Andy's Glasses

I’ve seen the future! And it’s bright! Its wonderful! And its succcc-sesss-fulllll!!!

I am officially, as of 22.37:42s last night, a PSG fan. Yup, got the shirt… metaphorically, arranged season tickets for Paris, bought an old person’s Metro pass and I’m starting a course in ‘being an obnoxious French-person’, so I can fit in with my new ‘brethren’. It would appear I’ll also need to learn how to attack the police, get arrested and possibly speak passable Arabic. My French is actually quite acceptable. I use the ‘one French word in 3’ technique, speaking the English words in between really loudly. Seems to work buying a ski pass.

Because the Champions League Final last night was something beyond spectacular. Even though it was the most one-sided final ever. But that one side was pretty much all you needed. They amazed. They impressed. They were simply magnificent for the entire 90 minutes.

Finals can be dull affairs. ‘There’s so much at stake!’, so they set up to defend first. In the case of Inter, Italian teams default to ‘9 at the back’ anyway. It didn’t matter how many they had at the back, PSG just tore them to pieces. With such amazing skill, speed, stamina (they never stopped), resilience and style that you could only think ‘wow!’

The incredible front 3 joined the defence the entire match. Chasing back to help. That takes incredible fitness. But as their average age is about 16, fitness is not an issue. Though it is something quite frightening for every other team in Europe, particularly those with aging squads.

Best of all; although they have some incredible ‘stars’, PSG play first and foremost as a team. They play for each other. No glory-seeking. No egos. Summed up when Doue, the nearest they have to a superstar, unselfishly crossed to make their first goal. Which was finished beautifully by their right back who was in the centre forward position. Because that’s how they play. The skill runs through the entire team. They reminded me of the very best of Brazil teams in various World Cups.

So that’s it. Done with Spurs, vive le (la? Les??) PSG. A team worthy of me.

Happy Sunday

A xxxx

There’s a new ‘n-word’ been brewing for quite some while now. A word guaranteed to produce sharp intakes of breath, possibly palpitations (if you’re chatting with any Victorian women, and let’s face it, we all do that), even a sharp slap, in some situations.

The word is… nazi!!! And I get that, to a degree. Throwing it around as a poor metaphor for any slightly right winginess is patently wrong. Accusing someone of being a nazi just because they support Nigel Farage is sometimes wrong. Ken Livingstone banding it around to a Jewish journalist was patently awful. So the normalisation of the word is wrong and undesirable. It actually downplays the horrors of the Nazis.

And in steps our esteemed Attorney General, Lord Hermer. Into the debate about whether or perhaps, by how much, we should step out of the European rules on Human Rights. Specifically as it applies to refugees and asylum seekers. So far, so fair.

Lord Hermer is a dickhead of the first order. He is that most vile of things (in my house): a ‘Jew-hating Jew’. He’d describe it as being ‘anti-Zionist’, probably, but if you’re basically denying the right of the State of Israel to exist in the current middle-east climate/crisis, and give time to the ‘river-to-the-sea’ genocidalists, then you’re an antisemite, Jewish or otherwise. So he’s no friend of mine.

In the immigrant debate, what Hermer said was, that to remove us from the European Court of Human Rights, in order to allow the state (that’s us) to go above the law and deport or prevent certain types of immigration, is what part of Nazi philosophy included. The Nazis realised that they, the governing party, had to have power OVER the courts in all matters, so that’s what they did. Who was gonna argue with them?

And this was a philosophical debate. It was not a partisan slanging match, it was a discussion of our policy following Brexit and all that ‘control of the borders’ bollocks, which obviously, is still 20,000 miles from happening.

So although everyone gasped at the N-word, I really don’t know why. The nazis were a political party. Not a very nice one, but they weren’t stupid and they certainly were big on political changes. And Hermer’s use of the word was in a perfectly acceptable context. He wasn’t accusing anyone of ‘being a Nazi’. He was just pointing out how the government taking control of laws over the judiciary was part of Nazi tactics.

So no, Hermer shouldn’t be sacked because of this massive reactionary knee-jerk to using the n-word. He should be sacked because he’s horrible and no-one likes him. (Again, that would be in my house).

Happy Saturday

A xxxx

My favourite grandson is obsessed with football. Be it going to Spurs (poor kid; even though he loves it dearly), getting footballer cards for his albums, or, best of all, playing it, football has become 60% of his life. The remaining 40% is ‘snacks’. And I’m not only proud of his skills and his enthusiasm, I’m more proud of ‘the way he plays’. With what he’s learned from the professionals. Basically, he fucking cheats. All he can get away with.

We played a little ‘one on one’ in the garden yesterday evening. Having already played a little in his kitchen in the morning.

Joey points out my goal. It massive. The width of the patio. About 10 yards. And there’s his goal; slightly smaller. And, it must be said, rather more vaguely defined.

