Andy's Glasses

I’m rather concerned. About clottage. Blood clottage, to be specific. In Europeans. Because issues have been raised… ‘over there’ about a problem with the good, British, UK, Oxford-Astrazeneca vaccine, which is the fish’n’chips of covid vaccines. It is the veritable roast beef and Yorkshire pudding of drugs. Solid, consistent and representative of all things Britain. It’s so good and desirable and United Kingdomish it is almost the full chicken tikka masala!!! of medicines.

Yet it ‘doesn’t work’ on foreigners. Not European ones anyway. They suffer blood clots from it. (WARNING: this is NOT just a political statement due to being snubbed with Brexit then forced to buy our drugs and then, being a bit let down with expected deliveries. There is NO concerted effort on the part of the European Union to defame a product just because its English. Even though it kind’a looks very much like that’s the case.)

Because statistics don’t lie. Except when they do. But in this instance, the statistics are brutally consistent and damningly significant.

In Britain, we’ve vaccinated 25 million people. About half have received the Astrazeneca version. 12,500,000 people. I won’t  name them here. And of those, there have been 3 reported incidents of a blood clot. Which, ironically, is far less than the blood clots you’d expect from any ‘normal’ sample of  that immense size. Indicating possibly that the AZ drug may actually prevent clotting!!! What’s French for ‘YOU’RE A TOTAL DICKHEAD, MONSIEUR!!!’? 12.5mil, 3 clots. Whereas ‘over there’, they’ve now vaccinated, between France, Germany, Spain, Holland and Italy, a total of 327 people and have found 496 blood clots! Half of them fatal!!! 

Disclaimer: these numbers have not been validated or confirmed by the ONS since they were invented by me this morning. Vaccines can go up as well as down. 

So the question is: in what way is European blood so massively different from good ole British blood? Ok, our blood is a bit  bluer, because we’re all posh, but other than the colour, how could this horrendous difference be reconciled with our fundamental understanding that: blood is blood, innit? Inconceivable. 

So without being too cynical, if this is a fiendish (read: ‘transparent and stupid’) plot to discredit ‘our’ vaccine, it should be pointed out that their continued efforts to do so are effectively using the entire population of Europe as pawns, as cannon fodder, to try and score a political point. Because whereas we’ve all been rushing around with our sleeves rolled up, searching for a suitable syringe, since November, there is already far greater resistance to vaccination ‘over there’. And this is a further impediment to getting the EU vaccinated. 
Emmanuel Macron is our Tosser of the week! (and month, and year). 

Happy Wednesday

A xxxx

Ok, let’s just have a quick re-cap. Sarah Everard gets abducted and murdered; women from all over the country speak out about acts of violence and harassment against them; Sarah’s murderer turns out to be a policeman; Sarah becomes an icon, a catalyst for society to change its behaviour towards women totally, so they don’t have to fear going out alone or worry about whether they are dressing or acting suitably and appropriately to not get attacked or raped.

So they had a vigil. The courts banned it because gatherings under covid rules, blah, blah, blah. But you know what; this is actually bigger than covid and certainly more enduring and we’re all bored with that shit anyway. So the planned vigil went ahead. And it was nice and it was peaceful and women felt they should be there. To make the point. To support Sarah’s family. To state their own case about violence towards women.

And the police responded by showing extreme violence towards those women. I mean… I mean… I mean… WTF?? 

Couldn’t Cressida Dick, the chief of all police and at one time a woman herself, couldn’t she have told them that a bunch of women lighting candles and laying flowers engaged in mass mediation should not be treated like Burmese freedom fighters. I mean, ‘softly softly’ should have been the order of the day. And night. Illicit gathering or not. 

However, in their defence, footage  I saw last night showed, in the front line of confrontation with the police line, a rather unlikely group of ‘feminists’. They were young men. Wearing hoods, balaclavas, masks (not that kind) and overtly provoking. They looked  like hard lefties. Or hard righties. Ok, they looked like scum. Possibly Chelsea fans. That type. In which case, why weren’t they arrested instead of a few sweet young women? 

