Andy's Glasses

Tomorrow is the festival of Passover. And Easter. And as Passover is all about ‘telling the story’, you could, if pushed, combine these two festivals, merge them together. So when the Jews finally flee the horrible, sadistic Pharoah who had enslaved them, you could have Jesus leading them through the Red Sea instead of Moses. It’s a small thing but nicely inclusive. And then kill off Moses and let him get re-born, for a change, just before he brings down the 10 commandments.

I’m not a religious man. But I do like food. So ‘being Jewish’ simply means I get to eat chopped liver more than your average non-Jew. The praying bit I don’t get so exited about. In fact, I avoid it like… well, it is Passover, like (one of) the (10) plague(s). So Passover is always my favourite event of the Jewish calendar. Because it is ALL about food. Ostensibly in a restrictive way, because you can’t eat bread or anything made with flour, for 8 days. But in fact that means some (probably greedy, piggish) proto-Jew got really creative and established a whole ‘gluten-free’ world long before it became the world’s most fashionable allergy. And its all good and fab. We can eat ‘unleavened bread’ all we want. And its ok. In a ‘rock-hard, cardboardy’ kind’a way. But the festival bit is all about the special food and most importantly, its symbolism within ‘the story’.

So you have what’s called ‘the Seder’, where families sit round, tell the story, which we all know, but its gotta be done, of the Jews escape from Egypt, back in the day. And eat. You eat during the telling, bitter herbs to symbolise the bitterness of slavery. Matzo because they didn’t have time to leaven their bread before fleeing, in the pre-Paul-Hollywood days. We eat granite to symbolise building a pyramid, we eat cats because of the Egyptian thing, and we eat humble pie because of the slavery. Please don’t treat much of that literally. But the point is, the food represents the history. And then: we have dinner. And sing a few songs.

They asked for someone to ‘lead the Seder’ at the care home where my dad (97) and Mel’s dad (96) both currently reside. And we thought… well why not? All you need is 12 years of rabbinical study and a degree in Religious History. Or a cheat book. Which I have. I’m thinking changing the ‘symbols’ to ‘cymbals’ so at least it’ll be something they can all hear, and it may keep my dad awake for the duration.

Happy Easter/Pesach

A xxxx

As Boris Johnson becomes the first ever serving Prime Minister of our fine nation to be convicted of a criminal offence, we need to consider the future. Not just the matter of who should be at number 10 but much wider, grander, deeper: the entire structure of politics in Britain. Sorry: …in Britain!!!

So I just wish to make two points:
1. Boris really should resign.
2. Boris ain’t going nowhere.

Legally, morally, politically, Boris should fall on his sword, or better still, have a Julius Caesar moment with the full ‘et tu, Rishi’ as he falls in a puddle of his own blood, as his former allies and comrades sneer at his dying moments, thinking how far this will advance their own careers. And not for having the parties nor for the sheer hypocrisy of setting laws ‘for the nation’ which he chose personally to flaunt. Over 50 times. But his real crime was denying it happened. Lying. That’s, for me, the red line. Boris should not just leave but totally fuck off.

Ironically, the only thing keeping him in his job, allowing him to survive when he has no right, is Kier Starmer.

Because every time you start to think of a Westminster without Boris, the limp and soggy, lacklustre, red-faced twit of an opposition leader, gets his horrible face into a camera to say “he really must go”. And he’s been saying that, and pretty much nothing else, for the last 3 years. He has so overplayed the ‘really must go’ card that it has become meaningless. As does any word or phrase stated 40 times in quick succession. And you think ‘would I ever want that horrible man as the leader of our nation?’ Making Boris’s lying, cheating, disloyalty, bumbling and incompetence seem worth putting up with for just a bit longer.

