Andy's Glasses

Let me tell you about MY Joey. Little Jojo, who turned 2 this week. Because what I have to tell may shock, may horrify or may even having you calling the Police. You see Joey is the most adoringly lovable little boy ever. And I state that with total certainty, with the statistics drawn from a massive sample of… one. He’s the only little boy I know. But he’s sweet. He’s cuddly. He asks for a ‘hug’. He’s beautiful. Big dark eyes, head of light curls, he is just wonderful. Bright, obviously. Speaks fantastically, when his sister allows, and has one quarter my genes so has more ‘genius’ in him than most. The other 3 grandparents I’m not prepared to comment upon without a lawyer present.

So that’s Joey. Well, one half of Joey. The other half is more sinister, more evil, more violent, more… he’s just a thug. A hooligan. A terrorist. He is Jeckyl and Hyde without any medicine. If they made a Magnificent Eight, he be the last one. He’d be Mr Blue in Reservoir Dogs. Mainly because every colour you show him, currently, is ‘blue’. He breaks things. Examines them, works out how they work or what goes where, then just breaks them. His violent tendencies are legendary. Suffice to say: ya don’t mess with Joey!

Yesterday I was in his garden. Involved in a Lila-game, I was a mermaid. Ok, imagination stretch required, but Lila has no issues with that. And she, the ‘wicked pirate’, had trapped me in her net. A little garden football goal. And as I lay there, ‘trapped’, I felt something. Joey had joined in the game. And was kicking me in the head. Normally if I’m anywhere near the floor he’s jumping on my back, but the goal was in the way so he did the next best thing. Kick the shit out of Papa Andy.

I didn’t actually realise until I heard his mummy shouting at him to stop doing that! Then I laughed. Because it was so funny. So Joey. He would only attack someone in such a way who he felt comfortable with. Or, perhaps, knowing that ‘telling off’ is not in that victim’s repertoire. I saw it as a sign of love. No greater love has any man than kicking his grandfather in the head.

Yours deludedly

A xxxx

David Baddeil wrote a rather interesting book recently called ‘Jews don’t count’. It’s a rather novel way of looking at anti-semitism and how no-one considers it as ‘racism’, not really, even up to (shadow) Government level. Because although Jews are, by any possible definition, an ‘ethnic minority’, we don’t get any of the usual benefits that all others enjoy in terms of (normally quite obsessive) protection from slurs, slights, abuse, violence, desecration and discrimination. If I were stand up in Hyde Park next to a person as they attack Gazans for having the audacity to attack an innocent nation with thousands of lethal rockets, I’d be lambasted, cancelled, vilified on social media (even though I don’t use it). Especially if I was famous/political.

Yet Corbyn and McDonnell joined a protest last week which attacked Israel as ‘worse than Hitler’, called the defence of its people ‘another holocaust’ and even went so far as to say that ‘Marks and Spencer is like the Israeli embassy on every high street’. Even though it hasn’t been ‘Jewish owned’ for decades now. Diane Abbot was also there, but she really doesn’t count. In fact, as she proved more than once, she can’t count. Not past 10 anyway. Or, ‘7’, as she calls it.

So where do hard-lefties buy their underwear? That’s the question. If M&S is ‘boycotted’, where does Corbyn buy his pants, socks and vests now that there’s no more army surplus stores around? An interesting question that will be debated for years to come.

The long and short of it is that if people have really stupid views about Jews, then fuck ‘em. I don’t care. Because even if I did care, I’m not so daft as to think I might be able to change those views with one, carefully considered, 15-word sentence. And if they have stereotypical prejudices, as Corbyn does, then fuck him too. And just embrace the fact that he is an ignorant pig. It’s really easy.

Yet at Cambridge University they’ve now installed some new report-a-transgression system by which students, or staff, can ‘report’ any little incident in which they perceive some form of prejudice might possibly have occurred. And by ‘prejudice’ this is emphatically the modern interpretation, meaning any positive reference to anyone or anything that had any remote connection to the Empire or, God forbid, slavery!! Anything that even implies dilution of the Black Lives Matter ideology, or questions any Muslim religious or cultural concept. I’m guessing that jokes about the Irish, Polish or Chinese are definitely reportable. Obviously greater tolerance will be shown to those slagging off Jews. Obviously.