More importantly, on to ‘chocolate-gate!!!!’ The Sunday Times presented its ‘best easter chocolate’ page yesterday, with pretentious fucking eggs, dogs, bunnies, covered in nuts and elderberries and fucking za’atar and wrapped in vine leaves, gold leaf and dried seaweed and I thought: NAAAH, I thought. Naaaah. Because for 35 quid, you can keep your sickeningly ostentatious and overblown ‘creation’, I’ll stick to the original. The best. The unmatchable. The totally perfect in its honesty, simplicity and pure wonderfulness. A Cadbury’s egg. Available in my little Tesco store for… a quid. One measly, miserly, cheapER-than-chips, pound. Which is why I now travel to work with a wheelbarrow. 

And all this so I don’t have to talk about football. Never again. I’m over it. I am an EX football fan. I’m taking up origami. 

Happy Monday (ish)

A xxxx

A UPS dude called into work yesterday with a package from France. One of my regular suppliers. And indeed one of our regular UPS dudes. “Here’s your package” he proclaimed, so fluently that I reckon he’s said that before. But his little bleeper wouldn’t bleep the bar code, despite frequent attempts, a modern-day, first-world tragedy! “Oh”, he said, “its because there’s an invoice”. Not from the suppliers, but from UPS. Not delivery, that’s paid. But ‘duty’. “One hundred and nine pounds and seventy-five pence”. He’s never done that before. Never asked, begged, demanded or even requested one single penny. But, ahhhhhhh, Brexit!!!

So I approached today being not too pleasantly disposed to our thieving neighbours across the Channel. Even though this ‘duty’ is British duty on imported goods because ‘we’ chose to leave the EU. I did a quick calculation, but did it in ‘Farage style’ of mathematics rather than the usual Cartesian type. It went like this: Ok, so I pay 110 quid and that guarantees that boatloads of Afghani terrorists (who don’t actually come from Europe, but I don’t wish to disturb the sums) will NEVER DARKEN BRITISH SHORES AGAIN!!!! Small price to pay. Even though it felt like a big one. And a very annoying one.

So then I read that ‘Europe’ (and by that I only mean the bits that count: Germany, France, Italy, possibly Spain) will not reach vaccination max. until August, at very best, whereas over here, where we chose to, sort of, ‘use’ a really good vaccine like the AstraZeneca, rather than invent fictional issues with it for political reasons, will be done by June. And here’s the best bit. Economists have worked out (no idea how, that’s why they are the economists and not me) that each month after vaccination will improve the nation’s GDP by 18 billion quid! So in those 2 months, we become 36 billion quid richer than any German, Frog or Eye-tie. And that can only be good news. For… everybody! They should not give a penny of that to anyone refusing the vaccine. Because they’re stupid and don’t deserve a share of the benefits.

Anyway, I have bigger things to worry about than the vaccination programme in Antwerp or how to spend 18 billion quid. Spurs are playing Arsenal tomorrow. Needless to say, but I will anyway: biggest game of all time. Start worrying… NOW!!!

Happy Saturday

A xxxx

Houston, we have a problem! Though for ‘Houston’, read ‘society’ and it’ll be more accurate. Because last night on Question Time a woman asked a brilliant question. In the light of the terrible abduction and murder of Sarah Everard in South London there’s been a surprising (in its extent and magnitude) outpouring of ‘I was followed, shouted at, molested, attacked, groped, filmed, raped… by a man when on my own’ stories. And her question was: when is this going to be seen not as a ‘women’s problem’ but as ‘society’s problem’? And I thought: ooooooohhhh. She’s right. And she was a bit of a babe, to tell the truth, so I even listened. 

Yet really, its worse that just a  ‘society problem’ because it happens, in varying degrees but marked by their common similarities, virtually everywhere. In India women are raped frequently. Often by gangs. Who virtually never get prosecuted, even when known. In many countries it is almost, if not exactly ‘allowed’ then at least condoned by laws which blame the woman. Because she was wilfully and persistently… female. Its a problem anywhere where alcohol is sold and anywhere where it isn’t. So its not so much a ‘society problem’ as a ‘chromosome problem’. Because wherever there are men, women get attacked. Could be coincidence but it really isn’t. And I don’t know why. Which makes it much harder to cope with or permanently change. 

Its just a ‘sticking plaster’ to say ‘women must be more careful!’. That they shouldn’t walk alone at night, exercise near building sites or housing estates, shouldn’t wear heels, get drunk, dress provocatively, smile in public, frown in public, look too available, look too aloof, look… like THAT! Its the fact that they even have to think about it which is the problem. 

