Andy's Glasses

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

This lady is Kim Yo-jong. Who was first seen in public at the funeral of Kim Jong-il and assumed to be Kim Jong-un’s wife. But in fact is… (pause for effect and suspense like they do on game shows…) his SISTER!!! Which doesn’t mean they don’t sleep together, who knows what happens in North Korea. They’re not like ‘normal people’. Pyongyang, Ipswich, Oklahoma, whatever.

But it transpires that Ms Kim is in fact Vice Minister for Propoganda and Agitation. I’m not sure how far the whole ‘nepotism’ thing works out there, where the presidency is hereditary, its a bit like our royals. Or really, its like our royals used to be, 500 years ago. Because Kim had his (half-) brother murdered at an airport, which is very Mary Queen of Scots. So giving important jobs to family is perhaps acceptable. And it would take a very brave man to complain.

Part of the Kim Yo-jong’s remit is ‘managing her brother’s schedule and his public image’. And unless the brief was to ‘see him portrayed as a stupid fat clown’, I question how good she is, image-wise. I’d start with a gym membership for the plonker, a new barber, decent pair of glasses and a tie. But I’m not clued up on North Korean ways. No-one outside of that little part of the peninsula is. It’s so secretive.

Yo-Jong also put out her first statement this week. Comparing neighbours, (but not necessarily in the ‘friendly’ or ‘Love thy’ sense), South Korea to ‘a mere child’ and ‘a frightened dog’ over the latter’s complaints of yet more testing of long-range missiles. The ones Donald Trump was so proud of stopping.

I’m making no judgments about her at this time. I hardly know her. In fact, didn’t know she existed until this picture appeared in the Times today. But she looks like someone who should be wearing a mask.

Michael Bloomberg has pulled out of the democratic leadership race. Which cost him $550 million in 3 months. Pocket change to him. And is now throwing his lot, and a vast amount of more money, at Joe Biden. Who is the last man standing against Bernie Sanders for the Democratic leadership. Our last hopes of getting Trump out of the White House and more importantly, not having to see or listen or read about the stupid man for the next 4 years. Unfortunately, neither Democrat has a chance.

Happy Thursday

A xxxx

I was talking to a ‘die-hard red’ yesterday. They’re all ‘die-hard’ until they start losing. Then they become ‘suffer-a-lot’ reds. But I felt his pain. Not saying I sympathised with it, but I felt it. Because, even with his beloved Liverpool a massive 22 points ahead of Manchester City at the top of the table, he, like his team, is getting the jitters. A case of the ‘yeah, but what if…?’ syndrome. And that was yesterday morning. By night-time Liverpool had lost their 3rd game out of the last 4. Ok, two weren’t league games but various cup matches, but still. But still. BUT STILL! This is a supposed ‘invincible’ team. Regardless of what match is played.

Yet this is not a ‘sudden plummet’. It’s been evolving. From the incredible results with which they started their season, Liverpool were simply outstanding. Unplayable. Amazing in attack, superb in a defence led and bossed by golden boy Virgil Van Dijk. Mane, Firmino, Salah, all scoring for fun. Ripping teams apart. The best wing back pairing in the league, if not the world. But then the wins became less emphatic. Then a bit of a struggle. Then a dose of luck required and winning ‘ugly’. Not that the team, nor the fans, gave a shit as long as the weekly dose of ‘free points’ came their way.

So whether it is fatigue, after a long, hard winter program, or, as someone said on the radio yesterday, the fault of the winter break, I don’t know. No-one does. Not me, not God, not even Jurgen Klopp. Though it would seem unlikely that having a rest week after playing 10 games in 3 weeks would be anything but beneficial. But what do I know?

Spurs have done this regularly. Ok, not being 22 points ahead in the league, no team has ever done that before. But giving that wonderfully false sense of security which gives way to the murder of all hope. The more you believe the harder you fall.

Last season Liverpool were 10 points ahead of everyone else at the end of January and managed to lose the title. Which is possibly why everyone has become so jittery now. But Manchester City, should they win ALL their remaining matches, will end on 90 points. Liverpool already have 79. So ‘just’ have to win 4 of their last 10 games. Which should be beyond easy. If they play like they did at the start of the season. Which they are finding difficult. But Manchester City won’t win all of their games. Probably.

You never know. We may yet get some excitement at the top of the table for the season end. And its nice to know that others are suffering too.

Happy Wednesday

A xxxx

So we all have a decision to make. Do we ignore the Coronavirus altogether and keep on with what is known as ‘life’? Or do we convert to mask-wearing sneeze-averse, cling-film wrapped paranoids, avoiding all possible contact with anyone, working from home, having the Ocado geezer leave ALL THE SHOPPING AT THE END OF THE PATH BY THE ROAD! DON’T WALK ANY CLOSER!!!! and hand sanitising 263 times a day? The choice is yours. And either is ok.