He scored first. No surprise, my goal is fucking massive. Then I scored. Or thought I did. But in fact, I’d ‘hit the post’.

‘No, my goal starts at… that bush, over to… another bush, there’. Oh. Ok.

He scored again. I scored again. But alas, VAR (or ‘Joey’, as its called in our house) disallowed the goal because the goal wasn’t in fact where I thought it was, and was much smaller than I was possibly led to believe. Ok. 2 nil then.

Then I scored. Incontrovertible. Right in the 14.3 inch space to the far right of the garden which his ‘goal’ had become. Unfortunately, unbeknownst to me, I’d committed a foul. So it was Joey’s penalty, from 4 foot in front of my goal. Which he scored. 3- nil. Fair’s fair.

What Joey considers a ‘foul’, there are many who would use the term ‘tackle’. But as his default is to fall on the ground clutching some part of his head/body/legs randomly, as he’s seen the ‘real pros’ do, its just easier to cry ‘foul’.

So its not just every facet of the ‘beautiful game’ little Joey loves, he’s truly embraced the entire culture of ‘professionalism’. Which, as we all know, is a fancy word for ‘cheating’. But only if you get away with it. ‘Shifting the goalposts’ is not just a metaphor, ya know.

Couldn’t be any prouder if he turned up in a Lamborghini with an arm full of tattoos.

Happy Friday.

A xxxx

My favourite author in the whole world is Stephen King. No-one else comes even close. Maybe John Irvin. It’s about the characters and how they’re built. And no-one can compete with the boy from Maine. Not Dostoevsky, not Dickens and, as far as I know, no-one in Jayne Eyre had their throats ripped out by rabid dogs from hell. Ok, he did a lot of ‘horror’, but he’s also done loads of other stuff. Shawshank Redemption. My stock answer to anyone who questions the man on ‘horror grounds’. I loved the horror. It was such a wonderful way to produce pure ‘evil’.

But the horror gave way to a less supernatural version of evil. So although his more recent body of work may contain a little ‘telepathic suggestion’ or two, or some useful precognition, these are now done slightly more moderately than in, say, Carrie, and more subtle than in It. There are sledgehammers more subtle than It.

And in a way, the evil produced by ‘mere mortals’ is much more scary than by a vampire. Or a killer, eternal clown.

About 10 years ago he wrote a book called ‘Mr Mercedes’. About one of King’s favourite character types. The embodiment of pure evil. Evil for evil’s sake. And the eponymous baddie drove his great big Mercedes, at speed into a crowd queuing up for a concert. Multiple deaths, more horrendous injuries, the stuff of nightmares. Stephen King stuff.

Then a bunch of jihadis ran a truck down a promenade in Nice, killing 80 people. This was followed by vehicular attacks in lots of other countries, from Belgium to Spain and even the UK. The weaponisation of motor vehicles suddenly became ‘the thing to do’. And not just jihadis, there were other great causes for which the cretinous fuckwit believers thought the murder of dozens of random people would be a great benefit to those causes.

And then Liverpool. Monday. Tens of thousands of Scousers and Scouser-sympathisers from all over the world had gathered to celebrate Liverpool’s league victory. A joyous occasion. A massive party. Which one man chose to ‘rain upon’. Proclaimed immediately as ‘white, in his 50s’, so as to stave off any more attacks on refugee centres due to lack of correct information being forthcoming. Drove into a bunch of people. Amazingly none died. But about 75 were injured.

I’m not blaming Stephen King for this. I’m sure there have been such incidents before he wrote the car-killer’s handbook. But wow, it’s scary. And an epitome of that ‘pure evil’.

So to defend myself (and to get rid of some really troublesome, dying old bushes in the garden) I finally fulfilled a lifetime’s ambition and bought a chainsaw. It’s cordless, to save me severing cables, and so ‘eco’. And dangerous. But not as dangerous as the one I really want which is twice as long and has a V8 diesel engine. Baby steps. Get this gentle little thing, then ‘upgrade’ later.

Happy Thursday

A xxxx

So we all hate the Chinese. You simply have to. All 1.4 billion of them. Not that it would be that easy to be a bit more selective. Though in fact we don’t hate every person there, some must be alright? Aren’t’ they? At least half a dozen or so, surely. But we hate President Xi and we hate the government there but as it only sits about once in every 10 years to announce another 20 years under Xi’s stewardship, bit like another coronation, we only have so much dislike of a bunch of old Chinese we couldn’t name.

And we hate that they persecute the Uyghurs and that their population of over a billion humans have not one human right between them. They oppress the population, repress opposition and cries for any form of democracy, they stole Hong Kong and they send their children out to work at 7 years old. Not sure what that last bit says about people buying from Shein or Temu but we’re all guilty of creating a disconnect between principles and a cheap dress. And don’t get me started on Covid.

