis. And Israel is in crisis and has been for many years. Southern Israel and Northern Israel would resemble Gaza and Beirut if they didn’t have a missile protection system. They’d have been levelled years ago by the incessant missile attacks from Hamas in the south aallnd Hezbollah in the north. I don’t know how many liberal Brits marched every week to protest the schools and kibbutzim and hospitals in Israel which were constantly under potential bombardment, but I never received an invitation.

So for Israel, ‘doing something about Iran’ is not an opportunistic attack on an old enemy. It is a fight for its very survival and existence. Which is threatened daily by Hamas, Hezbollah and now the Houthis too, all ‘proxies’ of Iran. Funded, armed and organised by Tehran and its hateful regime.

Therefore, however Netanyahu managed to get Trump to ‘join him’ in the attack, was clever, probably devious, would have to have been made to be ‘Trump’s idea’ and explains why Benyamin is happy to receive the odd ‘slap on the wrist’ from Mr Prez.

And, because its now apparently almost morally illegal to be a Zionist in this country, the attack has been widened to just Jews. All and any of ’em.

Because Iran’s pledge, echoed by the Hamas charter, is not just to destroy Israel, but to get rid of the world’s Jews. To which end a really nice organisation called by the catchy name of Harakat Ashab al-Yamin al-Islamia, has claimed responsibility for the recent arson attacks on Jewish ‘things’ in north London. It would appear they ’employ’ total fucking morons, who can’t spell ‘ideology’, let alone embrace one, to go around petrol bombing synagogues, Jewish buildings, even possibly ambulances, ‘for the IRGC!!!’ How can they afford all that petrol at today’s prices??

I’m not sure if Green Party local candidate in Bournemouth, Feda Shahin, is employed directly by the Ayatollah, but she reckons “Zionists have killed 20 million Christians and are trying to control the world”. I’m a Zionist but, to my knowledge, haven’t killed any Christians. If I did I’d get a little cross tattoo under my eye. Though by Shahin’s reckoning I’d pretty soon run out of face. And as for controlling the world? I can barely control my own bladder.

Happy Wednesday

A xxxx

We listen to the news, we hear about the ‘energy crisis’, yet we pooh-pooh the very concept of ‘renewable energy’ as something we’ll consider when we need it, we burn oil and gas for all we’re worth and we laugh when we hear of countries having programmed power cuts to conserve power. Basically; we just take it for granted. Plug it in and turn it on. What could go wrong?

Well today I had a taste of doomsday. A brief insight into the world that, ‘Eye-ran deals or no-deals’ notwithstanding, we may soon be entering.

My power was turned off at work. It was ‘planned’, so two scruffs from UK Power could change a little box. Not just any ‘little box’ but the one wot brings electricity to my building. Because the old little box (no idea of its official description, but its important) had gone manky and horrid and, allegedly, potentially dangerous. So I spoke to ‘elf’n’safety’ (me) who contacted HR (me) and it was put to the board (more me) and voted, 1-nil, to replace the box. And whilst they did it; the power was off.

About 45 minutes of no power.

No computers. No phones (they’re digital and run on the wifis, which you don’t get without power). Same with the credit card terminal; can’t authorise without the router. I was charging my bike; that went off. And my phone, and that went off too. Can’t make tea. That’s a big one. Oh, or do any work. In any meaningful way.

And as we sat shivering heatlessly in the dark, twiddling our thumbs, I thought; this is what life was like, just after the Stone Age. When humans built houses and buildings but didn’t yet have anything to do in them as they waited for electricity to be invented just a few centuries later, so they could charge their… errrr… swords. And axes. Yes.

We could have built a fire to sit round, providing heat and light, but the fucking mess would have been terrible and indoor bonfires are banned. Due to what happened in Pudding Lane in 1666.

The power returned. The scruffs departed. Everything turned back on; we’d stepped (literally) out of the dark ages back to 21st century normal.

I went straight to Robert Dyas and bought a roof-top windfarm, three solar panels and a diesel powered generator. In case the little box needs replacing again. Though there’s no wind, the sun’s not shining and my diesel is stuck in the Straits of Hormuz!!!