Starmer’s latest ‘he must go’ was obviously Boris and his Fixed Penalty Notice. But ten minutes before, Sir Kier had been ‘he must go’-ing about Rishi Sunak. Because according to our Labour Party Leader, Rishi just ‘doesn’t get it’. Doesn’t get the cost of living problems, the gas price rises, nothing that poor, probably northern, working people are enduring. Well how could he? He spends his spare time working out how to save every last million quid from the tax man’s claws. So how could the chancellor thus understand the single-parent working mother of six children (from 7 different partners… you do the maths) living in a shoe box in Lincolnshire on 73p a month?!?!

I’d just like to point out that while Sir Kier Starmer QC has never been guilty of having sufficient billions to worry about tax avoidance, nor the wherewithal to investigate such a thing, he is about 36,000 miles from ‘poor’. He was a barrister. A QC. Then the Director of Public Prosecutions (not a very good one). He made a lot of money. Not Sunak/Murty millions but plenty. Enough that he personally will not worry about his electricity usage. Does that mean he ‘doesn’t get it’ either? Does he really believe that only the poor can understand the horrors of poverty? That no-one with a positive bank balance has any empathy? In which case, he ‘can’t get it’ either. Such a tosser.

Happy Wednesday

A xxxx

I think we need to give Akshata Murty a bit of a break. Poor thing. Ok, rich thing. But she’s having a really really bad time at the moment, to such an extent that her husband, Rishi Sunak’s political aspirations are being called into question. And this is Crown Prince Rishi, heir to the throne currently sat upon by Blonde Boris’s fat arse. The very man who started his bid for Prime Minister by throwing 70 billion quid at the population in furlough payments. It’s hard to be more heroic and loved than that. And yet that was yesterday. Today, we fucking hate Rishi for being a lousy husband to a stinking rich, tax-avoiding billionairess who fucking hates England, never wants to live here and has robbed the NHS of MILLIONS!!! If your uncle Reg is currently on a waiting list for a new hip, it is HER FUCKING FAULT!!!

So we need to act in a more equivocal and less reactionary manner as we consider Ms Murty. In the name of fairness.

Is it a crime to pay less tax than you have to? Which is what she did by using her ‘non-dom’ status to pay tax earned in India for her Indian earnings. Even though she lives here. Is that wrong? She saved £2million a year by doing that and still had to survive on the 7/8 million left over. Plus her husband’s earnings and the overseas trust funds. But she has to pay for her gas’n’lectric too, ya know. Fill up the car; well, she has people to do it for her but someone’s gotta pay!

Is it a crime that her non-dom declaration states that ‘she lives in India and has NO intention to settle permanently in the UK’? And hubby wants to live at number 10. Ok, not permanently, our democracy doesn’t work like that. Unless there’s a divorce in the future which we don’t know about. Because we like our possible PMs to live here. Call me old fashioned. But not just live here, but be committed to the UK. Not possibly view it as one of so many places we may choose to live. California? Mumbai? London? Ahhhh, so many choices. Even Rishi’s Green Card, which he gave up just before becoming chancellor, commits him to living in America.

Yet none of this is a crime. Everything’s legal and above board.

Rishi Sunak has told us that we need to pay more tax. For the country. For the NHS. Because we need to pay back for the pandemic. We have emptied the pot and its going to hurt to refill it. And to state that, sincerely, whilst finding personal loopholes to avoid the impact personally, is not a crime either. Its just a bit hypocritical and not very nice. Wherever Akshata chooses pay her tax, at whatever preferential rate, its safe to say she won’t be poor.

Terrible political judgment aside, the only real ‘crime’ they’ve committed is to be exceptionally rich.

Happy Monday

A xxxx

There’s bad weeks, bad weeks, and then this week. Holy shit. However, due to reporting constraints imposed upon me by the International Board of People Wot make up shit and present it as news, I can’t actually give a full report of the Sunak/Murty affair, until the Inland Revenue, the CIA and Tescos Clubcards give me expressed permission to fabricate something nasty. Not that I could possibly make up anything nastier or more sordid than what they’ve done. And in case you’re in any doubts, this is the most vicious hatchet-job ever perpetrated on a serving politician. The timing, the extent of it and the amazing details of so much international financial and tax arrangements are an onslaught of positively Putinian proportions.