So its ‘education!!’ they cry. Men need to be told, from when Joey’s age, that women are to be respected, adored, revered (they do that already) but NOT TOUCHED without permission. And  that’s the problem. I blame evolution. Because the Darwinian model  is not about survival of the fittest in a ‘she’s a right fit babe’ way. Its about reproductively fittest. Able to produce more progeny. Thus nature’s elaborate way of creating sometimes ridiculous things, like a peacock’s feathers, which exist just to attract a mate. And there are loads of elaborate appendages and extensions and designs which actually sacrifice practicality for desirability. And they work. Which is why God designed women to be as alluring and desirable as possible. 

The bit that’s needed to be understood is that, unlike with most other animals, rape is a crime. Grabbing, groping, sexual harassment, all crimes. Dogs go round sniffing arses but if boys try it THEY WILL BE ARRESTED! As they should be. 
Men’s role is to ‘find a mate’. Consenting, agreeable, even keen. Everyone else is strictly out of bounds and off limits. However fabulous they may look. Its like the old saying: God gave men a brain and a penis but only sufficient blood to operate one at a time. How you overcome that without medication is precisely what is required. And as a (worrying) husband, father of daughters, grandfather, I hope they work it out soon. 

Happy Friday

A xxxx

They’re closing Buckingham Palace. The entire Royal Family is being suspended from duty with immediate effect following the recent allegations of racism, lack of care and being generally ‘as woke as a sleeping thing’. Following mass protests by Jeremy Corbyn, Diane Abbott and another person even less significant than those 4 (Abbott’s calculation), the government have stopped all royal activity. Except crown-wearing, which can only be done indoors, whilst wearing a mask. Newly minted coins will depict the head of Boris Johnson.

Can you imagine? An anti-royal revolt? Suspension? Instead, Her Maj is conducting an investigation to the allegations ‘in private’. They are a private bunch, them Royals. For people who spend 40% of their lives in the cross-hairs of the world’s public, they like ‘private’.

I mean, its not like the Queen is a ‘proper’ racist. She’s not like some KKK type, new-nazi, Trumpite, Faragesque, Piers Morganish real cross-burner. She’d never get a tiara over the white hood. But no-one’s accusing her of that. Or anything really. Not personally. Yet someone, somewhere in the ‘Firm’ is showing a lack of political correctness that is wholly unacceptable in the ‘woke era’.

I’ve been speaking to people about ‘The Interview!!!’, as its now known. The interview to end all interviews. Although many proudly proclaim ‘I didn’t watch it’ as if that puts them on some kind of moral pedestal or intellectual upper class. But those who watched it simply fall into two distinct camps. The Meglievers and the Megliars.

You either believe what she said or you don’t. If you don’t, then the Queen can reign on for another 60 years with your total support and backing and can stay on our stamps. Piers Morgan called her a liar on tv and quit his job 10 minutes later after being slagged off by a colleague and receiving 41,000 complaints during those 10 minutes. Yet Piers knows about liars. Being proven to be one himself, publishing photos, when editor of the Daily Mirror, that were false. So now the world’s most obnoxious Arsenal fan (oh my, that is a hard mountain to climb) is unemployed. As he should be.

If you believe Meghan, as I do, then indeed the Royals need to answer the accusations. Even if that belief is based on something as superficial as her ‘being a total babe’, which I say in the most woke way possible, and that she’s much too gorgeous to lie. And there’s a cheque in the post.

No-one is ever going to know the truth, so a pair of lovely legs is as good a way as any to resolve the situation.

Happy Wednesday

A xxxx

Spurs won last night. I was there. In the crowd. Well, it felt like it. I watched it with Lila’s daddy. Which, by today’s standards, is a big crowd. So we turned off the ‘artificial, simulated crowd-noise bollocks’ and made our own noise. Though not waking the babes, obvs. And before you start calling the covid police, or alerting the NHS app to ‘illegal activity’, I AM ALLOWED! Because they’re part of our ‘care bubble’. And as we both care deeply about Spurs, that totally counts as ‘an acceptable meeting of more than one body in a confined or indoor space for purposes of caring’. Without masks. Because with masks on, eating our curry would have been problematic. I make enough mess eating a curry without a mask on. And yes, it was a take-away. The gods had aligned to put a Spurs match on at dinner time whilst giving Lila’s daddy a half-price Uber eats voucher. I mean ‘GIVE ME A SIGN, LORD!!!’, or what?

