Andy's Glasses

I don’t really do religion. It’s just not my thing. I do Kultcheral religious stuff, because its part of our Kultcha, innit, and allows me to eat chopped liver and challah, the foods of the gods. But actual prayin’?? Naaaah. Praying in English, most of which I understand, always seems like total nonsense. Praying in Hebrew, which I really don’t understand, is therefore meaningless nonsense that the masses recite, en masse and although some of the tunes are quite moving, most of the voices singing them aren’t, so I just generally don’t. Which is no problem really as I don’t spend much time in a prayerful environment.

Except yesterday. Yom Kippur. The holiest of holy days for Jewish people. Because then I HAVE to go to the synagogue, as a kind of cultural imperative. And I know its a bit of a cop out, enjoyed by most ‘secular Jews’ who don’t do much in the way of prayer at all. So we do Yom Kippur and the preceding week we ‘do’ the New Year (Hebrew new year, lunar calendar, don’t ask) and we’re kind’a ‘done for the year’. Boxes ticked; I’m a ‘good Jew’.

And even when I go to synagogue, I generally find any reason not to join the praying. Not because I think ‘it’s all bollocks’ because that would be too subjective an analysis to impose onto people for whom it, presumably, has a much more profound meaning.

So I take as many turns on the security rota as I can take, strolling through the park in my stab-vest, hi-viz and radio in my ear is a great way to while away 27 prayers, even when its pitch black and there’s a 30mph wind blowing. And instead of going to the main prayer services, I go to the explanatory service. Where prayer is minimalised, its mainly taken in English and its fascinating on a philosophical/theological level which is even… INTERESTING!!!

So I grew up, as do all Jews, almost fearing Yom Kippur, because it is ‘translated’ as The Day of Atonement!!! Kind of Judgment Day!!!! Where we ‘atone’ for our ‘sins’ in the preceding year. And you have to starve yourself for 25 hours to ‘purify’ yourself, or ‘punish’ yourself, in the process. Safe to say, no-one corrects this at all when you’re young and impressionable, and the rabbis nurture that fear because they’ll do anything to get people into prayer.

And because we’re English speaking our entire vocabulary is based on Christian values. And therefore the nuance and the actual meanings of the ancient Hebrew gets ‘Anglicised’ for convenience.

So we are not ‘atoning’. What we’re doing is adding up our errors (the Hebrew word means ‘to miss a target’ but is translated as ‘sin’ because Christians love sins and punishments and flagellation and redemption) so that next year we can do better. Not financially (though it wouldn’t hurt) but as a person. And we don’t ‘starve’ as punishment. We simply pray so hard (ok, but stay with me on this) that we simply choose to ignore our bodily demands as simply unimportant on the spiritual plane we have ascended to. We are almost ‘angels’ (another impoverished translation error which does emphatically NOT mean little cherubs with fucking wings and tutus, but a higher mental state). And angels don’t eat, don’t shit… but that is, in fact allowed, don’t drink, don’t fornicate, don’t nuffink. And that is an aspiration for that day, not a punishment.

And I love that theory. The practice I can take or leave, but I love the idea that if people believe in a God then its a forgiving type of God, who understands that we’re not perfect and just says: ‘ok, so you fucked things up, try harder next time, phah!’ God becomes your best mate rather than a solemn bearded geezer with a whip and a dagger.

The things you learn if you stop talking to your mates for 10 minutes and concentrate.

Happy Next Day

A xxxx

And sometimes you just have to work. As it is written. And all that rushing round, getting into the City early, being busy busy, can be a bad thing. Ok, it may have its rewards (in one life or other) but it can prevent me from finding my ‘happy place’ and contemplating the world in order to make it better.

So having sorted out Boris, who may or may not have had a ‘relationship’ with tubby blond Yank, but it DOESN’T MATTER and is no-one’s business at all. Because essentially paying someone 135 grand of public money so he can shag his latest is no compromise of anyone’s standards. Sorted.

Rugby? Sorted. Athletics? Sorted. Dina Asher-Smith is wonderful and edible. Donald Trump? Sorted. Unless you’re a Kurd or any other type of decent, responsible human being. Brexit? Ok, not everything is quite so binary. And then there’s football. This year’s taboo subject. The unmentionable. The game that shan’t be named.