So I need another bad week. Something different. Suffering of even greater magnitude than that of our Chancellor and his Mrs. And there is just such a tale. The also tragic and devastating woes of Arsenal football Club. And if, after you learn of the events unfolding over the last 7 days in Emirate-land, N7, your eyes are still dry, then YOU HAVE NO HEART. Even the eyes of the most ardent of Spurs fans will be greatly moistened. But possibly from laughter. Which is cruel. Yet totally understandable.

Before last weekend, the mighty Arsenal were on a wave of victories. Which had left them comfortably in 4th place in the league, a good 3 points above Spurs with a superior goal difference. In fact, according to Arsenal fans, with superior EVERYTHING. Spurs, beat Newcastle 5-1 with style, class, aplomb and other words meaning ‘fuckin brilliant!!!’ Thus did Spurs overtake Arsenal in the table, on goal difference.

But Arsenal went to Crystal Palace, intent on reclaiming their rightful place. But played the wrongful game and fucked up royally, losing 3-nil. And then… yesterday happened!

Arsenal played first. An ‘easy game’ against Brighton, a team great to watch but poor at actually winning the games they tend to dominate. But yesterday they did win. Some say ‘rather easily’, I make no judgments. Unless I have to.

So the stage was set as Spurs kicked off, later, at Villa Park. Where Stevie Gerrard had instructed his team, via an interpreter, to play some football but first and foremost KICK THE SHIT OUT OF SPURS!!! And they headed the manager’s instructions. It was horrible, nasty and violent. But my heroic team stood the test and ran out the first half 1-nil up due to a fab goal from an even fabber defensive cock-up. And then came the second half. By which time Villa had become tired due to all the kicking, punching and elbowing they’d done in the first half and Spurs just… just… just… aaaaahhhhhhh…

We were so good, so cool, so clinical, so… brilliant. The once again goalless Harry Kane was behind absolutely everything we did. Son was magnificent. And Kulusevski was well worth looking up how to spell his name properly. Outstanding player scoring an outstanding goal.

So now we’re 3 points clear in 4th place, with a big goal difference. And I know 2 things: the season ain’t over; and we are Spurs. Neither of which fills me with total confidence, but my my we look good.

Hope this week’s better. For Rishi.

A xxxx

It all started in 1967 when my mate Jimmy called my other mate, Tarquin, a poof, in the school dinner queue, aged 11. That was the first noted case of direct homophobia in the world. At which point I pointed out, over the sausage and chips trays, that ‘in 55 years time you’ll be arrested for saying that!!’ Because even then I knew that the world was destined to become a better place. A more inclusive place. A place where poofs are safe and protected from verbal and physical abuse. I also predicted that over those same 55 years, Spurs would become the greatest football team the world had ever seen, so I wasn’t infallible.

3 years later lesbians were invented, by another mate, Nigel, who had some pictures he found in a book under his big brother’s bed, which we all wanted to take home and in the end they got torn. And soiled.

And then it all became legal for ‘same sex partnerships’ and all went well. The Gays, as we were then to call them, and Lesbians joined together… in political ways, obviously, because together they were stronger, and were two sides of the same coin. So that was nice.

Later still the ‘bisexuals’ or (those who fucking want EVERYTHING!), joined the party. But it made kind of sense in a ‘freedom to choose’ kind of way. The ‘Bis’ were the pigs at the sexual buffet bar, but were tolerated by the gays and lesbians, so that was nice. Though then they needed to seriously start with acronyms. Because to get a t-shirt printed with ‘Lesbians, Gays and Bisexuals’ was getting expensive, at 22p per letter.

Later still, after an unusual alignment of Saturn with the constellation of Ursa Minor, loads of people decided to change their gender-of-birth. And we call them ‘trans’. Not as just a term of general abuse, but to indicate their desire, their need, their total compulsion to change sex. To ‘transition’. To be transsexual. To cross over from one gender or sex to another. They were allowed to join the acronym of ‘non-normal sexuality and other revolting deviations’ (as coined by Lieutenant Sir Romsworth Smythe, the late minister for Gender issues under Edward Heath; where Romsworth actually spent most of his government years). So we arrived at LGBT+.

