Andy's Glasses

Don’t know what happened to days 75 and 76 but that’s the nature of this totally dystopian world in which we now live. If you call this ‘living’!!! Because Team Boris have a plan. Which is to remove the very essence of sociability, of community, of our very humanity. Lock yourselves up for 3 months and don’t see no-one! If you meet someone by accident, then either kill them, or kill yourself. It’s the only way to beat the virus. What are the prostitutes going to do? Have you thought of that? 

I must admire the Americans though. Because when the shit hits the fan, they do what any sensible people would and should do, which is buy more guns. No, I have no idea why either but I keep seeing photos of massive queues, or even massive lines, outside gun shops in the States. Note to Americans: if you could shoot the virus, the army would already be doing it. Over here its toilet rolls, over there, weapons. You could read a lot into that if you could be bothered.

The daily newspaper is now re-named The Coronavirus Times. And is all about numbers. How many died, how many have the virus, how many are likely to enter both statistical groups over the next days/weeks/months. Then you move to the arts and culture pages and learn which of our fabulous celebs have either got the virus already or are self-isolating because they were molested by someone who has. The Sports pages tell us how much more sport is cancelled, delayed, deferred, postponed or abandoned. No ‘results’ as such because nothing’s being played. BetFair are now taking bets only on Coronavirus. With ‘live betting’ available for death tolls.

I’ve written to the Chancellor to complain. Well, why not. Not like he has much else to do. Because they’ve taken away my public. All of them. Fleet Street is now ‘working from home’. All of it. Except me and the KFC. When I go home at night I turn the street lights out.

But birthdays don’t wait. So the parties went on. And thus I spent Sunday morning at the brunch party for ‘the twin’ and the afternoon at the tea party for ‘the wife’. Or the ‘twin’s twin’. In line with the ‘KEEP 2 METRES BETWEEN YOU AND EVERYONE ELSE IN THE WORLD AT ALL TIMES!!!!’ ruling, I shmoozed, I hugged, I kissed, then remembered that the whole ‘social animal’ or ‘sexual deviant’ thing is currently suspended. Ooops.   Happy Tuesday, phah!

A xxxx

Today, the 74th day of the apocalypse, they banned sport. All sport. You can still play bridge. But only wearing rubber gloves and in a chlorinated swimming pool. Which is empty because swimming is banned along with every other sport. But in terms of ‘real’ sport, and even things like F1 and ‘golf’, the things which call themselves ‘sports’ but some of us have doubts, everything is banned.

The sports pages are now completely empty. Other than lists of sportspeople who have contracted the effin virus or those who are self-isolating. So the ‘new league table’ looks like this:

Arsenal 3 cases 6 isolating total points 15
Chelsea 3 5 14
Man City. 2 3 9

Tottenham. 0 0 0

Liverpool have no points in this particular table but the virus has taken their fans’ usual feelings of tragic over-entitlement and elevated them exponentially to levels of frustration and near-suicidal heights of anti-God-ness. Because if there is a God, HE FUCKING HATES LIVERPOOL!!! Which is obvious because HE’s a Spurs fan, everyone knows that. And the whole purpose of coronavirus is to stop Liverpool winning the league. Basically because nothing else can.

And what are we going to do with the postponed matches? In a season so full anyway that most teams can’t really cope. Extend it? Into the summer? When the Euros are due? Finish it next year? If there’s enough people around… Or do we just write off this season entirely? Wipe the slate, abandon and start afresh next season. That seems the fairest to me. Some Liverpool fans might disagree. Because they’re not medically trained.

Why can’t they ban other things instead. Leave sports so that the self-isolators have something to watch and ban traffic wardens. Income tax. Speed bumps. Jehovah’s Witnesses. Ban all vegan restaurants. Ban Newport Pagnell. So many options.

Donald Trump has gone one step further and simply banned everything. Flights, sports, forrinners, Red Injuns, Mexicans and all of life in New York City. He’s done this for two reasons. The first is that he now, having been in denial for the last few months, appreciates the severity and danger of this epidemic. And secondly, because he’s a reactionary half-wit orange-faced imbecile who is all about posture and nothing about substance. Just an opinion.

And so it goes on.

Happy Birthday to Mel. NOTHING will stop us having the best birthday weekend ever. The gels have gone beautifying. All the gels.