Happy Monday

A xxxx

One resorts to poetry when mere words strung together won’t suffice,
In matters of love and sorrow, broken hearts and departures from this life.
Like Country and Western, with dead dogs excluded, but without the silly hats,
and obviously no line-dancing to make them look like twats,

Outpourings of a devastated soul and shattered dreams sound better if they rhyme
Or football match victories ripped mercilessly away in the depths of extra time.
Its that feeling of ‘I’ll never get over this’, something deep with boundless sorrow,
Which won’t feel any better when you wake up on every tomorrow.

And so to yesterday, in the game at White Hart Lane,
When Brighton came a’striding, to play the beautiful game.
They were the ‘best team in the league’, measured on current form,
And strutted onto the pitch with winning as their norm.

And let’s be honest, Spurs have not been playing ‘very well’,
An understatement of such magnitude, it makes anxiety swell.
But heh!, there’s a new manager come to make it all better,
a funny little Italian wrapped up in a dark blue sweater.

He’s worked his magic elsewhere, ironically first at Brighton
Then at Marseilles where he was also pretty right on.
And this was his time, to raise the spirits, lift his sorry team above the gloom
Something we all know, cannot come a moment too soon.

With a future in ‘the Championship’ looking very beckoning,
Our little Roberto faced his true day of reckoning.
The last manager lasted for an entire 9 awful games
Would di Zerbi be added to that tragic list of names??

But he plays stylish football, attacking to a man
With flair and flow and excitement, the players ran and ran.
And scored a goal, a beautiful thing, headed by Pedro Porro
The fans were immediately elevated from all their previous sorrow.

But just before half time a tragedy didst occur
A volley from a Brighton player, so hard it was just a blur.
Yet onwards did Spurs play, for once not giving up
Playing their hearts out as if in the final of a cup

To be magnificently rewarded, late on in the game
By a goal of such exquisite quality, a masterpiece by any name.
The crowd went wild, the joy was just unbounded,
Starved as they were by a victory the cheering loudly sounded.

And then the tragedy occurred, in the late stages of extra time,
A defensive error, an horrendous mistake, by a player playing so fine,
I won’t say who this was, its sad, I just can’t apportion blame,
But if you’re interested, KEVIN DANSO, is his fucking name.

Brighton scored, the match was drawn, 2 points mercilessly stolen
The players hung their heads, their hearts were truly broken.
As they stripped off their shirts, down to their vests of Lycra,
Thinking of next year, swapping their Ferraris for a Nissan Micra.

But is us, the poor, poor fans, who really shoulder the suffering,
The anxst, the agony, the waiting, like watching a computer buffering
Because whatever happens next, its only us who remain
We have to stay positive, which is easy, if you’re insane.

Happy ‘woe is me’ Sunday

A xxxx

Ok, we’ve got a great candidate here for a really top job. You need someone with a proven track record, oodles of charisma and no skeletons in the closet. Well, with this guy, nothing’s in the closet, he came out years ago. But he has everything we need to be Britain’s top overseas representative. A man our nation can be proud of in every respect. But first, obviously, he’ll have to be thoroughly ‘vetted’. And we here at the Foreign Office use the finest of… errrr… vets, to do it. No stone left unturned. If he’s ever even so much as passed one single joint across a room without even smoking it, never mind ‘inhaling’ or not, we’ll find it. Anything untoward, illicit, illegal, immoral (other than being a poof, if you see things that way), or just mildly ‘tainted’ and we’ll find it and that’s it.

So we have Peter Mandelson. Best friends with a convicted paedophile. Thought to have been instrumental in his ‘husband’ acquiring beneficial business loans’ from said paedophile billionaire. We haven’t found ‘membership of Al Quaeda’ yet, but its only a matter of time. And there’s also the very questionable taste in underpants.

Thus, the alleged ‘vetting process’ did indeed find lots of questionable events in Mr Mandelson’s life. So many that he’d struggle to get a job as a teaching assistant in Charlton-with-Newbottle, let alone be the UK Ambassador to Washington.

So we’ll tell the PM that Mandelson has indeed been vetted, within an inch of his life, and that ‘all checks have been completed’ and all that shit, BUT… we won’t mention that he failed miserably and got the lowest score since Fred West and Gary Glitter. We’ll just say ‘all the tests have been done’, full stop. Don’t mention the result.

Which the Prime Minister, or his team, or any of the collective squad of dickheads we loosely call ‘government’, duly accepted as gospel, even though they all knew of the Mandelson/Epstein link.

“But I didn’t know!!!!”, cried a desperate Kier Starmer. “No-one told me!!! Its all because of the civil service failures!!!”