Every year in the U.K. 17,000 people die of flu. Just regular, common-or-garden, English, non-imported, domestic, home-grown (possibly) flu. The sort that makes you feel like shit and keeps you in bed sweating for 3 days thinking you’re going to die but (unless you’re one of the unlucky 17k) just goes away leaving you fine. And there’s never any fuss. Never a panic. Never an incitement to MASK UP!!!! In fact it barely makes the news.

Yet one Chinaman, we’ll call him Mr Li, just on percentage grounds, dies in Wuhan and we have a pandemic. A world catastrophe, shut the schools, close off the airports, sell your shares, abandon life as we know it. If it wasn’t for football all public gatherings would have been long outlawed. But there’s way too much money in the Premier League for it to be affected by a few deaths. And as most football fans only read the sports pages and hence don’t know about Coronavirus, their ignorance is bliss. Unless they’re Spurs fans in which case their ignorance is FUCKING AGONY.

I personally think you have more chance dying from a terrible Spurs performance than you have from Coronavirus. But I’m no Doctor. I rarely even go to the doctor. Only for scans.

Possibly my favourite Stephen King book is The Stand. Old but sheer brilliance. It’s about a post apocalyptic world in which a ‘plague’ has killed off 99.99% of the world’s population, leaving only the tiny number blessed with natural immunity. Being Stephen King they divide into the GOOD and the BAD and weird things happen. But its a story of survival. Because when the Ocado guy dies, you don’t get fed. And a few other problems.

So by about May, we’ll either be there, in The Stand, taking our side in the fight for mankind’s massively diminished future, with me and Lila and all the good guys, possibly on the ‘dark side’ with all the remaining Arsenal fans and devil worshippers, or it’ll all just blow away as the temperatures rise. Because Corona don’t like heat.

Let us pray for global warming. Like NOW!

Happy, healthy Tuesday

A xxxx

Priti Patel is at the centre of a storm. She is in fact that storm. Allegations of bullying, lying, harassment, abuse, demeaning, rape (I just added that for drama) and tyrannical behaviour have led to calls for our Home Secretary to explain herself to parliament. Well, Labour have called for that, so she probably won’t bother. The Prime Minister has stated his ‘full confidence and support’ in Ms Patel. Which, in Westminster parlance, normally means ‘gone by Tuesday’. But this is not ‘normal’ government. It is no longer seen as a place where shouting, swearing and violence are viewed as abnormal or detrimental. Priti Patel is merely a short Dominic Cummings. Bit wider. More hair. And as such will retain her job, and her smug smile. Particularly as she remains one of the only 4% of women in the SW1 area who have NOT given birth to a Boris-baby.

The Middle East gets more worrying every day. And its just soooo complicated. Turkey shot down 2 of President Assad’s jet fighter planes yesterday. In retaliation for Assad bombing loads of the Turkish troops who are in Idlib to try and prevent the massacre of innocent civilians which is currently being systematically perpetrated by Assad and his Russian mates. So Turkey has almost, effectively attacked Russia. Almost.

Assad is bombing Idlib because it is the last remaining ‘stronghold’ for anti-government rebels. And as we’re opposed to the Syrian government, as any decent human being should be, we must therefore default to supporting these rebels. But these rebels are, along with the Turks and lots of just ‘normal Syrian people’, jihadists. Fighters previously with ISIS, with Al Quaeda, are now continuing their fight in Syria as ‘the rebels’. Which is why Assad can proclaim his ‘war against terrorism’. Even though the terrorists are now seemingly fighting against the bad guys. So you have a war running between the positively evil and the downright awful. Which would be just fine if there weren’t a million innocent men, women and loads of children in the middle of it.

What happened to the good guys wearing the white hats and the baddies wearing the black ones? So you knew who was who? Probably lacked diversity. Discrimination against red-hatted people. Gender biased.

Happy Monday

A xxxx

There have been six Premiership matches played this weekend. And from those, 3 of the bottom 5 teams won their matches. Which itself is a bit odd. It’s not for winning games that these clubs get to be in trouble. Bournemouth, also in the bottom 5, drew with Chelsea, who really should be in the bottom five, on moral grounds. The 5th club ‘down there’, Aston Villa, play in the Caribao Cup Final today against Manchester City. Which should be a foregone conclusion. The great, the magnificent, the majestic, the oil-funded, the corrupt flash-boys with a chip on their collective shoulder as big as the words ‘MANCHESTER UNITED’, went to Madrid in the week and left the Bernabau stadium victorious. So how hard should it be to beat shitty Villa at Wembley? But… but… but…

But its football. And there’s no guarantees and form, current or otherwise, is simply no guide. Because 3rd place Leicester went to bottom placed Norwich on Friday night and lost. That shouldn’t happen, surely. Then West Ham won a game. Doesn’t matter who they’re playing, that should NEVER happen. But best of all was to be found at Vicarage Road in Watford.