This is a very positive step. Encouraging wokeness to the level when every sane person might just as well pack up and go home. It attacks the right of any kind of freedom of speech and gives Universities, once the epicentres of free thinking, reason to just ban or ‘cancel’ anyone not adhering to the prevailing zeitgeist and questioning its views. It is a cross between the Cultural Revolution in China, the Spanish Inquisition and the KGB. I hope it makes them as happy as it makes them blinkered to open-mindedness.

Happy Saturday

A xxxx

Who would have thought that in the middle of a fucking global pandemic, we’d have the cheek to start doubting Albert Einstein? I mean, really? Einstein? He who has never been proved wrong, despite 43,573,865 degree and doctoral dissertations using ever-increasing computer power and vastly improved universe understanding, all failing to undermine one word (ok, one ‘number’, Einstein didn’t really do ‘words’) the great man spoke. How dare they question him now? Because of ‘dark matter’, that’s how. And how they’ve now mapped it across the galaxy and… and… and it don’t act like Alby said it would. In his maffs. In his revered ‘theory of general relativity’, which would produce more ‘clusters’ of the stuff, rather than the more even distribution that they in fact have found. And just because Albert virtually invented dark matter, just him and God one day in a coffee shop in Zurich in 1904, doesn’t apparently give him any control over how it actually ‘is’. In real life. Einstein never looked to the heavens. He looked down at a pen and paper. No observation, just sums. I reckon quite a lot of them. And because he actually met Marilyn Monroe, my money’s on Einstein. Watch this space. Literally so.

And we’re living in a world of variants. Dominic Cummings is a human variant. Not like a normal human, but a nasty, vindictive, cheating, lying, Asperger-ish human. Slagged off the health secretary something rotten. Not that he doesn’t deserve slagging off but some of those accusations! OMG! Not testing old people when they leave hospital before submerging them back into care homes without testing was perhaps not Matt Hancock’s wisest move. But claiming that ‘tens of thousands of lives could have been saved if the government had blah, blah, blah…’ is just so much hindsight bollocks. No-one knew. Not Boris, not Hancock and certainly not Cummings.

Coronavirus is so named because it resembles a crown. Albeit a spherical one. With little spikes on, giving it the ‘corona’. The Brazilian variant had spikes shaved to leave just a central, linear spike. The Moroccan variant was more cylindrical than spherical and looked like a Fez. And the Indian variant, the most dangerous of the moment, under a microscope, looks like Chicken Tikka Massala with a peshwari naan, pilau rice and onion bhaji with aloo gobi on the side.

Happy Friday

A xxxx

We’re all heading for June 21st!!! The biggest day in HISTERRY!!! Not just because its 5 days after my birthday and my hangover would have subsided, but because lockdown gets unlocked. If nothing else happens. And no-one else dies. And the Indians keep their variant to themselves. Said so in the headlines. Because the ‘big crowd’ trials have been very positive. Not like ‘testing positive’ but positive meaning ‘good’. They stuffed hundreds of people together in Sheffield and made them watch snooker for days on end (poor souls, I hope they received sufficient compensation) and only about 3 tested positive afterwards. Same with concerts they held in Liverpool and the Brit awards. Lots of people, no distancing, no masks, all spitting at each other. Ok, no spitting but all those ‘aerosols’ in one place!!!! And very little consequential infection. Which is brilliant.

But in a lesser headline, just next to that one, is a list of the 8 places in England that YOU MUSTN’T GO TO!!!! Including Hounslow. The rest are ‘up north’ so aren’t an issue for me at all. Though possibly I’m more likely to go to Burnley than Hounslow. Until Heathrow opens properly. These are the Indian Variant Hot Spots. Where you mustn’t go. Or leave. Unless you need to. Or want to. Or, do so accidentally. Though its NOT a lockdown, it has no law or legislation behind it, just ‘advice’. Reads like this: DON’T FUCKING LEAVE HOUNSLOW OR WE’LL SHOOT YOU DEAD!!!! Nothing too strong, just ‘advice’.

Similar to the advice about holidays, with school half term coming next week. Don’t travel unless its ‘really essential’. Which all becomes a matter of interpretation. You could argue that you have a week booked to sun yourself in the Algarve and as it won’t come to your garden, it becomes ‘essential’ to travel there. Unless you can ‘beam’ yourself there. James T Kirk did it and he wasn’t even vaccinated.

So I hope that’s clear. The path to being totally unlocked is clear. Unless you live in Bedford or Leicester where they’re building a wall to keep you in. And only travel if it is… something you want to do.