So our hapless, hopeless, clueless Prime Minister threw under the nearest bus the head of the Foreign Office, Sir Olly Robbins. The elected ‘fall guy’. So that everyone thinks the PM didn’t do anything wrong. Or was neglectful in any way. Couldn’t possibly have known ANYTHING!!! about the whole affair.

This will restore Kier’s popularity in the polls. Give us all loads of confidence in the man.

Phew, I’m glad that’s all over now. Nothing more to see here. Let’s move on.

Can’t we?

Happy Friday

A xxxx

Red-heads are taking over. It’s not a quick thing, it moves at glacial time, but ginger hair is increasing in frequency. I know how relieved everyone feels knowing that. Which is why a Harvard study spent umpteen fucking years and countless billions of dollars (not mine, fortunately; I’m neither a benefactor of Harvard nor a red-head) conducting DNA tests on as many dug-up human remains, going as far back as they could, and checking for the ‘ginger-gene’. Which also, apparently, makes you more prone to coeliac disease where you’re allergic to wheat germ.

So red hair, and its associated pale skin (same genome set), is evolving in humans. It is evolution, occurring over 40,000 years, so it’s not like everyone in the world is going to wake up next Tuesday with a ginger mane. But for a trait to increase over a significant time, that, my friend, is ‘evolution’ at work. That’s how it works.

So why would red hair be evolutionarily successful if it’s accompanied by an auto-immune disease? Traits are carried forward in reproduction and the more copies of the genome survive, the more successful it is. ‘Bad genes’ carrying diseases generally don’t ‘succeed’ in evolution because so many carriers die without reproducing. It’s all about reproducing. Nothing else. In coining: ‘Survival of the fittest’, Darwin was not talking about tattooed, pumped-up narcissists in the gym or ultra-marathon runners. He was talking about reproductive fitness and nothing else. The more copies of a gene that are made, the more successful it is. End of.

Evolutionary Theory is the Science of Shagging.

Therefore, ginger birds get shagged more than blondes, brunettes and mousys. It is proven, analysed, quantified and is statistically significant. I know, it’s hard to believe when you think of Ed Sheeran, Prince Harry or Fergie, but the numbers don’t lie. If all ginger-tops looked like Jessica Chastain I could understand it, but there ya go. Part of life’s rich tapestry. The red-heads are taking over.

Whilst over in Munich, last night, there was a football match. Bayern played Real Madrid. Champions League quarter final. And if there has ever been a better football match I don’t think I’ve seen it. Other than the 1970 World Cup final. It was simply brilliant. Both teams just outstanding. Harry Kane scored; nothing unusual there; it was his 50th goal this season. And however shitty the Bundesliga might be (and it is) that is still a massive achievement for ‘our’ Harry. Bayern won but… wow. Just… wow. So pleased I’m a lifelong fan of Bayern Munich rather than a wrist-slitter at Tottenham.

Happy Thursday

A xxxx

Yesterday, Lord Robertson, the former head of Nato, made a speech. He spoke in Scottish. But in any fucking language, the message was the same. We’re fucked. Britannia no longer rules the waves. With current government, it barely rules itself. And ‘ruling the waves’ would not protect us from missiles and bombs anyway. We’d be hoisting the mains’ls in the Channel whilst Moscow is firing nukes at St Paul’s Cathedral. If we had any boats to hoist them on. Which we don’t.

Robertson knows about defence. He was the only NATO secretary general to ever invoke the rule that ‘if one NATO nation is attacked, we all defend’, and that was after the 9/11 attack on New York.

And yet we’ve reached a point where America, about 90% of NATO in terms of things like soldiers, planes, tanks, missiles, ya’know, war-stuff, is threatening to pull out of the alliance. Which, in theory, would leave Europe vulnerable should Putin ever decide to attack it. We’d be dependent on the ‘good will’ of America to defend us. Like they did in the last World War, but might not choose to again.

So George Robertson pointed out that should such an event happen; we’d be fucked. Royally. We can’t defend ourselves. Not saying its all Kier Starmer’s fault, because decades of defence underfunding have left us in a somewhat ‘Dad’s Army’-ish type position. Five parts ancient weaponry; 5 parts farce. But Starmer has to shoulder a lot of the blame. Basically, because he’s a nob. And is so wedded to his party’s obsession with increasing benefits for everyone who needs them or can’t be bothered to work, that there is insufficient funding left to buy a new boat for the navy. Or missiles. Planes.

