Andy's Glasses

Helleow,

I’m you’re Queen. Elizabeth. You know the one. Old. Wrinkly. Sweet. Royal. And I wish to address you, the entire population of my nation, on the matter of ‘the son who cannot be named’. The Un-Son, but not in the heroic sense.

And I am deeply, profoundly saddened to have to announce that as from Thursday, January 13th, 2022, That Person is no longer a part of the royal family. Even more sadly, he is still my son. But no longer a Royal one. We have un-Royaled him in the most serious of ways. He can no longer use ‘HRH’, nor can he ponce around dressed as a toy soldier at official gatherings. (His medals, all 497 of them, will be on ebay on Tuesday so be sure to make your bids early.) He will no longer be an active ‘working Royal’. Which you can tell by the obvious fact that he’ll be doing what he’s always done whilst working, which is nothing, but doing it out of fancy dress from now on. And without the salary of £587,000 a year he previously earned. Plus all the fees he received for prostituting himself to anyone in the world who wished to make contact with me.

This almost unprecedented move of taking the royalness out of a Prince comes about after lengthy consideration and discussion with my eldest son, the one with the predilection for somewhat older women, most unlike his brother, and his son, William, who as yet has not manifest any overt sexual deviation or peculiarity. Of which we are thus far aware. In my family: never say ‘never’. And between them, Charles and William have reached the brave but necessary decision required. Of throwing Andrew not exactly ‘under the bus’ but more ‘under a rather splendid, gilt edged, horse-drawn carriage’. Which we feel is more appropriate.

What is of course most important is that the sleazy little shit is in some way distanced from The Family when he goes to court in America to defend the indefensible.

My family history goes back to the Battle of Hastings, to the Bayeux Tapestry, to King Arthur and in all those centuries we’ve never had any family member actually caught kiddy-fiddling. So until we can resolve these allegations, we must simply protect the Royal image totally. And I thought last year was our worst shit-storm with the Harry nonsense. One can always depend on one’s family. Andrew is perhaps one too many.

Happy Saturday

Her Maj
Xxxx

I should have been a superhero. No question at all. I should have been Superman. Possibly Batman (though his own ‘superpower’ was excessive wealth, and I wouldn’t object to that), maybe ‘Flash’, for obvious and ambiguity reasons, I was never that keen on Thor or Green Lantern because I was worried if I dropped my ‘magic implement’ I’d be NOTHING, and walking around carrying a lantern is very lame as, in other situations, would take some explaining.

Like if I took it to a garden party at 10 Downing Street, f’rinstance. Probably wouldn’t get it past security. They don’t even let you take a phone in the building (I’ve been there, I know), unless you promise that its only enabled to photograph events guaranteed to cause shame, disgrace and total embarrassment, in 18 months time. To film, say, a ‘work meeting’. The same excuse they used for the first, 6-person piss-up, sorry!!, work meeting in the garden. And the same questions: if its ‘work’ why the fuck are you drinking so much? And if its such important work, what the fuck is Carrie doing there?

Boris was strutting round, as ever, like Quasimodo in a Barbara Windsor wig, showing how ‘sorry’ he was. No-one cares. It’s irrelevant the first time the apology card is deployed. And gets no better by the third. You just become a serial liar. Because it all boils down to power! Not superpower, like me, because I never got caught! But power. Sufficient to create a feeling of untouchability, of mastery of the universe. Otherwise known as ‘arrogance’.

Prince Andrew suffers from the same affliction. Power borne from the most arrogant sense of entitlement possible. If a football crowd had been present at Jeffrey Epstein’s house/plane/island they’d have been singing: “he’ll do what he wants, he’ll do what he waa-aants; he’s Prince Andrew, he’ll do what he wants”. And he pretty much can. So his denial, ‘I remember nothing, I wasn’t there, I was eating a pizza in Surrey (FFS), I’m not able to sweat’ means so much more than if a commoner was laughed out of court for using such pleas. Well Andrew now is being laughed into court. And the timing, coinciding with Her Majesty’s Platinum Jubilee… I mean, Virginia whassername has waited 19 years, would another few months have hurt her? For the sake of the Queen!

The words ‘Tottenham’, ‘Chelsea’ and ‘Carabou’ are temporarily suspended from use. Until further notice.