Because its all gone, in the parlance, ‘tits up’. The glory days are over. If they really ever began in earnest. The joy, the pleasure, the delight, the… the… the everything has just been sucked down some horrible sewage pipe into a steaming great heap of total fuckage. As we enter ‘international week’ on the back of last week. Which ended: Played 2, lost 2, goals for, 2, goals against, 10. Players performing well, none, players you’d like to kill or maim, 9, manager you love… jury’s out.

WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO MY FOOTBALL TEAM????

A cry that can be just as loudly heard all over Manchester. As United underperform to a ridiculously high (low?) standard. And City lose at home to Wolves. Which is no big shame or tragedy; its just not Manchester City. As we know and hate them. Chelsea are winning, which is a surprise to everybody, especially Frank Lampard and Arsenal hit a ‘seam of form’, winning a massive 2 consecutive games. Liverpool keep on winning. But as very few people care about them, that’s scant compensation for the clusterfuck that has been the start of this season.

I’m already wishing it was next season. The only consolation is that our goalie has broken his arm and won’t be able to give away ridiculous and unnecessary goals until January at the earliest.

Spurs have destabilised. Our defenders can no longer defend, our attackers suffer attacks and our midfielders just don’t. There’s no spirit, there’s no cohesion, there’s no love. Whether this is down to the manager ‘losing the dressing room’, as has been alleged, or due to players who wanted to leave not actually doing so, or whether its down to the rumours of lovely Jan Vertongen being not quite so lovely as he ‘does a Boris’ with Christian Eriksen’s wife. That’ll cause upset.

The result is that we are just rubbish. Which started at the end of last season but was somewhat disguised by our league position and champions league appearance. Now the disguise is over, the facade is gone, we are just shit.

Time to pray. Well it is yom kippur tomorrow; what better time?

Fast well
A xxxx

These latest allegations against Boris (though you really REALLY have to be specific when allegations against Boris are concerned because there are just so many flying around at any time) are grossly unfair! The ones about the Mayor and the Blonde Tart. Sorry, Jennifer Arcuri wasn’t the Mayor. But we don’t know the story. Boris has denied any allegations of wrong doing and I think we have to believe him. Because… because… Ok, I’ll try again: WHY THE FUCK WOULD ANYONE BELIEVE ANYTHING BORIS SAYS PARTICULARLY WHEN AFFAIRS OF HIS TESTICLES ARE IN QUESTION??
That’s better.

The situation was thus:

Boris was Mayor of London and accepted that responsibility with all due care and consideration and… and responsibility. And if you think that some brassy blonde slapper could make him somehow just lose his judgment and act in a stupid, moronic, negligent or even, dare I say, ‘horny’ way as a consequence of her mere slappery brassiness, then YOU DON’T KNOW OUR MAYOR/PM VERY WELL.

He’s a man of honour and integrity and honesty and trustworthiness and extreme loyalty to the institution of marriage. I’m not saying he’s infallible. Who among us can cast that ‘first stone’??? Eh???

I’m just saying that in moments of extreme weakness, but, like REALLY extreme, Boris could, possibly, potentially, hypothetically, theoretically, allow himself to compromise his ‘head’ for his ‘penis’. I’m not saying it happened, I’m not saying it was even on the cards, I’m just, kind’a, throwin’ it out there. Like a Devil’s Avocado. But less green.

Boris simply offered a woman (see; equal opportunity, blah, blah) the chance to run a government quango about online entrepreneurs. Of which she was definitely one because she had a smart phone. She applied for the post through normal channels and was summarily rejected as being ridiculously unqualified. They didn’t go so far as to say she’d be better suited as a glamour model, but its there between the lines. Boris merely intervened, because HE HAD THE FORESIGHT TO RECOGNISE HER IMMENSE POTENTIAL. He was thinking outside the box. Just not necessarily thinking outside her ‘box’. And so he gave her the 100k a year salaried job. A job she did really really… well, we have no idea.

There is absolutely no suggestion that Boris was motivated in this strictly ‘London’ decision, based on ‘business acumen and ability’ by any promise of cheap and sleazy sex. None at all.

Furthermore, according to Ms Acuri (the current bidding for ‘her story’ is at $225k), another honourable and honest person, men simply ‘fall in love with her in 2 minutes’. I forgot to mention her ‘modesty’. In all its meanings.