The problem with ‘half price offers’ is that you generally, as a consequence, order twice as much. It’s almost an unwritten law. Money is worthless, because currently you can’t do anything significant with it, whereas chicken Jalfreizi is priceless. A few ‘craft’ beers and we were THERE. Yes, I’ve become a beer tart. If its not made in a London suburb and has hints of elderflower and narcissus, I won’t fucking drink it. New rule.

Spurs looked good. They looked all the better for Palace having Wilfred Zaha sitting on the bench, as Palace’s only real player is getting over injury. And, inevitably, we scored. A fab goal, inspired by the work ethic of Lucas Moura, created by the master, Harry Kane and finished by ‘that waste of space and money’ Gareth Bale. The pundits can start eating those words now, won’t be as tasty as my lamb dansak but that’s their fucking problem.

But then, as the Doom Bar flowed and the aloo gobi was finished off, Palace equalised. Christian Benteke scored a fab header. Not a good sign. Because Benteke is a striker in the Emile Heskey mode. Does lots of stuff but scoring goals is not really one of them. But the bastard scored, just before half time. “The worst time to concede a goal!!!!” Tell me when’s a good time.

I needn’t have feared. Spurs came out strong in the second half and our wonderful, Bale-inclusive, front line became unstoppable. Gareth scored again, followed by an amazing Harry strike and then finished off with another Harry goal, which JUST got  past the VAR nazis. And I mean JUST. They put all those lines across the pitch, perform multiple geometric calculations and decide, that by so many millimetres, Harry was onside. I’ve never been so happy that Harry isn’t circumcised. It was that close. And 4-1. 3 games in 8 days, 3 wins. As Liverpool lost their 6th successive home game, to ‘mighty'(???) Fulham, Manchester City imploded against neighbours United and Arsenal fumbled (literally), Spurs go marching on. And as there’s  plenty of curry left in the world, I can be nothing but optimistic. 

Deliriously happy Monday with a mildly dodgy tummy,

A xxxx

Just the day before she was scheduled to appear with Oprah Winfrey, Meghan agreed to an interview with andysglasses.com as a special, exclusive (except for Oprah, obvs) online, zoom-skype type face-time gig with me. Because like her I represent an ethnic minority, but unlike Oprah, who arguably represents one too, I’m not worth 2 billion dollars. Barely worth 2 dollars. Like… $1.73 on a good day. And YOU, lucky readers, can share the full transcript of that earth-shattering, royalty-revolting, amaaaazing conversation. As if you were THERE!

Me. Hi Meghan, thanks for joining me.

Meg. How much did you say you were paying me?

Me. Errrr… hang, on… errrrr… kettles boiling, back in a sec!

Me. Sorry, so as we were saying; Do you like the Queen? Or think she’s a nasty, controlling, dictatorial autocrat mired in the values of an antiquated hierarchical system stuck in 1467?

Meg. Netflix are paying me and Harry 72 million dollars an hour, you said you’d match that.

Me. Yeah, course I will, no problemo, money’s good as in your bank. (HOLY FUCKING SHIIIIIIIIT!!!!)

Meg. Ok, cool. Well, the Queen is a lovely woman, really sweet and nice and offered me all the kindness and courtesy she extended to all the other servants at the Palace. Then she realised I was engaged to her grandson and it all went a bit Ku Klux Klan at that point.

Me. Are you implying racism???? From Her Majesty!?!?!?

Meg. Not overtly, obviously, but its hard to find an whiter establishment anywhere on the planet, so I shook their world a little with my arrival.

Me. Do you think being a really good looking babe helped disguise the total bitch you’re alleged to be? With the bullying, the ‘Princess Pushy’, with treating Harry like a lap-dog, dragging him away to a foreign land after splitting him up from his brother…

Meg. The ‘bitch’ thing is a media construction. I’m a pussycat. I do charity work, for fuck’s sake. Any empowered, beautiful woman represents a threat to the status quo and I’m just more empowered and beautiful than most. Life is not just about a few million in the bank a pair of tits. But that helps. A lot.