Happy Thursday

A xxxx

I hate it when I get things right. I hate those ‘I told you so moments’ because anyone can be right. The whole point of these pages is to be as wrong as possible as often as possible. Where’s the fun in being right?

After Boris’s disastrous vote in December when 99 of his own MPs voted against him as a ‘protest’, they demanded that, basically, he gets his shit together for the next 3 moths. To which I flippantly commented (I do ‘flippantly’ really well, I took a course) that its not the following 3 months which will be the problem for our esteemed PM, but the previous 3 years. Because Boris’s cockups were all ‘historical’; the redecoration of the flat, funded by money-laundering drug dealers, the drinks in the garden fiasco (we’ll now call that one: Part 1), it was all things Boris HAD already done/participated in/condoned/lied about which suddenly emerged. From the ether. Sprinkled by fairy dust emitted from Dominic Cummings’ phone.

And now we have… GARDEN-PARTY-GATE 2!!!! THE PREQUEL!! (As I think it took place before the other one and can’t be bothered to check). But this time it wasn’t just 6 people on the terrace. It was 40 people all sent an emailed invite by Boris’s head civil servant. Because clever people should always put everything in writing, especially when they’re breaking the law/regulations/advice (being decided as we speak by the inevitable fucking ‘sub-comittee’).

And Boris was there. As if Mr Good Time would miss out on a piss up. In May 2020, the day after stressing how WE could only meet outside with ONE other person, and he was sending police round the parks to enforce it. The Tories know all about social distancing, see photo above.

Boris won’t deny being there, mainly because he was there and there’s 39 witnesses whose silence can’t be guaranteed. And I’m sure we’ll have photos before long. Mr Cummings has a long lens and a longer time for his revenge to get really cold. Dominic Raab was asked if he was there and gave an emphatic ‘NO’. At which point I actually felt sorry for him, because he has no mates and no-one likes him.

The one rule for us and another for them is a nice way of saying that our politicians hold us, the general (AND VOTING) public in total and utter contempt. It’s time to call Guy Fawkes in.

Happy Wednesday

A xxxx

On behalf of all Serbians the world over, I’d like to offer a statement of congratulations to our brother and son, Novax Djokovic for his ‘biggest victory of all time’ in the courthouse in Melbourne yesterday. He has always been a ground breaker and a champion of many causes but yesterday was indeed a high point. He was 40-love down against the most powerful server in Australia and won the game. And this is a victory, not just for him but for all of us persecuted, unvaccinated, Serbian ultra-nationalists, the world over.

Because this was a victory of wrong against right. Of stupidity against intelligence. Of immorality against decency. And a victory of every man’s (or woman’s) right to be a complete asshole. This is what we Serbians aspire to.

Novax was exempt from normal visa regulations because he had tested positive for Covid on December 15th. Which you know because on December 16th he was filmed, unmasked, with a massive group of schoolchildren in Belgrade. Which is ‘doing the right thing; Serbian Style’. We ignore Covid rules, regulations and protocols. We laugh at vaccines and the poor foolish guinea pigs who take them. We wait for their testicles to enlarge, for their limbs to fall off, for their implanted chips to kill them. And now we can spread our message, plus all the diseases we carry, to the entire world (Melbourne).

The so-called ‘immigration minister’ can still veto Novax’s visa, but I don’t think he’d dare. Because he would risk subjecting all of Melbourne, probably all of Australia!!! to another week of Serbian folk dancing and music. Some things carry to high a price.

And so its today Melbourne, tomorrow: THE WORLD!!!! As no one, no nation, no state would dare to ban Serbs from anywhere for any reason. Well, one Serb. That one. They simply wouldn’t dare. Would they?

Happy Freedom Day

Ljubomir xxxx

We returned to life yesterday. Just for the afternoon. We went to the cinema. That place people used to go to to see films before Covid invented Netflix. We had to. Some things are just an imperative. Like, f’rinstance, if one of the most fab films ever, like West Side Story, was re-made, perhaps, by someone spectacular like, say, Steven Spielberg. Then I’d go.