Joey was 2 years old yesterday. I bought him a samurai sword, a gun, knuckle dusters, a machete and some Japanese fighting sticks. Even though he is undecided about how he intends to self-identify so will wait til he’s 3 before announcing his pronouns.

Happy Birthday Jojo

A xxxx

At the end of a truly fabulous and wonderful league campaign, Spurs have achieved not just glory but quite literally history! Because by cleverly avoiding the top 4 league places, deftly ducking fifth and side-stepping 6th, we get, as 7th placed, to enter the most coveted, very first, the inaugural, the brand new Europa Conference League!!! And no-one’s ever been in that before. Because its new. In case you missed that. So that is really exciting. In fact it is beyond excitement.

My main concern is when they intend to play the matches. The Champions League (snobby, bit elitist, arrogant) plays on Tuesdays and Wednesdays. The Europa League (a bit sad and decidedly second rate) plays on Thursdays. Because no-one watches football on Thursday evenings. So the new Europa Conference League (unknown… but… but…) will have to be played on Monday mornings or in the middle of the night. Otherwise there’ll be ‘conflict’. Because really, who’d bother watching Bayern Munich play Barcelona if Lech Poznań were playing Molde over on BBC7? Or Spurs were taking on Ludagrets Lazgrad? So set your alarm NOW for 03.27 for the first kick-off!

It all ended in tears. Harry Kane did or didn’t play his last EVER game for Spurs, depending on… but still managed to achieve a massive ‘first’. Because not only was he the top scorer in the league, he also had the most ‘assists’. Neither of which did any favours to his asking price for interested teams. Which is probably ‘all of them’.  

Yet Spurs win at Leicester not only deprived the east Midlander above-weight-punchers of a champions’ league place, but also, tragically, inhumanely, gave it to Chelsea! 

Man City won the league. And much as I hate that, I have a deep and profound man-love for Sergio Aguero, now departing. He has blessed our league for 10 years with style, grace and shit loads of goals. Half of them against us, little bastard. 

West Ham are ‘frilled ter bits’ about reaching the Europa League (second tier, fairly shit, see above) because its so much better for them to just be celebrating relegation avoidance, as they do every other year. 

And Arsenal… errrrr… well… hmmm… 

Happy End of Season F’rever!

A xxxx

Martin Bashir murdered Princess Diana! And the BBC took out the hit! Encouraged by Prince Philip. Who threatened to refuse payment of his license fee if they didn’t agree. Prince Harry took to drink and drugs. Prince William took to the Scottish hills to find solace and comfort from… the heather? Thistles? Never smoked either myself so I can’t really say.

But what did Martin Bashir really do that was so bad? Other than lying, cheating and a bit of mid-level forgery? Coercion. Bullying. Fabrication. Distortion. Other than that, what was his crime?

What he did was so wrong on pretty much every imaginable level. And yet what the BBC did was actually worse on an exponential scale. Because they knew, they had an inquiry, in which they managed to cover up everything and proclaim their and Bashir’s innocence, and were content to let it lie. Let their lies lie. Which they did for 25 years and then KA-BOOOM!!!!, it all kicks off once more. But this time with the benefit of hindsight. And into a different world, a generation later, in which ‘transparency’ is one of the (ok, nauseating, vile and over-used) catchphrases of our time.

The BBC is a journalistic organisation, first and foremost. In fact it would like to think it is the ‘best’ of class, in the whole, wide world. And best, in journalistic terms, means impartial (which it sometimes is), unbiased (hardly ever), totally neutral (ish) and biggest of all: TOTALLY TRUSTWORTHY.

Martin Bashir created a bunch of bank statements which allegedly showed payments made by the Royal Family to people or persons to keep tracks on Diana. He showed them to her brother, who thus encouraged the Princess to be interviewed. To tell ‘her side of the story’. Which she certainly did with her famous: ‘there were 3 of us in that marriage’ speech.

Did ‘bank statement-gate’ increase the much-loved Princess’s paranoia? To the point where it may have contributed to her terrible death? I don’t know.

But I do know that the BBC have been irreparably damaged by this. Because trust has been broken. The contract between broadcaster and punter has cracked.

Personally, as I watch the news every night, only and always on the BBC, I find it rather amusing as they report this massive story. Using the 3rd person. Even though they’re all BBC themselves. And their discomfort is our great tv.

Martin Bashir didn’t wish to be interviewed and I was playing tennis anyway.

