Andy's Glasses

David Cameron’s legacy lives on. When, in a fit of UKIP-induced panic, the then Prime Minister announced Britain would have an ‘in/out’ vote on Europe, he caused, in that single moment, divisions in the land that may never be healed. This is our ‘War of the Roses’ for the digital generation. And it goes from bad to worse to… who the fuck knows?

But weird things are occurring. Labour is reinventing itself as the ‘remain in Europe’ party. Which is as opportunistic as it is undemocratic. As ‘we’ did vote to leave after all. Yet all the Labour big-wigs have come out this week to state that they want another referendum and they’d encourage voters to ‘stay’. McDonnell was the first, then Diane Abbott followed, probably unaware of precisely what she was talking about but at least it came out ok at the time. Emily Thornberry concurred, piling pressure on Corbyn to adopt the new party line, even though he’s a leaver and always has been.

Corbyn will do absolutely anything to get into 10 Downing Street. Climbing in through an open window at night would be fine. Just get in there. Even for 10 minutes or so before he gets arrested for breaking and entering. Thus his ‘plan’ to call a vote of no confidence in Parliament and become ‘interim PM’ just so we can have another general election and stop the ‘no deal’ situation from becoming manifest.

And you’d think that with a vast majority of MPs passionately against the no deal scenario, Corbyn would be onto a winner. Albeit a short-term winner. Because if parliament is dissolved, the logical ‘stand in’ would always be the leader of the opposition. Who, in this instance, should have no problem garnering the sufficient support because no-one really wants the no-deal nuclear option.

Then Jo whassername, the new leader of the Lib Dems said she would never put Corbyn in Downing Street. And suggested that Harriet Harman or Ken Clarke (what the f***??) should stand for the role as interim leader. Basically, easy as ABC, Anyone But Corbyn. MPs polled for the Times agreed basically that anyone but Corbyn would be preferable. As did the sample of plebs. Well, voters, like you and me. Therefore rendering the no confidence option as useless as Labour will hold the most votes and presumably won’t be allowed to vote other than with the party whip, to support Corbyn who has virtually no support from anywhere else. Though you can’t trust Nicola Sturgeon.

With the government in continuing self-destruct mode over Europe, it should be a great time for the opposition party. Apparently though, not for an opposition party run by a toxic, anti-business, Arsenal-supporting, anti-Semitic, communist tosser.

Happy Wednesday

A xxxx

Being ‘green’ is fine. Being a carbon-slob with no care nor consideration for one’s emissions is fine too. Its a free world. In which the only crime is hypocrisy. And the higher you shout and scream about any subject, the further you’re gonna fall when you’re shown to be guilty of the crimes you’ve been publicly lambasting. You can live as you like. But once you start preaching…

Take, f’rinstance, our very own Prince ‘Arry. The greenest royal of them all. Who took a private jet to attend the Green Summit in Sicily. Which is a bit like turning up at a vegan conference with a hamburger. He took another to Elton John’s party in Nice. And private jets are the betes noirs of the Green world. Planes trains and automobiles are all shit, but at least on a commercial airline the immense carbon output is divided by a few hundred people. On a private jet its the same emissions for a much smaller load.

Greta Thunberg, the preachiest little shit that Scandinavia has ever produced, is traveling to New York for some climate thing or other, and going by zero-emission yacht. All wind and sails and solar panels. At least she’s sticking to the plot. Even though on any scale of ‘annoying’ she goes totally logarithmic.

But Harry, who won’t have any more kids because of green issues, takes a Cessna to go to a party.

And up pipes no less than Sir Elton himself. Taking his knighthood as seriously as Sir Galahad, in defence of a Prince in distress. Elton paid for the plane. For ‘security reasons’, which just means that Harry hates standing in line with his shoes off and his belt in his hand at airports, just like a real human being. So Elton bought the flight, and here’s the best bit; to maintain Harry’s convictions about environment, Elton made the ‘appropriate contribution’ to ‘Carbon Footprint’, which ensures the flight was ‘carbon neutral’.

Oh, so I get it. You stuff 10 grand in used notes into the back of the jet engines and it purifies the exhaust and removes ALL the carbon. That’s brilliant.

Actually, you ‘donate’ funds to the organisation called Carbon Footprint who fund carbon reduction projects, thus rendering the 57 tons of carbon produced by your flight, ‘neutral’.

So the cost of your conscience is whatever ‘Carbon Footprint’ feel appropriate recompense for traveling in the most eco-unfriendly way possible. And you pay and you can stay right up there on your high horse of ‘carbon neutrality’. What a load of very rich people’s bollocks.

I make no judgments.

Happy zero emission Tuesday

A xxxx

The Palace would like to state, clearly and emphatically, that HRH Prince Andrew Windsor of… Royaltyland, was not involved in any way whatsoever with the dirty, sleazy and corrupt world of Jeffrey Epstein, May the Devil rest his soul. The recently produced video tapes of someone who looks a lot like Prince Andrew, standing at the door of Mr Epstein’s New York mansion as coach loads of underage children are bused in and out, is unsubstantiated and The Palace denies any involvement between the Prince and any little tarts or tartlettes that may have been present at the time. Furthermore, the Prince is a good man, except when he’s not and any photos emerging of the Royal Penis inserted or resting anywhere especially young or unsuitable will not be tolerated at all. I hope this is an end to the matter.

Sincerely,

THE FUCKING QUEEN!!!!! No less.