A xxxx

Well here I am in Day 73 of my Coronavirus diary and pleased to report, as I have for the previous 72: NOTHING’S HAPPENED!! Making it possibly the most boring diary since… Well, probably Victorian times as no-one with an Instagram account would ever bother with something so primitive as a ‘diary’!

My measures are taking effect. Because even though I have no symptoms at all and know no-one who has, I’m in a form of self-isolation. Because its the way forward. And I was getting ‘self-isolation envy’, a little known psychological side-effect of Covid-19. So I’m locked in only venturing out once a day to buy toilet rolls. As soon as I hear of a shop that still has supplies I get in my Hazmat suit, scrub the car down with disinfectant and rush round. By which time those alleged stocks have normally gone. But you can’t be too careful. Which is a little concerning as I’m now down to just sufficient toilet paper (under ‘normal digestive conditions’) to last 83 years. I may have to reduce my daily food intake to compensate. I also have 47 crates of dried pasta. Though in fact I’m gluten intolerant so can’t actually eat any. Yet feel every person has to do their bit to help. And buying toilet rolls and pasta is what society needs at this very troublesome moment. It’s our way of pulling together during the crisis.

And the crisis is this: sport is being affected. The rugby’s been off for ages. No-one with any sense would go to Italy and French people are notoriously bacteria-ridden, everyone knows that. So you wouldn’t want to get in a scrum with either of those. Ireland’s in lock-down and the Formula 1 race in Melbourne has been cancelled because someone has the virus somewhere in Australia and three koala bears are currently in self-isolation. The Arsenal manager actually has the virus, a Chelsea player does too and one from Manchester City is suspect. If only there was a Liverpool player and one from Man United, we could just ban those teams from the league and it would be good. But I strongly suspect that by this evening all matches here will be either postponed (til when????) or played behind closed doors.

All this happening but it won’t get in the way of Mel’s birthday tomorrow as she celebrates such a big birthday. I’m not saying how old she’ll be but just that I’m going to thereafter be sleeping with a 60 year-old woman. Holy shit.

Happy Friday

A xxxx

We’ve been escalated. From ‘virtually nothing’ our national status has now been moved to ‘a little bit more’ as we, as a nation united, join together to avoid getting sick. Well, not really sick, but more, not very well for a day or two. So we’re into the official ‘delay’ phase in which we’re delaying… things. To help. Nothing headless chickeny about this, we’re being pro-active. Against what is now a ‘global pandemic’. Use the motto: feel in a state? Self isolate!! as your guide. I’m going into my 2-weeks tomorrow. Because I spoke on the phone to a woman whose mother-in-law’s nephew works with a man who came back from Milan. Ok, it was in 2011, but that’s not really the point here. It’s about caution. It’s about being ‘sensible’ and not taking risks and… and panicking.

Donald Trump has banned all flights to the States coming from Europe. Note: Britain is NOT part of Europe for this and for many other purposes. We can still go to Orlando any time we choose. Though Coronavirus is actually a much more pleasant option.

And as predicted, yesterday’s budget was all about Covid 19. And other vast expenditure. The days of austerity are behind us. You can’t fight a global pandemic with hope. You need cash. Billions of it/them/stuff. And the “NHS will have unlimited resources to fight this”. Which means building 10 new hospitals in the next 2 weeks but budgets aren’t about practicality, nor logistics. The money’s there.

There’s talk of playing every football match behind ‘closed doors’. Fans will get to watch it on a stream, pubs will not be allowed to show them for fear of 62,000 Spurs fans all spitting over each other in The Bill Nicholson on Tottenham High Road in a ‘lounge bar’ built for 27 people. There’s even talk of ‘cutting the season short’. In which case, would it be possible to cut it right back to the time when Spurs were in 4th place? I don’t think that’s too much to ask. All the games since have been due to Coronavirus anyway. Harry Kane; the virus affected his hamstring. Son; virus in the ankle, so we need to go back further.

More worrying that Australia is rife with the thing. Tom Hanks caught it there. Because when things happen in Australia there always ‘that bit more’. The most lethal snake. The most dangerous spider. The most toxic jellyfish. And probably the virulent virus. Stay away.

I’m bored and intrigued in equal measures. But if they stop the tubes, God help us all.