But unfortunately, although these are all worthy, good and noble initials, they don’t all share precisely the same aims. So they fight. In fact they probably bitch-fight. Lots of slapping. Not in a very Will Smith kind’a way.

And so the eagerly anticipated LGBT+ international conference, set for June in the UK, has been called off. Given the opportunity to actually do some good in the ‘non-cis’ world, they’d rather get embroiled in petty nit-picking, terminology-definition arguments and political nonsense than actually use the conference as a platform to advance all causes towards equality.

The government had banned ‘conversion courses’. Which are a horrible idea, redolent of some bible-bashing Methodist from Omaha, in which anyone with gender issues can be ‘converted back’ to heterosexuality. With the help of Jesus. And a heavy stick. Then the government changed tack. And said these courses were still banned for use on gays and lesbians, but NOT on trans people, who should be encouraged to return to use the public toilets they would have used before they started wearing dresses and wigs.

So the conference is boycotted. And off.

But there are many issues which would have been so important to discuss. Like the case of Emily Bridges, the cyclist. When he… errrr… she… hmmmm… when Emily was a man, he was a very competitive cyclist, won medals in men’s events. Now… she’s a woman, and has lower testosterone levels to almost prove it, she wants to compete in her chosen sport as her chosen gender. Is this fair? Answers on a postcard to:

Fairness in sport vs Fairness in sexuality
Someone’s gotta give
All end in tears
LG3 5BT+

Happy Saturday

A xxxx

Well it happened. Arsenal lost. Doesn’t really matter to whom they lost, but lose they did. A whopping 3 nil. Ok, for the sake of ‘old Malkie’, it was his beloved Crystal Palace who saw off the pretentious side of North London football, and with some degree of aplomb. And that result leaves Spurs in 4th place for the rest of the week. We can dream.

Meanwhile, they’re fighting royal battles to create more nuclear fusion so we can tell those Russians precisely where they can shove their fucking gas pipelines in a way that will go way beyond mere eye-watering. Because fusion is the dream.

Current nuclear power is generated by fission. Which is the breaking apart of atomic particles. Like they do in nuclear bombs. And the same problem is ever-present. That your reactor may turn into a nuclear bomb. Like it did in Chernobyl. Starting nuclear fission is easy. Controlling it and stopping it is anything but. And then, at the end of it, you get tons and tons of ‘nuclear waste’. Depleted of most of its useful potency, but still horribly radio-active, here’s 200 tons of Uranium, mate, won’t be safe for 34,200 years, where shall we dump it? Malaysia any good? Indonesia? In the ocean?? Very deep landfill in Worcester?

Fusion is different. Fusion is the joining together of atoms in such a way that energy is released. It’s clean. It’s very controllable. And has no waste end product. The problem is that this type of reaction, as makes the Sun ‘work’, merging two Hydrogen atoms to form one Helium one, can only be created in conditions like the Sun. So think ‘hot’. Very hot. Pressure. Lots of it. Creating the irony of how much energy it currently takes to make atoms thousands of degrees hotter than they would like to be and under intense pressure. It would cost (at current gas prices) £43,749.22 to make sufficient fusion energy to boil one kettle. Yet its a start. And if it can be upscaled so I can drink my normal 37 cups of tea a day without taking out a mortgage. Especially as one company (in ENGLAND, yaaaay) is producing fusion by a new method. Instead of trying to create ‘conditions like on the Sun’, they’re firing pellets at fuel particles in a special way. And it seems to be working. Another £42million in research funding and I can put the kettle on again.

No-one likes cold tea.

Happy Wednesday

A xxxx

The good thing about never winning any trophies, ever, is that you re-align your personal goals. You adjust your aspirations. So that getting a little piece of silverware does NOT become the defining feature of the entire season. Otherwise fans of teams who never win anything would be in a state of constant depression and gloom whilst those horrible teams from North West England would alone have reason for celebration, along with a few other, minor, laundered-money-funded and terrorist-backed clubs from elsewhere.