So this is a story, an almost tragic story, of nothing more that the assumptions made by Boris haters based on their prejudices and without any substantial evidence whatsoever. Ok, the ‘circumstantial’ evidence is in sufficient quantity to possibly bring back hanging, but it is JUST that; circumstantial. And thus we need to leave Boris alone until the ‘truth’ emerges. And doubtlessly proves his innocence.

Now click your heels three times and think of Kansas.

Happy Sunday

A xxxx

We all love a ‘loophole’. That’s what makes tax avoidance such fun, its why shutting down parliament was such a hoot, loopholes are just neat and canny way of sidestepping rules. And thus they cause consternation and upset among the very conservative types as they perceive the whole loopholey thing as ‘cheating’. But what when the conservative types need their own loopholes? What happens then??
You can’t get more conservative than the Shia Muslims of Iraq. They’re really strict. Adherent to their rules as laid down by all those holy of holies who spend their days restricting everyone’s lives. In the name of God, obvs. And yet some ‘clerics’ have devised a cunning plan to help people… errrr… well, to help men… to… have sex with women. Outside marriage, sleazy and dirty, effectively prostitution but that is TOTALLY ILLEGAL under Sharia law and thus would NEVER be even entertained as a thought. Ish. Except by men. Who often think of little else.

The clerics use a tool (no pun) called a ‘temporary marriage’. And it is beyond the merely loophole and enters the realms of total hypocrisy. Its called a ‘temporary marriage’. Presumably this only works in places where polygamy is allowed, like Iraq, Utah. And the ‘cleric’ not only issues you with a marriage certificate for this temporary arrangement, lasting as little as just 1 hour, but also provides you with a ‘bride’ too. I mean that’s a service any religion can be proud of. Though any other religion might prefer to use the word ‘pimp’, rather than ‘cleric’.

The tragedy of all this really is that these vile men will provide girls as young as 9 for this ‘temporary marriage’. These ‘clerics’. But its a problem the imams and the big-wigs are familiar with and are trying to, blah, blah, blah, usual bollocks.

The problem is not with the loophole. The problem is with the law which creates the need for these ridiculous measures to become necessary. I’m not saying ‘all men are rapists’ but if you assume they are then banning them from visiting prostitutes, or probably, in this case, issuing death sentences or similar on anything approaching ‘sex trade’ does not make the problem disappear. Only from sight. Which, like banning drugs, like the Prohibition, like banning most things, just sends it underground. Or creates the need for stupid, ridiculous, hypocritical, transparent abuses. In this case of women. And young girls.

Ban all laws which ban anything!! Its the only way forward.

Happy Friday

A xxxx

China is 70 years old this week. Happy fucking birthday. But its not like, ‘old China’, nice China, full of Ming Dynasties and Terracotta Warriors and inventing glasses and fireworks and all those great things they did when the women had bound feet and the men very long moustaches. No, this is 70 years of the People’s Republic of China. Since Mao Tse Tung ousted the old warlords and feudal rulers and replaced them with… with… with communism! And that is well worth a celebration in anyone’s money. The communists arrived and ‘liberated’ the entire population. Well, not exactly ‘entire’. They started with 7 of them. Counting Mao. They were ‘liberated first’. To make sure the path was safe for the other 800 million (probably; at that time). Not so they could implement the communist infrastructure, but more so they might hoover up a few national assets before the rush. But then they realised they didn’t have many assets. Just liabilities. 800 million of ’em. So they leveled the field, gave everyone a title and started the ‘cultural revolution’. Which certainly worked, as a tool for population reduction as about 3 million people disappeared and were never seen again. It involved neighbours reporting neighbours for absolutely anything that might have been ‘against the revolutionary ideals’, brothers reported sisters, no-one was safe. It was a case of ‘report or be reported’. And this was seen a ‘progress’. A vast number of the population who didn’t ‘disappear’ died of starvation in the years of famine. As the new leaders fed them political ideology instead of rice.