Happy Virus Day 72 (first reports from China about ‘cases’ was on Dec 31st, so probably, they’ve known about it since last July. That’s ‘transparency’ Chinese style)

A xxxx

Budget day today. Not the budget Rishi Sunak thought he was going to give, when he got the job a couple months’ ago, but a different one. This is the world’s first Coronavirus Budget. I think he’ll put a 20% tax increase on anyone getting the virus and then they’ll think twice before contracting it, or leave the country to avoid the tax hike. Either way its a win.

But for the first budget of a brand new government, with a massive majority in the House, we were waiting for the major ‘5 Year PLAN’ and the lofty projects and the HS2s and possibly 3s and then the 5G network, on the menu, just after the beef chop suey, and infrastructures and NHS and policing and all sorts of billions and billions. Instead we have plans for a virus.

Which is so BIG in our lives now, so absolutely MASSIVE a part of expectations, that it has taken over. So completely that they’ve done the unthinkable, the unimaginable, the impossibly NEVER! and cancelled a football match. Holy shit. That’s when you know its serious. Manchester City will NOT be playing Arsenal tonight because of Coronavirus. Sky TV must be thrilled. NHS Manchester must also be quite pleased and a bit relieved.

And all because Arsenal played Olympiakos recently and their owner has contracted the virus.

Which is the way it goes. The interconnectedness of people. A guy who plays tennis at my little club every Sunday (but THANK GOD not for a few months) has the virus. Got it in Italy. He’s a local dentist. His son went to a party on Saturday night, possibly not the brightest move, and oddly, there were quite a few people there. So yesterday a woman cancelled her appointment with my wife because her daughter was at that party and the woman is now ‘self-isolating’. A term we had never heard until one month ago and is now spoken 50 times a day.

The ‘seven degrees of separation’ never seemed so sinister. Kevin Bacon must be scared shitless. (That’s obscure but I’m sure it’ll mean something to someone).

So the budget has to plan now for unexpected billions on health. On helping businesses. On the crashing stock market. On mortgage relief.

And all for, basically, a cold.

Masks on, hand sanitisers at the ready, hands washed, its time to un-isolate.

Happy Wednesday

A xxxx

It’s Purim today. Did you know that? It’s a Jewish holiday where you make a lot of noise and eat little poppy seed cakes. Jewish holidays are always defined by the food. Always. And on Purim you dress up. Fancy dress. Because that’s what God said. Purim celebrates the salvation of the Jews in Persia. By Queen Esther. The king of Persia, Esther’s husband, had an evil advisor, a kind of Arthur Andersen meets Adolph Hitler of his day, who told the king to kill all the Jews. Esther, apparently as beautiful as Meghan Markle, as gorgeous as… as me, as stunning as… a taser, she worked on the King and saved all the Jews. Hooray. So they could go and get threatened/slaughtered/exiled/deported/persecuted/reviled by the next lot. Which would then cause another holiday because the whole Jewish thing is one of survival. Against often ridiculous odds. We even survived Jeremy Corbyn!

Although that’s not over yet. There’s no fat lady singing and if she is, it ain’t no Hebrew song. The Labour Party are still being investigated by the IHRA and yet are still talking the same old rubbish but in fact its almost worse now as ‘the Jews’ have, in some hard-left quarters, become the scapegoats for the election disaster. Something pointed out to leader hopeful Rebecca Long Bailey in a meeting to which she said… precisely nothing. Keep the policies, blame the Jews. New Labour.

And Kier Starmer is, we now learn, married to a Jewish woman. And he loves Friday night dinners and the holidays and all his Jewish friends and family and, other than the mere fact of circumcision, is as Jewish as the chief rabbi. And I say ‘now learn’ because of an interview he gave to the Jewish press. Nothing to do with his own leadership campaign. So just one question for Sir Kier: WHERE THE FUCK WERE YOU WHEN YOUR ENTIRE FUCKING POLITICAL PARTY WAS BEING INSTITUTIONALLY ANTISEMITIC ON A DAILY FUCKING BASIS!!! Just a little question.

Kier’s probably gone in fancy dress to the hustings today. I wonder if he’s gone as a character from ‘Frozen’ like Lila and Joey? I think he should, there’s always been something icy about that man.

Happy Purim

A xxxx

Where’s ‘international men’s day’? Why don’t we have one? There I am with my almost ‘equals’ sign (another 4 months’ of physio and I should make it) and then I find that women get not just a ‘day’ but an ‘international day’ in celebration of… of… of women. I celebrate them every day. Except when I have one driving ahead of me in a Range Rover. Then my… errrr… celebrations are slightly muted. Could even be mistaken for swearing. On occasion. Or confusion. Why are you driving down the middle of this road when its 2-way and there’s cars coming towards you? 