So ‘here’ at Spurs, we’ve long since abandoned all hope of ever winning anything which anyone else might want, made of silver. Our cupboard is famously bare and don’t look like filling up any week soon. Therefore we’ve not necessarily ‘lowered our sights’ but collectively and unconsciously set ourselves new goals and targets as to what might constitute a ‘good season’; something to celebrate. And that is two-fold. One is to finish in the top 4. To gain access to the prestige, the challenge and… oh yeah, the vast amount of money, for entering the Champions’ League. And the other, less financially beneficial and of precious little value outside of North London, is to finish above Arsenal.

I’m sure that Everton would love to finish above Liverpool. If they can avoid relegation. And similarly the two Manchesters probably put great stock in relative table position, even though for both of them, if it ain’t ‘top’, it ain’t nuffink. Though Manchester United’s assumed place at the top table has been tragically diminished by City’s ability to ‘just buy results, at any cost’, since the Abu Dhabi takeover and the continued inability of any footballing authority to try and stop them.

But really, no-one cares what happens in Liverpool and Manchester. No-one in my house anyway. And yesterday a dream occurred. Spurs not only came back from being a goal down against Newcastle to absolutely demolish them, 5-1, but in doing so overtook Arsenal AND entered forth place in the League. I was driving home from Birmingham (don’t ask), listening to it on the radio, enjoying every mile of the enforced 60 mph, ‘average speed check camera’ zone, like never before.

And that will last at least until tonight when Arsenal play against old-boy Patrick Vieira’s Crystal Palace. So all I can say is:

COME ON PALACE!!!!!!

Happy Monday

A xxxx

The mailman came to work yesterday and handed me the post. It’s what they do. When they feel so inclined. And there were two letters from the City of London Corporation, Environment department!! But like that, with exclamation marks (in my mind) because they never write to me. They don’t phone me, nothing. It’s like they no longer love me. Then suddenly, boom, TWO letters arrive. I was so excited. But sadly, it wasn’t good news, nor just asking about my new shoulder. It was about rubbish. Basically, our cleaner put two bags of rubbish outside the door and Veolia, my contractors (the Corporation don’t include rubbish collection in the ‘rates’, haven’t for about 20 years, cos for the mere 35 grand a year which I pay, rubbish collection is ‘extra’) missed the bags and didn’t pick them up on their rounds. And they were still there at 10 the next morning. Which is ILLEGAL, or immoral, or naughty or bad, sinful, disgusting or… not in keeping with the environmental regulations of the Corporation of London!!! So they sent me photos of the 2 bags. From about 4 different angles, in case I thought they’d photoshopped them. Yep, my shop, my bags, time stamp 10.21am, mea culpa.

The second letter again contained not much love. More it was a ‘demand!!’ for copies of my rubbish contract. Send it within 7 days or pay a Fixed Penalty Notice of £110!! (Like Boris!!) And was filled with so much unintelligible legalese gobbledygook that I thought I had been fined and was pissed off why they’d sent me a notice to pay but no information how to pay. Which I would have done, there and then, because it would have been cheaper than getting a team of lawyers to translate the letter into English. Much cheaper. But no, it was just the ‘agreement’ which I found on my section of Veolia’s website and never knew even existed. Which I forwarded on to Mr Environment Nazi, dutifully, if not totally happily.

For the money it costs to run an entire department of jobsworth tossers, finickity fuckers and pedantic prima-donnas, never mind 16 lawyers to draught letters in such a way that no ‘normal’ human being can understand them, you could engage an entire platoon of ‘recycling operatives’ and a squadron of garbage trucks to take with them. And even then there’d be some money left to pay off all the redundancy payments for all those worthless bureaucrats who really should be unemployed for the good of mankind.

Otherwise it was a great day.