We just better be nice to Putin for the next 15, maybe 20 years until we can afford to defend a Russian attack.

British Airways, the world’s most unreliable airline, have cancelled our flights to Israel in September. Antisemites! So we’re looking for an alternative little break. Discussing various options. Then yesterday Mel said:
“I had an idea for September”
“Yeah; what?”, I inquired, rather rudely.
“I thought we could drive over to-”
“YES!!! I love it! Let’s do it!”
“Oh, well, I thought to Le Touquet in France, maybe Deauville too”.
“Great!! Wherever. Let’s go!”

She had me at ‘drive’. I love a road trip. As my daughter told someone a few years ago when asked where we’d gone, she replied: ‘dad’s taken his car on holiday and mum’s gone with’.

Happy Wednesday

A xxxx

There’s a terrible man; really horrible little man, probably the worst man in the world. He runs a country, he’s a terrible dictator in his little country, has total control. There’s no democracy, he rules everybody, pushes them around. Its an awful place, really awful. Terrible. They exclude women from most of the life there, you can’t even get proper strippers there. Terrible place. The whole population lives in fear of this guy, crazy situation. They have to bow down to him all the time, they abuse children, a terrible place. Probably the worst place in the world. So I think, once I’ve sorted out the Iran problem, which is really over now, they’ve caved in, we’ve won the war, they’re begging to do a deal; ok, not the last deal but a deal. They know they’re beaten. They just don’t know it yet. Then they’ll know. But once Iran’s dealt with, I’m going to start on Vatican City. I know they have an army there, I’ve seen them. A bunch’a kids holding spears and wearing dresses. They claim to be ‘Swiss’, but they’re not. They’re Vatican people. We need regime change there. That guy in the white hat, he just has to go. He’s like an Italian Ayatollah. Claims to be American but that’s just fake news. So all I’m gonna say is: LOOK OUT VATICAN CITY; I’M COMIN’ FOR YOU NEXT!

Because if you think about it; the world simply doesn’t need Catholics. The only restraint Trump has is that are more of them than there are Republicans. All the Hispanics, who turned the last election in his favour, don’t take lightly to their leader portraying himself as The Lord and Saviour. They see it as blasphemy. I don’t. I see it as a moronic tosser with a messiah complex. Don claimed ‘it was meant to be me as a doctor; healing the sick’. Although, short of an actual halo, maybe a stigmata or two, this AI constructed picture was essentially ‘Jesus as a fat fuck with a comb-over’. But Don put it out there on his site. He loved it. But did he just love the whole idea of that image? Or was he just winding up the Pope, who is no friend of DJT? Either way, it was pretty fucking stupid. Pretty fucking Trump.

Take a hard hat if you visit Rome.

Happy Tuesday

A xxxx

My life is ruined. My head is awash with doom, gloom and has no room for stupid alliterations, or anything else. I don’t care that Donald Trump is going to blockade the Straits of Hormuz to prevent Iran from blockading the Straits of Hormuz. I have no interest in Viktor Orban being deposed after 16 years of his almost dictatorship in Hungary. Even Zendaya is the furthest thing from my mind. Grandchildren? Nyeh; no enthusiasm. Its all gone to shit.

Because Spurs managed to lose yesterday. Again. And for losing we get… nil point (say that the French way. For effect.)

Whereas our contestants in the ‘avoid relegation stakes’, both managed to increase their respective point holdings. Making it just that much harder for us to avoid the drop. Which every Spurs fan now sees as inevitable.

But heh; let’s try to be optimistic! Let’s look at the ‘pos-i-tives’, steer towards the ‘bright side’ (from the deep, most solid, DAAAAARRKNESS).

We only lost one player to injury in the whole game. And even though he’s our captain and a World Cup winner, and he’s very pretty, HE’S A FUCKING LIABILITY AS SOON AS HE WALKS ON THE PITCH!!! So Romero injured means we stand more chance of finishing our remaining games with 11 players on the pitch. That’s a ‘plus’.

We didn’t sack the manager. Yet. He survived his first match. Lost it, like all his predecessors, though remains in his job. Well done Roberto. I’m not sure whether we’re going to ‘love you’ yet, or just haven’t built up sufficient hatred, but you’re here, that’s the main thing.