Happy last day of a horrible football season Sunday

A xxxx

I feel sorry for the poor people of Gaza. The real people. The ones just trying to live, to work, to educate their kids. The ones who only want peace. Which is proving difficult currently, due to the governance of Hamas. Who have long been at war with Israel. In fact the only purpose of Hamas is to destroy Israel. An unrealistic and illegal goal for which the entire Gaza Strip suffers regularly and routinely.

But Hamas is, and always has been, a terrorist organisation. It started life as a breakaway from Egypt’s Muslim Brotherhood and began the attempted Islamisation and control of the fairly secular Gazans. When Hamas took political power, Egypt built a wall between their nation and Gaza. Interestingly, there was no public outcry. Hamas began building tunnels to Egypt to bring in arms and explosives. Then building more tunnels towards Israel through which they could push their suicide bombers. There are an estimated 300km of tunnels under Gaza. Which are well built and used to house armaments, rockets and troops. Most of the money sent to Gaza by charities and by Qatar, its funder-in-chief, intended to re-build homes and schools has instead found its way into the creation of their underground system, leaving the normal Gazans hungry and homeless.

Hamas is brutally ‘clever’. They fire rockets from schools and hospitals and mosques. Knowing that when those launch sites are destroyed, the PR fallout lands on Israel for destroying such places, which are all morally protected in the court of public opinion.

Hamas has been firing hundreds of rockets each day, until yesterday’s ceasefire, into Israel. You would believe from most of the press that these rockets have special ‘child-protection’ devices in them. Because although they are randomly fired at towns and Cities, hitting bus stops and shopping centres and schools and hospitals, the press almost makes light of these attacks. Whereas Israel’s bombs are all aimed at children and babies, according to those same reports. Though in reality Israeli attacks are targeted on Hamas strongholds and those tunnels. About 60km of which have been destroyed in the recent actions. They also announce where the strikes will be and give notice for civilians to leave. Whether Hamas allow them to leave is less certain. High death tolls suit their narrative.

The reality is that Israel is at war with Hamas and only Hamas. Hamas is at war with all of Israel and every man, woman and child in it. Even, so the indiscriminate rocket firing would indicate, with Israeli Palestinians.

Hamas is, ideologically and functionally, the same as IS. Al Queda. The Taleban. Different names, same approach. Kill, murder, maim, destroy. There’s no such thing as ‘innocents’. Suicide for the cause is noble, as long as you take lots of people with you. Sacrifice your family willingly for the ‘cause’. ‘Martyrdom’.

If Hamas lived in Wales, we would build walls. We would protect our population. If they started firing rockets at Bristol, Exeter, then Reading and eventually London, we would take whatever action was required to ensure the safety of our people.

Unfortunately, the ideology endures, whatever the names and titles may be. If you could destroy ‘Hamas’, the next snake would crawl out from its skin.

There, I’ve said it.

Happy Saturday

A xxxx

No, no, no
If you go
I’ll be sad and blue…

Stevie Wonder. 1974. Brilliant song from a brilliant man. Who not only predicted the birth of Harry Kane, 20 years later, but also his imminent departure from the club WHICH MADE HIM, loved him, nurtured his fledgling talent, groomed (in a good way) the boy into the man into the world’s best superstar striker. Erling Haaland? Nothing. And thus, driven by an incessant culture of reward-driven, materialistic, nothing-else-to-write-about-in-covid press, dickheads to a man, woman and child, coupled with a bunch of free-loading no-goodnik agents and advisors and tossers who see an instant retirement fund appearing before their blinkered eyes, Harry wants to leave and I’m going to be sad and blue.

But dark blue. Royal blue. Spurs blue. Not (fucking) Manchester City horrible sky blue. Eeeuuuuwwww. The blue of smugness. The blue of greed. The blue of vile and evil mercenary types who ‘follow the money’. Ok, and play ‘semi-decent’ football and win lots and lots of shit, but football’s not just about that. Is it?

Harry, apparently, wants to work with Pep Guardiola. Because in the span of Harry’s time at Spurs, he’s won nothing whatsoever, whilst Pep has won 27 Champions Leagues, 42 league titles in Spain, Germany and England, 93 cups of various colours and, pretty much, everything there is to win, 20 times over. He’s won the power-lifting gold in the Olympics and the figure skating on ice. So why would Harry be drawn to that? When on the other side of the… pitch, is love. Endless love and devotion which, in Harry’s case, goes both ways.