Happy Saturday

A xxxx

Well it works both ways!!! That’s the way of the world. This equality thing. Glass ceilings are moving upwards, women can vote, even drive, in some countries, though generally not that well. In all countries. There’s equality in jobs, wages and opportunities. Which means that in some jobs, like, f’rinstance, female impersonator, they are miles better than most men. Ok, not all women, but most. Women can fight in the army, join the police, play rugby and become men, if they really want to.

So in return, we are no longer allowed to hold doors open, doff our caps at any gorgeous filly who breezes past or woolf whistle, even whilst actively engaged in building works. But we are allowed to buy women’s underwear, iron shirts (if we know how) and cook. We can even become strippers.

I like cooking. Have always considered myself a perfectly liberated man, a true egalitarian in that I swear loudly at both men and women shit drivers equally. (For purposes of definition, a ‘shit driver’ is someone who really believes that they mean ‘20mph’ is the actual speed they want you to drive at).

But cooking is the thing. I didn’t learn it when very young just to impress women. That came later. I learned it because I’ve always been a pig and was too impatient to wait for someone else to cook for me. Women were only liberated back then because they’d burned their bras. Which no man was unhappy about. But it was a start. So I learned to fry an egg. A skill I’ve maintained to this day. I can also boil one, scramble one, poach another and eat them all at the same time. Then I learned the most simple meal to make ever. Spag. Bol. And armed with those 2 skills: boiling an egg and producing dinner, I set off on my own into the world. And I must admit that whilst being a very competent stir-fryer, stew maker and ‘baker’ (with very large limitations), my repertoire is basically… basic. Yet inventive.

Yet I meet so many men who ‘can’t cook’. Like; nothing. One friend, if left alone in the house will eat cornflakes for dinner. I mean… I mean…

If you can strip a car engine down to nuts bolts and valves, or write an algorithm to save the world, even audit the books of a multi-national bank, I’m gonna stick my neck out and say ‘you can probably boil an egg’. They show you how on YouTube.

Happy Birthday to Lila, who is FIVE today, and get well Joey, who has chicken-pox today. That’s equality??

A xxxx

The ever wily Boris Johnson managed to start a war in Ukraine just to deflect from the inquiry into Covid abuses at Number 10. And its been a very successful ploy. 24 hours is a long time in politics so in 35 days that’s sufficient political time for glaciers to move a mile. Sadly though, for Boris, the deflection tactics proved only temporary as the Met Police yesterday issued 20 fixed penalty notices for Covid rules breaches. They gave them to the people who made those rules. Fortunately though, ‘no disciplinary action will be taken’ over the penalties. Because being a hypocritical, denying, lying tosser is not a crime in this country, whereas sitting next to someone with a glass of wine apparently is.

Putin is a keen advocate of this recent political tactic of ‘lying through your teeth’ too. He lies to everyone, including the 145 million people who live with him. ‘Ve don’t attack civilian targets’. But you blew up the Theatre in Mariupol where 300 civilians were sheltering, the one marked in great big letters CHILDREN!!!, big enough for bomber pilots to see. ‘No, not us. Must have been a different invading country which is also NOT at war with Ukraine.’And the Skripals? Novichok? Never heard of it. Those 2 KGB officers were just visiting Salisbury Cathedral, honest. Beautiful apse in there, and the pipe organ? Well, any mass-murdering torturer would give 2 weeks cabbage to hear such a magnificent instrument.

So how do you meaningfully engage in ‘peace talks’ when the talking is done with forked tongue? Yet the so-called peace talks are ongoing. In Turkey. Which is like having a conference about fiscal responsibility and financial morality at Manchester City’s ground. But then again, not many nations would host that many Russians. Just think of the cleaning bills. Teams of chemical and nuclear warfare experts in Hamzat suits for 4 weeks just to render the meeting room ‘safe’ once more. But Turkey is a ‘neutral’ country in that allows all sorts of vile dictators and terrorists to murder people within its borders, as they did with the Saudi murder of Khashoggi.

And that would appear to be the state of play in the world. All of it.

Happy Wednesday

A xxxx