Yesterday was international women’s day and bless them all. Meg made a speech in a school and was groped by the head boy. Good luck to both of them. And women all over the world… were even more womanly yesterday than on any other day of the year. Because we celebrated that very womanliness in so many ways. And not all of them asking which shirt’s been ironed. No. According to the rules, we celebrated women’s contribution of a social, economic, political and cultural nature. Otherwise known as: talking on the phone; shopping; arguing and watching Love Island. In that order. And I applaud it all.

There is, in fact, an ‘international men’s day’ too. Wikepedia told me. Its in November. But unlike the female version, its not recognised by UNESCO, so is kind of unofficial.

Where’s the ‘equals’ there then? And isn’t it a bit ‘binary’ having just days for men and women? When there are now, apparently, so many options. In betweens. Almosts but not quites. Where’s the ‘diversity’???

My only real surprise is that Hallmark haven’t come up with a range of ‘happy international women’s day’ cards. Badges. Mugs. T-shirts. Key rings. I’d buy Lila an international women’s day Peppa Pig in a moment. Or and IMD unitorn. She’d love that. But what about Joey? He’s a little man. Come November he’ll find out that any celebration of his manhood is strictly unofficial. And he’ll hate that. Though unlike me he can celebrate it as he does every other day by pissing on the floor.

Happy Monday
A xxxx

I know that the Duchess of Sussex (Meg) is quite a divisive character. Marmite (nothing racist in that word). People hate her and people love her. I’m a lover. For although she has broken our royal family asunder, has upset Her Majesty the Queen, has shown disloyalty to the throne of England, is taking our favourite son away to foreign lands, there to prostitute his royalness in the brothel of a celebrity circus, even with all that I love her. Because she’s gorgeous. Yes, I am that forgiving. Not to mention shallow, stupid, a man and blessed with sufficient blood to manage but one organ, and it ain’t me brain. Meghan has a smile that lights up a room. And other things which light up other parts. But this is certainly NOT a place for mere objectification of a woman!!

There was a photo of her today (there’s pretty much at least 7 every day, don’t know what all those photographers are going to do when she leaves) making a sign with her forearms. A bit like the one I’ve copied here. Except the arms should be parallel to each other. Making an ‘equals’ sign. To denote equality. Between the genders. Men, women, gays, trans, bis, neutrals, hermaphrodites, accountants, other ‘things’, equal. Great sentiment. Hence my own tribute. As we’re all encouraged to post pics of this new wonder-sign. It’s going viral. It’ll be the #metoo for those totally bored with Harvey Weinstein specifically and ‘all men are rapists!’ generally.

But unfortunately, I have a problem with my right shoulder. A profound problem. Which prevents the required movement to get my right arm parallel to my left. So, although the sentiment was there, and I’ll join any fucking movement any time, especially if Meghan is involved, I ended up with a different sign. Which, in maths, means ‘greater than’. And I’d like to state, on the record, here and now, that although I AM in fact greater than most people on the planet, that was not my intention here. Nor is it a new, new movement for arrogant, sexist, misogynist bastards like me. No, this was support. This was just ‘equals’ which went a bit lop-sided. Due to physiological constraints. So please, to all my sister feminists, forgive me; I’m with you all the way. Especially if Meg’s coming.

Spurs and Burnley finished ‘equals’ yesterday. 1 all. I watched some of it and then… and then… and then switched to the rugby on the other side. Not that I just needed to watch a team I love (in that case, England) actually winning something, but just because… just because… just because Spurs were fucking awful and it was horrible to watch.

Happy equal Sunday

A xxxx

I’ve made a decision. On behalf of the whole world. That anyone who uses the word ‘woke’ not in connection to having been asleep, is a tosser. Of such magnitude that they should be arrested, publicly stoned (in the violent sense, he’s probably already in the other one), or eviscerated with a wooden post. Or something equally as blunt. There will be NO appeal. No second chances. Just total zero tolerance and immediate sanction. Because although the meaning behind the stupidity is a fairly noble one, being ‘alert to injustice in society, particularly racism, sexism, most-any-ism’, it has actually come to define an exceptionally narrow band of tolerance which is then used as dogmatic justification of not discussing things that may be, or may have once been, ‘un-woke’. Which is the pure ignorance of deniers of free speech or any opinion that is not ‘woke’. Thus Amber Rudd, one time Home Secretary, due to speak at the Oxford Union this week, was ‘cancelled’ 30 minutes before the scheduled start. Because of her connection to Windrush. Which was tenuous at most. But heh, she’s not ‘woke’ so she shall not speak. Tossers.