Me. What do you think of… Catherine!!!!

Meg. Who?

Me. Sister-in-law? Tall, thin thing? Married to Harry’s brother?

Meg. Oh her. She suffers from ‘mirror mirror, on the wall’ syndrome. Couldn’t handle the challenge. Poisoned Wills against Harry and me. She IS a bitch.

Me. Do you think Liverpool will ever win again at Anfield?

Meg. All managers go through ups and downs. Jurgen Klopp is a class act but obviously Manchester City have run away with the title already. But those other three top four slots will provide a fascinating end to the season. Did you make the payment yet? It doesn’t seem to have gone in.

And from there it all went a bit downhill, I have to admit.

A truly lovely woman given the roughest of rides by the gutter press. I think this totally illuminating piece will help the world understand who ‘the real Meghan’ is and how strong are her values and her bank account.

Happy Sunday

A xxxx

I read the Times. No idea why, its historical. But I like it, obviously, or I’d read something else. Even though I actually pretty much hate all other newspapers. Especially the Daily Mail. Which is why I force myself to read the Sunday edition just to know what ‘the other side’ thinks. Although really, that ‘other side’, doesn’t think so much as just ‘react’. I’m too left wing and too young to read the Mail or the Sun. I’m too right wing to read the Independent and too Jewish to read the Guardian. I never saw the point of the Daily Express. Even though their eponymous building is London’s finest shrine to Art Deco, which I love. But can no longer wander round because since Goldman Sacks took it over you need CIA clearance to enter. Even a year after the bankers left it empty. But we also get the Jewish Chronicle. One of the oldest papers in the land. Mel likes it so she can see who died this week. Sounds morbid but that probably accounts for 90% of their subscriptions. (Old joke: woman: “I vant to put an obituary for my husband. I vant to say: ‘Shlomo Cohen; died’.” Don’t you want to say anything else? How nice he was, good father, wonderful husband, that sort of thing? “He was a lousy father and a terrible husband. ‘Shlomo Cohen; died’.” Well look, the price is fixed for up to 10 words, why not add something? Pause on the line. Then: “Shlomo Cohen; died. Volvo for sale”.)

The Jewish Chronicle has other stuff too. And as my paper was late arriving and, like every dinosaur who ever preceded me, I refuse to read my paper online, because then its not a fucking ‘paper’, I browsed the JC. And I learned something new. The hard lefties in my country simply hate the fucking Jews. All of them. All of us. Israel in particular but by a long way not exclusively. Ok, that’s barely new. After the Corbyn years the entire nation is familiar with constant and massive overt anti-Semitism. Which was ‘never racism’ to which Jeremy was famously (over and over and over again) opposed to in all forms.

The first article was about an ongoing saga relating to Professor David Miller (hard left; Syrian chemical weapons denier) at Bristol University, who is an evil and vile person, not content with persecuting Jewish students, he sees fit to pit all other students against them whenever possible. And the University does… nothing.

The second article was about the BBC (moderate left, issues with unbiased reporting) having a panel to decide whether Jews are an ethnic minority. Like, what else would they be? Electric cars? No. Trees? Hmmmm. Part of the aardvark family? Doubtful. As a ‘race’ is defined by physical characteristic and an ‘ethnicity’ by learned ones, unless you can find babies born wearing a black hat and white fringes, I’m gonna stick with ‘ethnicity’. But the BBC choose to debate the validity of this. (They need to read “Jews don’t count”, David Baddeil’s new book, which unfortunately came out a few months too soon to include this stupidity in its content).

And the third article was by far the best. The Labour Party employed a man to control their social media. At which he’s something of an expert. There are no complaints about his work standards. But plenty once they discovered that he’s not only an Israeli(!!!!) but served with the army there as an IDF intelligence operative. So now the Labour Party, supported in this by John McDonnell, big surprise, are trying to get rid of the man. On the grounds that he’s… Israeli. Nothing discriminatory about that. Other than the rabid discrimination. Everyone’s getting lawyered up and it won’t end well. But because most people are so inured to these type of events, its doubtful that it will upset too many. Outside of the JC.

Happy Saturday, or ‘shabbat shalom’ as they say in the Socialist Worker.