There’s always the argument to ‘work harder and win where you live’ but I honestly don’t think that applies to Harry. Because he works hard and committed always. And really has been let down by either lacklustre teammates or Portuguese management (Portugal may be ‘green’ for covid travel but its very very ‘red’ for football management) or… or… or something that stops Spurs winning.

As a fan I don’t care about trophies. I should, but I don’t. But I do care greatly about Harry leaving and even more concerned that others may follow when the ‘boss’ goes.

£150million. It’s totally obscene. And yet a bargain.

Happy Wednesday

A xxxx

I’m going nowhere. I’m riveted to the spot. Well, to England. I won’t even go to Wales because I’ll never remember if I’m allowed to be in a group of eight, indoors, from 3 different bubbles or in a group of 12, outdoors, from 9 different bubbles starting with 6 different letters. Nor do I care. But getting on a plane? Even though its allowed again, naaaaah.

The younger daughter came over in April from Berlin. In ‘normal times’ that would have been a long weekend. But with Germany still very locked down, with the ridiculous cost of testing before and after travel, and with bars open over here, she stayed for 5 weeks. Booked to return last Friday, on the 8.30 morning flight.

At 5.30 Thursday evening she received a text from NHS England offering her a vaccine. On Sunday. Hmmmmm.

She’s desperate for a vaccination. Travels a lot. Normally. And lives in Germany. Where you have more chance of getting eaten by a polar bear than getting vaccinated. So we decided to take the jab, change the flight. And BA, who always state, ‘flights can be cancelled up to 24 hours before departure’, were called. As it was an ‘air miles’ flight, plus 50p (that was the honest cost), we figured it a small sacrifice. We’re not currently short of air miles. Yet 12 hours before the departure time, the wonderful dude at BA just said, ‘naaaah, don’t worry, we’ll just change it to Monday, no problem’, and did so. No charge, no more air miles, no hassle. When does that happen?

So, several more tests later (the one she took Wednesday was obviously going to be outside its ‘48-hour’ window), she pitched up at Heathrow. And queues. Because Monday, yesterday, was day 1 of being allowed to travel to up to… errrr…, well up to 1 country (Portugal) which is safe to visit. And it was chaos. Queues to check test results (covid bollocks), hassle about visas (Brexit bollocks), plus all the usual airport bollocks which can always leave the most stoic suicidal. But in masks.

So I shall wait til October. When we’re booked to go to… Israel. What could possibly go wrong with that?

Happy Tuesday

A xxxx

These are a few of my favourite things, not in the Julie Andrews way; football, films, fuck-ups and food. The photo above I’ll get to later. It will divide. 50% of people will be excited, the other 50, bored and uninterested. So today its food. Real food. And you can’t get more real than sausages. Well, maybe you can, but its my page and that’s what I’m talking about.

In particular, pork sausages. Even though they’re discriminatory. Against both Jews and Muslims and therefore should offend everyone. And yet its only the vegans who complain. Go figure.

They couldn’t exactly re-invent the wheel but they have re-invented the next best thing: the sausage. They took a small piece of pig (who is, I kid you not, anaesthetised at the time), in fact a tiny piece of muscle and a tiny piece of fat. And they send these to a scientist who… does things with them. Like… genetic stuff… like… cloning type activities, and a few weeks later, hey presto, a pork sausage!!! And yet, the ‘donor’, we’ll call him Piglet, though his real name is withheld, is alive and well and all healed from his minor ‘procedure’!!! In fact you don’t just get one sausages, you get shed loads. Without blood being spilled. Ok, a little spilled but no deaths are incurred in the production of these sausages. And they only cost about 25% more than normal sausages! So when your friends come round for a barbecue, they’ll know that you ARE in fact not just the dickhead they thought you were, but a new, extravagant and totally stupid dickhead who pays too much for a fashion item. And then, two weeks later they all turn into pigs so it doesn’t matter what they think. The risk of GM foods.

In a survey, 75% of people said they’d eat them. And 100% of pigs said it was a brilliant idea.

Then they tried it with a prawn but it wriggled at the wrong moment and… and… I’m sorry.

Marmite with chilli. The world’s most divisive food is not happy with upsetting half the world’s population, it now wants to alienate those in the ‘love it’ half who don’t like chilli. People like my wife. Loves marmite, hates chilli. And although I’m a ‘love it’ dude, I don’t eat it often. But I do like chilli. In fact I love chilli much more than I love marmite. And thus this ‘limited edition’ has me eating marmite again. Will I buy another? Probably not. But I’m enjoying the ride.

Happy Monday

A xxxx