Fast forward and here we are. With China Nouveau. The biggest, richest, loudest, most… Chinese-est country in the world. It owns debt from virtually every major nation on the planet and you wouldn’t trust them as far as you could throw them. And their leader still looks bored. Blessed with a permanent expression of total indifference, President Xi rules the nation with an iron fist. During the celebrations in Tienanmen Square (don’t mention the deaths, they’ve been air-brushed out of history), they marched about 20 million soldiers, 100,000 tanks, they had missiles, artillery, planes, boats and bombs. All in celebration.

Which is funny. Cos you’d think a nation would choose to celebrate the good shit, the history, the achievements, the children. Rather than merely displaying its rather awesome military potential. It represents the greatest “you want some a diss???” in the history of armed warfare. It was a message to Trump. It was a note to the good citizens of Hong Kong. It was probably a hint to Russia too that there’s other big players in the game.

So we have the most populous nation on Earth run by a tyrannical Elvis-impersonator. And the most powerful nation on Earth run by a gun-crazed, half-witted Boris-impersonator. What else could we ever need.

Happy Thursday
A xxxx

Today I want to talk about global warming. I want to talk about Prince Harry suing the Daily Mail. I want to talk about Tesla cars, the Conservative Conference, about the ‘new deal’ Boris is taking to be ridiculed by the EU today, about Paris fucking fashions. I want to discuss menstrual cycles, circadian rhythms, Boris Bikes. Let’s talk about Lila. Joey. Charlotte Edwards’ thigh, allegedly fondled by Boris. Anything fondled by Boris (long list).

Anything but football. Not football. Can’t do football. Just not on the agenda. Too busy. Too hectic. Too engaged elsewhere to even notice. So apologies to football fans. And also to Spurs fans (notice the ‘subtle’ disconnect). Because what Spurs play is no longer football. As we(‘d like to) know it. Therefore it cannot and will not be discussed here. Oh no. Its beneath me to even make comment. Other than: GGRRRRRAAAAGGGGHHHH****%%%***!!!!!
The Conference in Manchester was surprisingly quiet compared to the Labour one. Maybe Brighton is just a noisier place? Or maybe the BorisCons really only have one message and I think we’re kind’a familiar with it by now. That message will change, in approximately 29 days, but for now…
Tesla cars are much more interesting/funny. Having ‘mastered’ driverless technology, they’re allowing Americans to ‘call their cars’. For a nation so car-bound and generally immobile that walking from Burger King to the car represents a ‘work out I’m not prepared to do’, they can press a button on their phones and the car will come to them!!! Long as its not more than 200 yards. So for a car with ‘full on driverless capability’, that’s a walk in the (car) park. Or it should be. But apparently those 200 yards, for those who’ve tried and filmed it, is more Apocalypse Now than walking in the rain with the one I love. They’ve crashed, they scratched themselves, they’ve attacked passers by, driven over kerbs, onto pavements; pretty much anything and everything but just ‘come to heel’. Which most dogs can do without the benefit of GPS, sensors, radar, sonar and nuclear capability enjoyed by most Teslas.

So how does that look for the whole ‘driverless’ thing??

Meg versus Mail? Watch this space. Harry’s already dropped the ‘D-bomb’ with comparisons to his saintly mother who was literally hounded by the press to her death. You just need to find jurors who haven’t heard of Diana then it can be fair and impartial at trial.

Joey is so bright; this was his mime for ‘the Great Escape’. Genius.

Happy Wednesday
A xxxx

If Spurs had lost yesterday I was going to take a sabbatical from football. Just, kind’a, ignore it for the rest of the season and come back refreshed, recharged and ready to take on the world again. As if. Because after the dire start to the season, after which, incredibly, we sit 4th in the table (our ‘rightful spot’), we just endured the week from hell. Losing stupidly at Leicester, which under normal circumstances might be forgivable, but they were not normal circumstances, and then losing at Colchester. Which is such a ridiculously abnormal circumstance as to be rather beyond ‘funny’. And losing at Leicester, like losing to Newcastle, was not normal because both were the result of the horrendous malaise that’s been poisoning my club since the term began. And whether this is down to the ‘want-aways’ not getting what they want or down to Pochettino losing the dressing room, or possibly some combination of both, the result is no cohesion in the club, no spirit, no togetherness. No love.