And this ‘little issue’ may cure us of our arrogant, gloaty, horrible, ‘best stadium in the world’, ‘big-team’ mentality which, if I’m honest, makes us a rather unappealing bunch. When Arsenal lose to Bournemouth and appear to be losing their grip on the title which had seemed to be ‘theirs’ for virtually all the season, we should be offering sympathy to them. We should be consoling their fans, who are our friends, our neighbours, our brothers and sisters under the Lord Jesus Christ. Not sniggering. Not high-fiving. Not enjoying it!!! in any way.

The time for humility is now. Compassion. Understanding.

Ok, we’ll delay all that until after the City match next Sunday. Then we’ll become ‘nice’.

Miserable Monday

A xxxx

I can be subject to accusations of occasional exaggeration. Which in turn could be described as hyperbole. Particularly when football is concerned. Because, quite frankly, every match is ‘the most important game of the seaon’, otherwise it’s not worth playing. Ok, that rules out England friendlies because they’re shit and no one cares about the result except the manager. And I have been known, on occasion, to describe a match as ‘the most important ever played anywhere in the entire known, and unknown, universe’.

Well today’s match at Sunderland has become just that. No more hyperbole, not a hint of exaggeration, THIS IS IT. The game to decide Spurs’ future. And for the purposes of this debate; ‘future’ starts in August. And may be once more, at the ‘top table’, sharing the glory with the elite of the game. Or it may be consigned to the ‘lower leagues’ of hoofers, hackers, butchers, bankrupts and has-beens, ‘down there’ in the Championship.

Because West Ham’s win on Friday elevated them. Not just in league position but in confidence, in belief in themselves, in the hope that it is within their own power to avoid relegation. Something our new manager needs to instil into my team of the dire, the depressed, the injured and those with ‘mental health issues’ which have prevented us achieving our goals this year. Prevented scoring our goals this year. In any meaningful way.

So we are, at the moment of writing this, in ‘the drop zone’. If the league ended today, we’d be relegated. Worse still, Arsenal would be crowned champions. So, fortunately on all counts, the season is not ending today. So we still have time, theoretically, to ‘pull ourselves out of the mire’. Arsenal still have time to ‘properly bottle it’, a process that started a few weeks ago and burst into new life yesterday as they lost at home to Bournemouth. Both of these events are now inextricably linked in the minds of all the fans of both clubs. ‘Compassion’ is low on the scale of feelings when football rivalry is concerned. Whereas gloating is high. Schadenfreude stays in top position. For some, it’s the only enjoyment we get.

So there may be future games, as there have been in the past, which have been ‘the most important game ever played anywhere in the universe’, but none will surpass today’s game at Sunderland. I want you to remember that.

GOD HELP US!!!! Sunday

A xxxx

Power corrupts. Unless its at Battersea Power Station because they don’t make it there any more. They used to. Then they abandoned it. Forever. But if 24 hours is a long time in politics, ‘forever’ is a very short term in property development. (I’m going to mix in a few more metaphors to create a proper stew of them. Make it even more confusing.)

So the power station was empty and they were going to knock it down but… it was probably listed. Which it should be because its a fabulous building and those 2 chimneys are totally iconic, even though it looks like one is growing out of my head, like a mal-formed unicorn. They can’t knock it down, even though it sits right on the river, in about 5 acres of primo-valuable residential space. So they left it standing and developed the whole area around it and did an internal re-fit to convert the upper parts into expensive flats. The lower parts became a shopping mall.

Which is why, even though they opened it about 5 years ago, I’ve never been there. And they not only re-opened it, they built 2 new tube stations to extend the Northern Line right into its plug-hole. So people can start their shopping as they’re getting off the tube!

Its a very very upmarket shopping mall. Not an Asda, Aldi or Primark in sight. They don’t do Greggs nor KFC. What they do is… poncey. Its a bit like walking through Terminal 5 ‘duty free’ at Heathrow. With the Louis Vuittons and Watches of Switzerland and upmarket eateries and coffee fraps for 6 quid, and a candle for £65, but its nicer than Heathrow. They should say that on their advertising. ‘Nicer than Heathrow Airport’. ‘And just as unaffordable’.

Its essentially: everything I hate. Basically: shops. And if that’s not bad enough, add a few thousand tourists into the mix. There was a Levis shop, so obviously I bought a pair, otherwise its all about being on the outside. The fab building, the River right there, the open spaces and lovely little boulevards. And coffee shops. The acceptable face of shops.

Happy Friday

A xxxx