Someone definitely about 6,000 miles short of woke is Sheikh Mohammed bin Rashid-al-Maktoum. The geezer wot rules Dubai. You know him, white sheet, headdress, beard, you know the one. Matey with the Queen. Well, he was, as they used to share a love of horses together. But then came… kidnap-gate! The King allegedly kidnapped 2 of his own daughters and imprisoned them in Dubai to prevent them escaping to… to… well, to lead, normal, nice, sort of… lives. But when you control armies you can generally find people to do your bidding. And Moh did just that and imprisoned his own daughters. Which came to light apropos his divorce from his 6th wife. In the custody battle. Ex-wifey-VI, as we call her, obviously had views about her ex-hubby’s credentials as a parent. And possibly as a husband. Who really objected to his 6th wife having an affair. I mean, sleeping with someone else whilst married is really despicable, immoral, horrible. None of the other 5 wives he routinely slept with would have done that. I’m surprised he didn’t have her stoned to death. Though as she’s Jordanian royalty that may have sparked an international issue.

So there we have it. I a-woke today and decided it was anti-woke day. A word I’ve never used in earnest, never will and cringe every time I hear it.

Spurs playing Burnley in the late match, I’m hoping to be out by then. Just in case I happen to have to watch any of it. Nooooooooo…

Happy Saturday

A xxxx

Spurs lost a match on Wednesday night. I’d just finished playing bridge when the penalty shoot-out started. ‘Watched’ it on text stream because I couldn’t find it anywhere. There again, I’m not the best at finding anything: keys, phone, ‘that bill I put somewhere and needs payin’’, my shoes…

And we (faaaarrrrkin!!!!) lost. To bottom-of-the-table Norwich in the FA Cup. It was awful. It was tragic. It was a sad and sorry result for my team. Even though we’re so used to losing to shitty teams, currently, it still hurts.

Losing bridge hurts too. But I’d never call my wife and my brother ‘a shitty team’. Not in public anyway.

So the match at White Hart Lane finished and the mood was understandably dark and solemn. And then Eric Dier took off from the pitch, jumped the little wall (he’s 6 foot 4 or thereabouts, a three foot ‘wall’ doesn’t even get noticed) and ran up the tiers of seating with a maniacal look on his face. To find his brother. Who, when he looked up for him at the end of the game, he saw was in ‘an altercation’ with some fans. Eric saw red. That’s his little brother. And set off in protective mode. To protect. And serve. Whatever. He was pissed off and angry and looked it. The stewards intervened and all was fine.

Except its not fine. At the end of the game a group of Spurs fans, obviously near ‘the brother’, chose to verbally abuse Eric Dier as the scapegoat elect by their little cabal. And in case you’re unfamiliar, for something to even rank as ‘abuse’ at a football match, it must be really, really REALLY bad. Because fans have become normalised to shit that is completely unacceptable in virtually any and every other context in society. At football, blind ears (??) are turned to the alleged and imaginary sexual deviation of players, sung loud and clear. Arsenal Wenger was accused of paedophilia regularly by the Spurs faithful. Seemingly nothing is ‘off limits’. Except mothers. Those you abuse at your peril (see the magnificent and wonderful Eric Cantona above in response to such a slur at a match 25 years ago). So maybe brothers are close enough.

I have a basic rule about football chants that if they’re funny they’re fine and if they’re nasty they’re not. Though I appreciate this may be a somewhat subjective. Somewhat. But now and again someone’s gonna get angry. A button will be pushed. And trigger pressure is increased by losing matches. Against ‘poor teams’. On penalties.

Eric Dier probably didn’t hear what the abusers were shouting. He just went to protect his brother. Even a ‘court’ as stupid, lacklustre, limp and impotent as the Football Association shouldn’t have issues with that. Whereas abuse by fans is something that might be ‘of interest’.

Happy Friday

A xxxx