Until yesterday. The love returned. The winning ways. Well, let’s leave it as ‘winning way’ in the singular for the moment. And I’ll delay the sabbatical under advisement. As we only managed to win following an apparent revolt from France. As one Frenchman, Serge (QU’EST CE QUE TU PENSE????) Aurier managed to acquire 2 yellow cards in about 5 minutes of each other and departed the match after 30 minutes. Another Frenchman, the captain of his national team and our esteemed goalkeeper, Hugo (Cruyff) Lloris decided to deploy a trick turn on the ball, on his fucking goal line. The trick failed, the ball lost, the nearby attacker pushing it 3 inches into the net unbelieving of his luck.

But we’ll always have Japan.

Holy shit they are an exciting team. Not blessed with the sheer size required to be your normal rugby types, the Japs do it their own way. As they showed in the last World Cup when they beat the South Africans in probably the most memorable match ever. And again yesterday, they played the Irish. The number 1 team in the world rankings. Above EVEN New Zealand. Ok, Japan fields a few ‘Japanese’ of spurious origin, like their captain, who happens to be the brother of an Aussie cricket star. Both born in South Africa. But we don’t ask questions, lest they be asked about the provenance of our sporting heroes.

But what the Japs do is what they’re famous for. Incredibly hard work and fantastic efficiency. Like the bullet trains, the rugby team just works faultlessly. And the players are nimble and fast and very tricky. So they offload very quickly. Which doesn’t save you from the 17 stone of Dublin potato-head that’s bearing down on you, but it means the play is safely in your mate’s hands when you get hammered. And again, its not so much the result, which was incredible, but the spirit and the determination in which it was achieved.

I hope they reach the final. And Spurs beat Bayern Munich in the week.

Happy Jewish New Year to all. Shona tova, may it be sweet for everyone. Especially Spurs.

A xxxx

Different day, different shit storm. That’s our world. This time it involves Naga Munchetty, the breakfast tv presenter of such gorgeousness that only a fellow gorge, like me, can really appreciate her. And she’s great. Clever, funny, gorgeous. And if you don’t like what she says, just turn the volume down and watch her. Like I do.

And way back in… whenever, they were discussing the famous Trump tweet to the Fab Four democrat women in which he told them to ‘go back home to their own crime-torn, shitty, grotty countries where they came from…’ Which was particularly bright, even by Trump’s really low bar standard, because 3 of the 4 were born and raised in the very same US of A that he was. That Bruce Springsteen was. That Apple Pie was.

And Naga said that whenever people told her ‘to go back where she came from’ it was ALWAYS part of a racist stereotype. Which was correct. She spoke of such experiences she’d endured, which was also correct. She said Trump’s comments were racist which was also… Well, it was also her opinion about his motivation. And THAT is what she has now been reprimanded for. Not for being anti-racist but for alluding to racist motivation in the almost brain-dead President of America. Because the BBC must always be ‘impartial’ and ascribing motivation does not apparently fit that model. You see a man inhaling three Big Macs, if you work for the beeb you do NOT assume him to have been hungry. That’s ascribing motivation and WILL NOT BE TOLERATED in the overstated tolerance of the BBC. You get it? Yeah, me too (#).

The head of the independent overseeing complaints whatever of the BBC stated that he admired Naga for her honesty and her comments but had to reprimand her. No punishment, but the reprimand for, presumably, compromising the impartiality of the BBC who, he told us, were the most inclusive, tolerant, multi-cultured, many-that-ed, super un-racist people ever.

This was all in response to just one solitary complaint. I wanna know who the complainant was. I really do. Because if that person is not him/her self a racist then he/she is simply the most pedantic, stupid, moronic person ever to watch tv. And that’s a serious competition.

I also think that the BBC complaints people should have just told this person to go fuck themselves. Impartially.

Happy Saturday

A xxxx

I think its appalling, the use of bad language that was used in Parliament this week. I’m disgusted. Fucking disgusted. Because our elected members of parliament are supposed to deport themselves with dignity and honour. Act as ‘gentlemen’, not common yobbos pushing each other around before the fight starts outside a pub in Norwich.

The attacks, particularly by the Prime Minister and the leader of the Opposition, created a toxic, near-violent atmosphere, not conducive to House of Parliamenty type things. These were personal attacks which is no more how we expect politicians to act than it is cricket. Before all the cheating and ball-sanding happened and we started to need a new metaphor. So perhaps now we don’t need a new metaphor. ‘Cricket’ ain’t what it used to be and neither is parliament.