Where any kind of form book was not merely thrown out of the window but then picked up by savages, hacked to pieces with machetes, doused in oil (but rape seed oil because Greta Thunberg’s in town) and burned to ashes. Because the mighty unbeatables of Liverpool arrived. Well, unbeatable in the league, few minor problems in European competitions, and on a run of 18 consecutive wins. And they came to play Watford, who started this season with 11 straight losses but are currently actually enjoying a bit of a resurgence under their third manager of this season (so far). Still, they were in the bottom 3 and looking hopeless whilst the Liverpool machine just wins and wins and wins.

Until yesterday. Then they lost. And they lost a lot. Rather than just losing the game, they lost about 17 records for winning streaks and length of unbeaten-ness and having the most dashing manager, and all sorts. They also failed to score for the first time since the war, and didn’t just lose but lost 3-nil, which some (ok, me) consider a minor thrashing. The first half was unremarkable. The best player of that period was Watford’s Barcelona reject Gerard Delofeu. So when he was carried off on a stretcher it looked like the tide might turn into a red one. As so often happens. But it didn’t. Watford were just brilliant. Bold, forceful and not for one second intimidated by Liverpool’s reputation, results or previous invincibility. Quite amazing.

So its a weekend for the shit teams. Let’s hope this persists this afternoon as Spurs, definitely currently a ‘shit team’, take on Wolves, currently a very impressive team.

Happy Sunday

A xxxx

Whilst the whole world is talking about Coronavirus some people take action. Like Big Richard at Tai Chi this morning. Affirmative action. He brought a hand sanitiser with him. So as we were throwing each other around, getting in each other’s faces, grunting, panting and grappling, his hands remained… sanitised! The rest of him (and not for nothing is he called ‘big Richard’) was under intense threat, but hands were safe. I went further and immersed myself, head to toe, in it, and inhaled a good blob up each nostril just to be safe.

The Israelis are on the verge of a vaccine. Always at the fore of medical innovation, they will have a ‘cure’ within months. Which will obviously be available worldwide. Except for students at SOAS, workers at the Co-op, Roger Walters and everyone else part of the ‘BDS’ campaign of boycotting Israeli everything. They’ll just have to either die of the virus or of a level of hypocrisy even more outstanding than the stupidity required to institute the BDS anyway, which generally causes adverse effects on way more Palestinian workers than it does to Israelis.

Lila has gone to Tenerife. With Joey. Flew this morning. Because where problems arise, where people are suffering, where disasters occur, normal people run away. Lila appreciated what the world needs and thus flew into the (one of many) eyes of the storm. She is Super-Lila! and will NOT be stopped from… well, from eating ice cream really, which she sees as the whole point of holidays. She too is making her stand. Joey can’t really stand yet, but supports her in spirit. She is like the Greta Thunberg of health. But nice. And sweet. And not at all annoying. Or punchable. Or Swedish.

And that left me here. With the virus everywhere and an appointment with the tennis court at 11. When it was positively pissing down. By 11.10 the rains had ceased (temporarily as it turned out), the sun had come out and the wind had risen to stupid levels of windiness. So we had a great game and ten minutes after we stopped the rains started once more. Storm Jorge. Because Spaniards can’t spell ‘George’. Or maybe George was used 4 storms ago. And apparently the main Met office is in Spain, so they get to name the storms. After Brexit we get to have storm Janet, John, Jane or Jennifer.

Happy stormy Saturday

A xxxx

I’m going to Africa. Sub-Saharan. Because it seems to be the only place in the world safe from Coronavirus. I appreciate I might get kidnapped by pirates, slaughtered in a military coup or eaten by a tiger, possibly even a tider if Lila comes with me, and even though there aren’t any in Africa, but at least its ‘safe’. From Corona! The map of the world is being painted red as it spreads. Italy has become plague-central, from where most of Europe has now become endangered. There’s doubts about the rugby tomorrow in Ireland because it involves Italians. And they’re bad news. I cancelled a pizza last night for fear of the virus. Schools are closing, particularly when they’ve had ski trips to Italy and the skiers have returned. Shares are plummeting in the wake of the effects of the virus on travel, productivity in China (the world’s factory) and a grim looking short-term future. So my pension pot will doubtless have halved once more, as it always does at such times. Meaning I’ll be working until I’m 173 to be worth a loaf of bread every fortnight.

But more importantly, what’ll happen about football? Do you want to be in the midst (and, although its gross to consider), in the ‘mist’ and ‘spray’ of 50,000 potential carriers as their spittle-filled shouting gets under way? What about the tube? Concerts? All ‘gatherings’. I think we need to ban them now, particularly if Arsenal are involved. On health grounds.