However, if you have a problem to solve, China is the place where it will get solved. It’s just what they do. Throw another 15 million people at it and the answer will come. If not, there’s plenty more 15 millions waiting in the wings.

Hence the Electric Vehicle situation. Which is not even a situation any longer in China.

Our problem is that charging takes fucking hours and that’s if you’re lucky enough to find a charger which will accommodate you, enable you on their app and produce the necessary output. If you can’t find such a thing, it’ll take you another 20 miles of stress and anxiety before you fail a the next one. Teslas have a better network of rapid chargers but not every EV is a Tesla. Especially as they’re the double-damned now. Parts made in China, get taxed to shit entering America, where they’re built, then taxed again when they arrive here from the US.

In China, their BYD electric cars have a massive network of chargers which will give you 250 miles of ‘lectric in 5 minutes. As a consequence, BYD sales there have now overtaken those of Tesla.

But they also now have the CATL network operating. You drive your battery-depleted car in and they remove the battery, replacing it with a fully charged one. In three minutes!!! Less than the time it takes to fill your motor-scooter with unleaded.

We could have all this here. Where they keep telling everyone to drive electric whilst doing nothing about the almost total lack of charging infrastructure. But we won’t. Because they’re worried about the information from your vehicle ending up in Beijing. So President Xi will KNOW you went to McDonalds when your wife wasn’t looking. It’s not like your Electric Mini is filled with state secrets and military details, FFS.

I truly love our EV. But ask me if we’d buy another? Go on, ask.

Happy Bank Holiday Monday

A xxxx

The government are now going to reverse the original reversal of the winter heating allowance for miserable old gits, like me. When Labour took power the first thing they did was to condemn pensioners (like me) to DEATH! By hypothermia. As, without the 250 quid they give us, we’d have to turn off the heating, dim the lights, put on 14 cardigans (old people have loads of cardigans) and generally, just lie down and die so we’re less of a demand on resources and NHS time. This was the ‘caring’ government we’d chosen.

Well now Rachel Reeves is in trouble. The heating debacle remains so tragically unpopular that she simply has to revise and reinstate the payment. BUT: not for ‘millionaires’. Oh. Yes, they’re actually going to liaise with HMRC and find out which pensioners spend more than the annual heating allowance on lunch every day, who really really don’t need it, and those without chauffeurs who will really find it of massive importance. Funny that the government couldn’t work out a system like this before they made themselves so terribly unpopular. But no-one said you needed to be clever to run the country. Though it wouldn’t hurt.

HMRC know everything financial about everyone in the country. They know who needs a heating allowance and who really doesn’t. They could have saved themselves so much bother.

But now the football season is finished. Over. Spurs, buoyed by their quite magnificent Europa Cup victory in the week, decided to bow out by letting Brighton beat the shit out of them, even though it’s Joey’s birthday and he was there. We lost 4-1. The perfect end to a totally disastrous league season. But no-one gave a care because they brought the Cup out and paraded it round the pitch and that made everyone very very happy. And we only have to wait til August for it all to start again.

I’m relieved.

And counting the days til the new season.

Happy Sunday

A xxxx

When someone posts something contentious on instagram in the UK, they generally get a 5 year prison sentence. And because there’s as much room in our prisons as there was yesterday in Tottenham High Road, to accommodate these ‘evil posters’, we have to free up the space by kicking a few rapists back out into the community. Maybe some child monsters, armed robbers.

If I was going to commit a serious crime, I’d do it in France. The French judicial system simply loves dangerous criminals. Hence the old-age dudes who broke into Kim Kardashian’s hotel suite, tied her up, held her at gunpoint and nicked an obscene amount of jewellery, which has never been recovered, they received sentences of just 2 or 3 years. Which meant, because of their time already served while waiting, that they all walked free. Or rather, due to their age, ‘crierched free’. (It’s how old people move, if yer not familiar).

Which seemed incredibly lenient to me. Kim said ‘it was the most frightening thing ever in her life’. Not including when she first looked into a mirror before any work had been done and saw herself as God made her. That was so scary she’s made the careers of 19 plastic surgeons in California.

But these guys, to the French, they’re just ‘nice old boys’, it is not, ‘ow you say?, nice, to bang them up for the rest of their lives. I’d like to ask the judge if a gun is any less of a gun if its held by a geezer of 75?

Yet there’s the other side of the story. Spoiled stupid rich bitch in possession of more money than the population of 3 Parisienne arrondissements, flaunts a 6 million pound ring in public and thinks she’s safe because, like Barbie, she’s over 80% plastic.

Ok, I’m not a big fan. Of someone who’s become famous by encouraging a generation to obsess about every facet of their appearance. Your tits are too small; make ‘em bigger. Your ass is too skinny; make it MASSIVE. Your husband’s an abusive piece of shit; get single. Nose too short, eyes too… eye-like, lips too… un-lippy; just fill it/cut it/inject it/whatever.