Some of us feel that in calling Jeremy Corbyn a ‘coward’, a ‘loser’, a ‘pratt’, ‘tosser’, ‘goofball’ and ‘Beardy McBeardface’, Mr Johnson didn’t in fact go far enough. Not even close to ‘far enough’ for that dirtbag.

But then came ‘Cox-gate’. Someone (actually someone from Labour, but I really don’t know why) actually used the ‘C-bomb’. Jo Cox. The lovely MP who was murdered by some far right imbecile a few years back. And has since entered the realms of sainthood, of total untouchability that certain people or events acquire. And then invoking the name must only be used in revered tones. Like Grenfell Tower.

So immediately, some great big lump gets up and tearily speaks about Jo Cox, sobbing her way through the debate. To which Boris replied that ‘he’d never heard so much humbug’. He’s not allowed to say ‘claptrap’, ‘bullshit’ or ‘bollocks’. He was referring, quite obviously, to the line of her words, the discussion about Brexit (what else?). But no, the C-word had been used and that opens floodgates of horror and chest-thumping. We don’t generally ‘ululate’ over here, its not very British, so we open floodgates of horror and thump chests instead.

HOW DARE YOU CALL THE DEATH OF MY BEST FRIEND AND ALL ROUND SAINT JO COX ‘HUMBUG’??? HOW DARE YOU???

Errrr, he actually didn’t. Wasn’t referring to the death at all, just made a point about Brexit, using the person YOU brought up for some stupid unaccountable reason in the first place. But the damage was done.

THIS IS ALL SO TOTALLY FUCKING STUPID. HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO EXPLAIN IT TO LILA??? ANSWER ME THAT!

That government has become a toxic stalemate of lies, cheating and near violent hysteria where nothing of any substance actually happens. And then it goes round again. And again.

Happy Friday

A xxx

Everyone will always remember exactly where they were on Tuesday 24th of September 2019. The ‘day of shame’ as it will be forever remembered in our minds and in our hearts. The day the world turned.

The Supreme Court of London and… some other places nearby, judged by an 11 to nil unanimity (a virtual Manchester City score) that Boris acted illegally when he prorogued parliament and therefore and henceforth, that closure never happened and parliament is in fact still open now. Or will be later. The suspension ‘never happened’ because it was illegally founded. Which makes Boris a kind of ‘Watford’ (football joke, unless you’re a Watford fan). And also makes Boris’s position a bit… delicate. He’s a Prime Minister without a majority and he acted illegally to shut parliament down. Now he has to come back and face everyone. Who yet again will make their decisions as to his appropriateness to govern, his continuation of party leadership, on how big a ‘crime’ this was, based purely on their own view of Brexit and how best that may be enacted. Boris could commit a fucking murder and it would be judged, in the current climate, solely on whether that murder facilitated or hindered Brexit.

The issue of whether the Supreme Court overstepped its mark and entered the world of politics, in which it is not Supreme anything, in fact its not even invited, is for another day. A long day.

Boris wasn’t here when it happened. He was ‘over there’ with Donald Trump. The second great ‘shame’ of the day. As Mr President, looking gorgeous with his super-whitened teeth gleaming whitely against his mahogany-sprayed face and his coiffed hair sitting… stiffly… Why is it that Trudeau can’t do ‘brown face’ without an uproar but Trump can?

Anyway, the American House yesterday started impeachment proceedings against the president for more election scandals, this time the up-coming elections and inviting the Ukrainians to dig up dirt on Joe Biden, the leading Democrat. Or possibly, threatening to withdraw US aid from Ukraine if it doesn’t comply, which elevates ‘shame’ all the way to ‘what the fuck???!!!!’

And lastly there was Spurs. At the end of shameful Tuesday. Losing a match, ok only a League Cup match, but Jesus Christ how hard can it be to beat Colchester United, FFS???? If I wasn’t an Essex boy and cricket fan I wouldn’t even know where Colchester was. Let alone that it owned a football team. But Spurs managed to saunter in there, all Premiership grandeur, and fucking lose. On penalties. I mean… I mean… I mean… Oh fuck.

(Let’s hope its a) Happy(er) Wednesday

A xxxx