And we did. We went in the afternoon because we thought it would be quieter. And it was. Just about 15 of us. So we sat at the back and un-masked. Because you’re allowed to if you’re eating popcorn. Or if you have been eating popcorn recently. Or if you think you might at some point like to eat popcorn. So no rules broken there then.

And the movie. Ahhhhh, the movie. Pretty much what you’d expect except rather disappointing. Not as much as ‘The Lost Daughter’, that would be tragic. That suffered from a fab cast given the wrong things to do. West Side Story gives the wrong cast the right things to do.

The sets, as you’d expect from the absolute master director, were magnificent. The music possibly the best musical score ever. The colour, the choreography, both dancing and fighting, simply wonderful. Yet the cast just lacked… star quality. Its a film about gangs. Tough guys. Gang leaders. Charismatic. People falling in love at first glance. For that to happen you need… something more than you get. The star role is Tony. The de facto leader of the Jets, just out of prison, so Riff runs the show. Because he’s ‘real tough’. A real ‘troublemaker’. Whereas he looks and sounds like a ballerina. I really have no issues at all about camp men. I just don’t think they make the most convincing thugs. Tony is different. He’s supposed to ‘smoulder’ but instead just turns up an Elvis-esque lip-curl and dissolves into a puddle of wetness. Neither could sing worth a shit. “When you’re a Jet you’re effete…”

Bernardo, the leader of the Sharks, at least looked capable of throwing a punch without bursting into tears. His sister, Maria (Maria, Maria, MARIIIII-AAAHHH, I just met a girl called…) was cute and lovely and had a good voice. But in an operatic way, which is NOT West Side Story. The pick of the bunch was the Anita character. She was fabulous in every way as Bernardo’s babe.

And there was a little old lady, Tony’s mum, who never appeared in the 1961 original (and totally definitive version, I’m afraid). And she was good. And played, I found out later, by Rita Moreno, who had played Anita in the original movie. And I loved that. Very Spielberg thing to do. Continuity. Magical. Shame about the rest of the cast.

Happy movie-going Monday

A xxxx

Remember when Covid first started? All those years ago? And the first thing people did, quite sensibly, before they’d sorted out their home workstations, picked up the kids from school, worked out what ‘2 metres’ looked like, was to go and buy toilet rolls. I did. I rented a van, took Mel and two wheelbarrows to Tescos and loaded up. Then, because the minimum rental was 4 hours on the van, we went back for a second load. It was the only sensible thing to do in the face of the crisis.

Well now I’m facing another panic.

Lateral flow tests.

They’re going to stop giving them away. MY government, for which I voted, are intending to take away the last pleasure we’re allowed in current times. That of repeatedly sticking sticks up our nostrils and watching for pink lines to form.

THAT IS MY LIFE!!!!! AND YOU’RE TAKING IT AWAY!!!!

Take away testing and my life has no meaning. So I’m going to stock up. Big time. So I can keep testing for months to come. Just for the fun of it. No more ‘showing it to people’, like in my dad’s care home, like before tai chi class, for work, no more ‘registering it’ with the NHS. Just me, cotton buds, pink lines.

Today’s picture shows you what can happen when your dreams turn to shit. Though perhaps ‘dreams’ is not the best analogy, because dreams are free and Newcastle United cost lots of millions of pounds, plus the benefit of massively increased debt should relegation occur.

Because Armanda Staveley, on the right, was the one who put this deal together, funded by Yasir al-Rumayyan (that’ll be him on the left), the Saudi dude who put the funds up on behalf of his State, looking none too pleased as their team were ‘giant-killed’ by Cambridge United. Unfortunately, the punishment for gaint-killing in the UK is not death by stoning, nor castration, not even removal of hands and/or feet. Like it is in Saudi Arabia. The punishment here is to go through to the next round of the FA Cup.

For Newcastle the immediate future doesn’t look quite so bright as their only hope of avoiding relegation might come down to a new really horrendous variant in the Covid world stopping the season.

I love a giant-killing. So to celebrate, I’m going to do a lateral flow test. Whilst I still can.