Alright, I’ve had work done. We all have. You simply can’t stay this beautiful without help. But the Kardashians made a career of it. They normalised vanity at the expense of all else. And made fortunes doing it. What does that say about the people who enriched them by watching it?

Happy Saturday

A xxxx

Look, we won a trophy, I’m not going to get so exited about it, we didn’t invent a cure for cancer, its ‘just’ a football trophy. In the grand scheme of things, when judgement day arrives, it won’t have counted for much. I get all that. Its just a matter of keeping things in perspective.

We won a cup. ‘A’ European trophy. Not, alas, ‘the’ European trophy, but the other one.

Which, in my mind, makes us the second best team in all of Europe. (The first won’t be decided until next weekend). And as we know, the European leagues are by far the best in… well, Europe, yeah, but actually IN THE WORLD!!! Which makes Spurs, the second best team in the entire world. And unless we discover life on other planets in the next 12 months, we’re the second best team in the ENTIRE FUCKING UNIVERSE!!!

We may well have ended the season just one place away from the drop, but you simply can’t argue with the data. Which doesn’t mean we have to ‘rub people’s noses in it’. That would be neither considerate nor friendly. However, its worth just a quick flick back through your various whatsapp messages (they never go away; they stay forever and can and will be used in evidence against you) for any that depict empty trophy cabinets, the word ‘Spursy’ or pretty much anything football related, and send them a photo of our beautiful trophy with the words FUCK YOUOUOUOU!!! superimposed over the top.

Anyway, its just lucky I’m not ‘that sort of person’ who would gloat, demean or belittle.

This morning as I was e-biking to work, I was knocked off my bike. By a van. White one. He’d stopped, facing my direction of travel, to turn right. And he did turn right. Before I’d passed him. Why would you wait? Kill two birds with one stone. Or, kill one cyclist with one van. Either way. But he didn’t kill me. He hit my back wheel and off I came. Though, in the grand scheme of things, quite gently. And over I went. No damage. No bang on head, no breaks, no real wounds beyond the capability of a band-aid. And I have to confess, I swore at the driver!! I’m sorry, and (possibly) ashamed, but profanity left my mouth in a driverly direction. So I knew I wasn’t concussed.

But I was fine, the bike was fine, about 6 people just ‘appeared’ there helping me, offering love and kindness. Not to the fucking driver, they hated him. But other than few (literal) scrapes, all was good.

Until I got on the bike and realised that one pedal was broken. Which is annoying because I didn’t bother taking the name or licence number of the driver. But he can’t be hard to find. Indian geezer driving a white van. If you see him, tell him he owes Andy a pedal.

Be careful out there. And don’t mention to Mel. She’ll never let me out again.

A xxxx

Oh what a night, late-ish May in twenty twenty… five
Oh that night that made me come alive
What a feeling, what a night.

Oh what a night, set in Bilbao with which nothing rhymes,
United and Spurs had such a happy time,
UEFA League final, such a night.

Oh what a night, two hapless teams with little skill or fight,
Falling over, mis-timing, flailing bright
Til Spurs did score in a game so tight.

Oh what a night, now Man United pulled out all the stops
They had to score to avoid being top of the flops,
But the goal was hard to find.

The game moved on, the time passing at snail speed
With Lila and Joey we were nervy indeed
We replaced the beer with snacks to feed
But still United wouldn’t concede.

United pressure, relentless, pressing
Our defence strong, what a blessing
A shot at goal, surely in our net!!!
But Micky Van der Ven flies airwards, the ball to get

Later on a headed attempt surely bound to go in!!!
Vicario saves, I swore a lot, is that really a sin?
The final whistle, the Cup, the glory,
And that, my friend, is part of the story.

“Your trophy cabinet’s empty”, so the tossers cried
For years and years that mantra, an assault on our pride?
I never cared, not one bit, ending high in the league, that was it.
Trophies come or not, that was a secondary bit.

But now we have a trophy, and I’m pleased as Punch
going to go with the Legend to have champagne with our lunch.
But all those who now have no song to sing
Seem to be deprived of silverware themselves, that’s the thing.

By their criteria, they have miserably failed
Whilst by finishing seventeenth, our stock has sailed.
And what to do with Ange?, that’s now what we ask
He promised a trophy, was equal to the task

Champions league awaits us: (God help us all)
I hope this won’t be pride before the fall.
But we have some cash, and we’ve become a desirable team,
Is Ange the man to take us to highs we’ve never seen?

So much to enjoy, so much more pleasure
I’m just going to enjoy these days, take it at my leisure.
Next season’s a mile away, loads of time to go,
Meanwhile, I might just polish ‘my’ trophy, but literally so.

Very, ecstatically, deleriously Happy Thursday

A xxxx