A xxxx

I’m going nowhere. It’s brilliant. I barely have to leave my couch. I’ve put the kettle on one side, a little fridge on the other for beers, and I keep all the empty bottles nearby for… ya know. I just fall asleep in front of re-runs of Match of the Day and wake up to Oprah. I haven’t worked out how to wash there just yet, so I haven’t had a shower since Tier 4 started back in December. For ‘safety reasons’. Because after 12 months of Netflix and take-aways, I’m now morbidly obese and hence a greater risk both from the perspective of covid and to the structural survival of the couch. Work is fine, because as yet, they can’t smell you on Zoom. Only with Zoom Plus (available April 9th). I do exercise though. I do three HIT classes a day. Without getting up. They’re easy. I must be really fit. Though I split my trousers 6 weeks ago. Haven’t bothered replacing them. They can’t see your underwear on Zoom either. And to be honest, you really wouldn’t want to.

It’s holidays I miss. I just want to lie on a beach and think about anything that doesn’t involve Covid, coronavirus, vaccinations, tiers, isolation, quarantine, the NH-fucking-S, Boris or Manchester City. Yet I haven’t been away for 14 months. The longest, holiday free period since I met my first wife. Ok, my only wife, I just like saying it like that. Keeps her on her toes. But the thought of the process of just, kind’a, getting there and back is so daunting, so un-holidayish, so downright… horrible, that I can’t even think about booking for June when “its all going to open up” (subject to terms and conditions… lots and lots of terms and conditions).

So its nowhere for me. Other than tv. Our only escape from the grim realities of the new world order.

So we’ve just finished Money Heist. Spanish bank (of sorts) robbery series. Watched it in the original over-dubbed because Mel’s Spanish is pretty poor. Though possibly not as poor as the almost ruinous dubbing. But its redeemed by two things. A fantastically clever plot, verging on the ridiculous but never quite crossing that line. And the fact that the cast are beautiful. The goodies, baddies, cops, murderers, hostages, all look like ‘Tokyo’ above. Well, the boys look a bit different, I s’pose. So if you think you’d like kind of ‘Inside Man’ (movie with Clive Owen and Denzel W) mixed with Baywatch, then Money Heist is for you.

If not, just watch 2 minutes of ‘Married at First Sight; Australia’ and regret it for the rest of your life.

Happy Wednesday

A xxxx

So having lost the rugby on Saturday, all our hopes were on Sunday’s football. Yours, mine, everyone’s. In particular on the massive match-up between Spurs and Burnley. The game everyone was talking about. In my house. And Lila’s. Even little Joey now will respond to ‘COME ON YOU…’ with a little ‘Spu-urs’. He knows not what it means, nor does he care. But, as in all forms of operant conditioning, he knows that if  he says it correctly he gets a Mars bar and an ice lolly, and if he doesn’t, he gets a slap and goes to bed with no supper. What is known as ‘tough love’. We all have to learn right from wrong. 

And the Burnley game wasn’t ‘big’ in the normal sense of being important for the league, or solidifying a position or anything like that. It was just BIG. Because all Spurs games are BIG. Especially as the only team we’ve beaten of late have been the hapless Austrians of Wolfsberger. And beaten them big. Twice. But you know about flattery and deception, right? So the ‘Gareth Bale and Dele Alli  show’ needed to be proven workable against… better opposition. Against… English people. Well, foreign people but English teams. Just different foreign people. Better ones. Bacially we needed to win something, against someone, and do it properly. 

I’m not sure Burnley could actually be  described as ‘properly’, no more than the banged up Leicester side who had lost to Arsenal just minutes before the ‘big game’ kicked off. And let’s face it, Arsenal winning is never going to put any real football fan in the best of spirits, is it? But it was Burnley who came, so that’s who we played. Its the rules. And we played brilliantly. Not perfectly, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that Gareth Bale played like he used to. Like we wanted him to. Like he can. With a smile on his face, an absent crowd who adore him and in the bosom of his only true ‘family’.  And tagging Gareth Bale alongside Harry Kane and smiling Sonny, with Lucas Moura flitting round and Tanguay Ndombele opening up the spaces was just awesome. Ok, we couldn’t put that team against Manchester City, but thank fuck that’s not who we played. 

3 points, big win, Gareth Bale, vaccinations. Life is looking up. 

Happy Monday

A xxxx