Happy Sunday

A xxxx

Have you had Covid? That’s the big question. Well, fairly big. Because I haven’t. And, by all rights, I should have had it by now. 170,000 people a day can’t all be wrong. Yet for me and for Mel, we remain excluded from this ever-growing club of victims. I’ve been traveling on the tube every day since the first lockdown stopped. I’m face-to-face with umpteen people every day. I used to use hand sanitiser but now feel about that what Djokovic feels about vaccinations. I wear a mask, but that, allegedly, is to protect others from my germs. Of which, in my case, there are many. I’ve had colds, I’ve had a cough, Mel’s had a cough for 3 months, yet every day (whilst waiting for our ‘day 2’ test result, here on ‘day 7’) we test ourselves and we’re negative. It’s almost a disappointment. So we attribute this to ‘some vague kind’a genetic factor’. Possibly genetic immunity? And praised our fathers for their endowment to us. Yet both fathers, 95 and 97, have had it. And survived it with very few issues. So we rescind those thanks and look for somewhere else to place them.

We had this conversation the other day with Mel’s brother. He’s a surgeon, but like most doctors, spent half of 2020 treating Covid patients. Yet never had it himself. And thus we were patting ourselves on our metaphorical backs in praise of good fortune and stern constitutions.

The brother-in-law tested positive this morning. But I think he got it because he’s not a Spurs fan. Because God only has time to look after a certain number of people every day so obviously concentrates on us first. There are spiritual reasons to account for my team’s lack of winning anything ever, but they’re too complicated in a theological sense to try and explain to you now.

There’s a whole hoo-haa about Covid hotels, particularly in Australia, to coincide with the Djokovic fiasco currently ruling our every moment. How shitty the food, how the windows don’t open, no access to a gym, no access to fresh air, FFS, no porn channels, simply terrible. And a terrible leap by association of the press (quel surprise?) because Novak isn’t in a Covid hotel. He doesn’t have Covid. Like me, and several other world class tennis players. Novak is in an internment hotel for unwanted immigrants. For visa failures before inevitable deportation. And although I’m sure the food is not up to Roux Brothers standard, it might be better than at the Covid places. No-one knows. Only Novak. And his mum.

One day, probably quite soon, they’ll have special hotels for conspiracy theorist tossers and antivaxxers who want to enter tennis tournaments but can’t. Until then, Novak will just have to slum it with the boat people from Vietnam, the Fijian stow-aways and the crowd from the odd dinghy which left Calais in search of Folkestone in 2014 and got lost. Really lost.

Happy Saturday

A xxxx

This morning, after a tragic failure at diplomatic peace attempts (3 Serbian women dancing in Melbourne wearing flags), Serbia has officially declared war on Australia. And this state of war will remain the status quo until the Australian atrocities, known henceforth as ‘The Djokovich 1’, are resolved to satisfaction.

And I’m fully supportive of the Serbs in this. I agree with their president, though couldn’t pick his name out of a choice of 2. And I especially agree with Novak’s dad, who, for purposes of data protection, I shall refer to as ‘Mr Djokovic’. He said: “they’ve crucified my son like Jesus”. And I have to agree with him. Its just awful, tragic. Mum, Mrs Djokovic, piped up with “he is being treated like a prisoner!!!” The Serbian nation is up in arms, with me tagging along for the fight. I agree with them entirely. Here’s what I agree with.

I think that anyone should be allowed to break any nation’s rules of entry any time they want to, but especially if they’re either rich, famous or Serbian.

I know for sure that Jesus would have been vaccinated because he was Jewish and Jews couldn’t get the needles in quick enough. Chicken soup for the arms.

And yes, Novak IS a prisoner. But only one door remains locked. The ‘in’ one. He can use the other one any time he likes to fly anywhere in the world that will let him in. Which, as an unvaccinated health-risk, includes… errr… well, Serbia… and… hmmm…
A prisoner is someone who is locked IN. Novak is locked OUT. Big difference. Possibly lost in translation.

But most of all, I agree that this is NOT an issue about vaccinated people, refuseniks and other tossers or freedom of choice. This is about nationalism generally and Serbianism specifically. Just ask any Croat how the Serbs feel about nationalism.

And I especially agree with the other Mrs Djokovic, Novak’s wife, who posted an article blaming the pandemic on 5-G transmitters. You can’t argue with that. But if that is the case, why not have the vaccine straight into your phone? Surely that would work? I bet it would in Serbia.