Everyone with a holiday coming up is ‘concerned’. Because we all need to spend 2 weeks locked in a hotel room in Benidorm to then be sent home and spend another two weeks in the Wirral. Anywhere but the Wirral!

I’m pretty sure Joey hasn’t got it, which is why I was eating him yesterday. I only hope, for his sake, and Lila’s, that I haven’t. Because I have realised that I am just an ‘in-yer-face’ kind of guy. Certainly and in-yer-face grandad. If the kids are on the floor, then that’s where you’ll find me. Never separated by more than 3 inches. I like proximity. Always have. It’s just that now I’ve found some people too small to run away like everyone else does. Mel’s only around because I have a taser.

Like most people, its not fear of getting Coronavirus that is the perceived problem. It’s the quarantine.

God Help Us Friday

A xxxx

OMGeeeeeee!!!!! Book flights now (Coronavirus notwithstanding) and let’s GO! It’s amazing. It’s the most… amazing (did I say that?), incredible, sensational, amazing (?), fantabulously incredulously stupendifying thing EVERRRRRR!!! And it opens in May. We just MUUUUUST go. Cancel plans, tell work, put the breast implants on hold for a month, leave the liposuction for this year, go heavy on the Botox and we’re going to Tyra Banks’s ModelLand!!!!! In LA!!!! Where we can be… MODELS!!!!! for a day. Or maybe even get ‘scouted’ while we’re there and stay forever!!!!! Once they see my potential, see that under 30 or 35 (ok, 42) unnecessary kilos, which I can lose in a minute, I have a beauty which only a catwalk could really do justice to. Ok, it’ll have to be a stronger catwalk than they need for the Bella Hadids of this world, but its America!!!! And they teach you how to model!!! Like, probably, both standing and, wait for it… WALKING!!!! OMG this is outrageous. I just can’t wait. We’ll need some ‘cover-up’ due to that annoying acne which, my doctor tells me, is ‘Pizza induced’. What rubbish. So I’ve bought the 5 litre economy bottle. And they do your MAKE UP!!! And hair!!! Like, professionally!!! And only costs $549 for the whole day!!! Or, for just $1495 they give you photos, orange juice (sorry: ‘signature blood orange beverage’!!) and a robe. I can be Claudia Schiffer for the day! Even though I look like Tyson Fury. But with a really great pout. Especially since my lip-filler has subsided from the ‘two Cumberland sausages on a plate’ look it first had. The girl in Tescos who did it told me it’d take a while to settle.
LA here we come!!!!

But I think its really healthy to take advantage of young women’s desperation for the celebrity lifestyle and aspirations of unattainable narcissistic goals. I’d be Zoolander for a day. Why not?

How long before no-one in the world is allowed to leave their homes because of Coronavirus? Hit squads dressed in surgical protective suits roaming the streets shooting anyone who moves. It’s getting scary.

Happy Wednesday

A xxxx

This is the idea, right? You have two (main, but really, only two) political parties. And they disagree with each other, that’s their job, but agree among themselves. That’s their duty. And only to the degree that their party are acting in the best interests of their constituents. And are morally on message.

And aren’t horrible, bullying tossers. Which in fact seems to be the new norm.

The conservatives have the luxury of a massive majority. Yet seem to be on a course to reshape Westminster into some bizarre, Dominic Cummings dreamworld in which no-one disagrees with anything he, not the Prime Minister, says or does. Thus the ongoing sackings of senior civil servants. Because they’re not ‘political’, because they’re not members of his party, because they are independent. Which is why they’re there. To put checks on the government. To reign in wayward ministers. But Cummings doesn’t want independents. He just wants people he can control.

Labour meanwhile are voting for a new leader after the worst defeat in political history. Iran has had less one-sided elections than our last one, and they only ever have one person standing, regardless of any other names that may appear.

To stay left or not to stay left, that is the question. Or, perhaps, how far left can the party remain without alienating three quarters of the country who instinctively reject living in a communist state. In the Corbyn inspired arrogance, their most-hated critic was Tony Blair. Yet Blair was the last labour leader to win electionS. Yes, more than one. Three times in fact. And could have won more if he hadn’t decided to pass the baton over to the charisma-free zone that was Gordon Brown. Yet Blair remains ‘the enemy’ of the present day, Momentum-backed Labour Party. So even should Kier Starmer, a (relative) moderate, should win, he is bound by the Labour Party Executive. Again these are not ‘politicians’ but horrors like Jenny Formby, unelected by real people, put there at the behest of the Unions.

And thus we will have no viable opposition party. And a government run by a right-wing nut-job. And Dominic Cummings.

I could hardly worry more if I was a West Ham supporter.

Happy Tuesday

A xxxx