So to recap, nation states are emphatically NOT allowed to impose rules to protect their populations, should those rules affect one single tennis player, however stupid and misguided he may be.
Any action against any person, on purely health and safety reasons, must be seen as a direct attack on that person’s home nation.
Rules and regulations regarding vaccination status must be governed, internationally, by the 5G networks.
Piers Corbyn is still a tosser. But now has another ally.

I’m off to war!

Happy Friday

A xxxx

I wish to enter this argument now. The ‘jewface’ row. I have one. So I’m allowed. And I haven’t said anything previously because its just so much bollocks, but as that’s all that’s currently happening, what with covid and especially last night’s football, we have to sift through the bollocks to find a single, golden testicle of merit! (I think we’ve stretched that metaphor 14 kms beyond any value, so we’ll leave it there).

‘Jewface’ entered our vocabulary when a play came onto the West End stage about a Jewish family. All of whom were cast to… non-Jews!!!! There were shouts of ‘cultural appropriation!’ and ‘insensitivity’ and all sorts of nonsense. Mainly by Maureen Lipman. The self-elected Queen of the Jews. Who is, in common with many Jewish mothers and grandmothers, a fight looking for a place to happen. So she’s sparked back with her arguments afresh (as nobody cared last time) because Helen Mirren (best actress in the world, a Dame, no less, wonderful person, national treasure but… not Jewish!!!) to play Golda Meir, the late Israeli Prime Minister.

No-one complained when Roddy McDowell played a fucking gorilla in Planet of the Apes. Not one primate moaned about it. Homo Sapiens can eat bananas too, ya know!! When Charles Bronson was in The Mechanic, no-one complained that he wasn’t a real killer, just a fake, culturally appropriating hit-man values!! What about Dustin Hoffman in Tootsie? Robin Williams in Mrs Doubtfire?? Kevin Costner played Robin Hood but wasn’t born until 500 years after Robin Hood died!!!! That’s wrong.

The whole point of ‘acting’ is to represent someone who your aren’t. There’s nothing in the acting handbook which precludes you playing someone, some culture, some religion, race, culture or animal which you were not born as.

And while we’re at it, the very term ‘Jewface’ is a cultural appropriation of ‘blackface’, which actors used to use in the days before that was banned.

I feel Ms Lipman is suffering from overreaction rather than consideration.

Happy Thursday

A xxxx

I was appalled last night, watching the news. I knew so because I was laughing hysterically, which is generally how ‘appalled’ manifests. Though its difficult to differentiate it from ‘disgusted’, ‘amazed’ or ‘horrified!’, all of which have pretty much the same effect. I never said I was ‘normal’ or even ‘nice’, just appalled.

They were in a hospital. Like they are every fucking night, talking covid. How are they coping? A guy came on, a nurse, speaking of their level of overloadedness and up came the name tag: Sister Adam Whatever. And I thought… ‘sister’? SISTER??? WTF?

You’re not allowed to call a woman a ‘chairman’, can no longer use ‘actress’ because its discriminatory, you can’t even call a hooker a whore (possibly the other way round), but you can call a geezer ‘Sister’ because he’s a good nurse?? I mean… I mean… really?

So then we learned that over 200 thousand people tested positive in the UK yesterday. Big number. But none actually got ill. Ok, one or two. Of people in hospitals, 91% haven’t had their booster. That’s really an even bigger number. So big that if you convert it to letters is says: ‘Piers Corbyn is an absolute tosser’. And so, it must be admitted, is Novak Djokovic.

The miserable Serb tennis superstar is an anti-vaxxer. As many miserable Serbs can be. And he wants to play in the Australian Open to defend his title. But Australia has the strictest Covid rules of any nation, even though they can’t control it at all, have had 19 lockdowns and make you live in a Covid hotel for 3 months if you travel abroad or swim in the sea. They will not allow ANY unvaccinated person into their country, at all, NO EXCEPTIONS!!! Except Djokovic. He, and he alone, managed to get an ‘exemption’. Its easier to get full citizenship there than an exemption. Its easier to find someone who doesn’t gloat about cricket, than it is to get an exemption. But Novak did just that. Which, if I may be so bold as to offer criticism of the policies of any place, just sucks. One rule for miserable Serbian dickheads, another for us. Typical!

Happy Wednesday

A xxxx