Then there’s Hong Kong. What we gonna do about Hong Kong?? They had a protest there yesterday and 1.7 million people turned up. Against the law, but they did anyway. And I know that in that part of the world 1.7 million people is just considered, like, a dinner party, or a barbecue with friends, but round here, that’s 1.7 million voters. 1.7 million disgruntled democrats desperate to keep out of Beijing’s grasp. Note the absence of Jeremy Corbyn, the world’s most prolific protester, from that particular demonstration. Because although he’ll march with absolutely anyone, for all manner of worthless causes, he has certain standards. He will NEVER march against Communists. Red Line. To go with the Red Book he still carries. And he won’t march against anyone who represent any form of terrorism. So although I looked at all 1.7 million faces there yesterday, Corbyn’s wasn’t among them.

The people of Hong Kong have enjoyed ‘special status’ as being part of China but not directly governed by it. Which has only been maintained because Hong Kong is a money tree which Beijing likes. But it also likes total control. And you can’t have that whilst they natives are banding about the D-word. ‘Democracy’. Whatever happens in the interim, there will sadly only ever be one winner in that battle.

Happy Monday

A xxxx

You can dream. You can hope. You can pray. None of which ever makes things happen the way you’d like. That’s why its called ‘the dream’, or ‘hope’. Because its unlikely to happen without a lot of luck. Or possibly outside influence.

And thus didst the Hotspurs of Tottenham trek to the great, wild northern reaches of Manchester, yesterday, to visit the fearsome force who occupy the little Islamic State of… The Etihad!!!! The force who just last weekend came to London and burst all the bubbles at the the Immorality Stadium to win 5-nil. Such are these soldiers. They take no prisoners.

So having won the League title twice running, they wanted to make their mark in their first home match of the season. Draw a line in the sand. And no Spurs fan was under any illusions that ‘they’re ours for the taking’ or any such bravado bollocks. We’d have happily lost 2-1, 3-2, anything but 7-0. Or worse. Because basically that is not an unrealistic outcome in that stadium. Where the pretty massive gulf between Manchester City and mere ‘normal’ clubs, even top 4 clubs (Spurs, not Arsenal), is a veritable Grand Canyon. We won’t get into the ridiculous overspending, breaking transfer rules, dodgy ‘sponsorship’ deals which write of hundreds of millions of pounds of debt every year. Nor how they got away with a 50 quid fine (relatively) for exactly the same ‘crime’ which for Chelsea resulted in a 12 month transfer ban. That would be out of context. Today. Tomorrow we may speak of it again. Depending on the how far Pep Guardiola chooses arguments of ‘unfair’.

And to break with tradition, I’ll be totally honest. Spurs were total shit. Didn’t start, didn’t come out to play, lacked direction, energy, played without a plan or a clue. And when they went a goal down after 20 minutes the only question was ‘why did it take that long?’ So when Eric Lamela scored an equaliser a couple of minutes later, in probably the crossing of the half way line for any Spurs player, only two words could suffice. ‘Fuck’. And ‘Me’.

Spurs went back into hiding and City scored again. But that didn’t rouse Spurs. Who had, since the start of the match, been in a total ‘rouse-free zone’. We sat back, took the endless onslaught and managed to get to half time still only 2-1 down.

The half time talk must have been in Spanish because it did nothing to improve Spurs, who steadfastly refused to play beyond ‘awful’. Then we won a corner. No idea how because we just hadn’t been that far up the pitch. And before the kick was taken Pochettino brought on Lucas Moura. Who walked on, took up position and headed the corner kick into the net, 10 seconds after his arrival. 2 shots on goal in an hour, 2 goals. Man City also had 2 goals, but from 15 shots. So they must be real shit.

We clung on and clung on, literally for grim death. But death didn’t come. Until the 92nd minute. When, only slightly reminiscent of our Champions League match at the same place just 4 months previously, City scored that ‘winning late goal’ and everyone went berserk. Until…

The referee gave the City fans and players and staff sufficient time to celebrate as if they’d just solved the world’s carbon crisis, then indicated that VAR was being deployed. As it is for every goal. And we all know, VAR is a Spurs fan. Probably Jewish. Possibly Israeli technology like so much hi-tech. And as with the Champions League goal, this one too was then disallowed.

I’m not saying I like VAR, cos I don’t. I’m not saying Spurs deserved to draw because we really, really, REALLY didn’t. I’m not saying that a total of 3 shots on goal in 90 minutes is good, no more than City’s 30 shots on goal was necessarily bad. All I’m saying is: THAT WAS MOST AMAZING, UNDESERVED, SPECTACULAR SINGLE POINT I’VE EVER SEEN GAINED BY A TEAM PLAYING APPALLINGLY AGAINST POSSIBLY THE BEST CLUB SIDE IN THE WHOLE FUCKING WORLD.

That’s all I’m saying.

Happy Sunday, Pep.

A xxxx

If you think Brexit is funny, if you’re amused by Jeremy Corbyn’s stupidly facile attempt to slither his slimy way through the back door into Number 10, if you find Caroline Lucas’ ridiculous suggestion that she should be in charge of anything more important than a tv remote to be quite hilarious, then you should watch Its a Mad Mad World. Because its on tv TODAY! In fact by the time you read this you’ll have missed it. But rather than ‘tough shit!!’ you can get it on BBC iplayer. So it will have no adverts either. They used to show this movie every Christmas but then stopped. In about 1974. For some unaccountable reason. Because it is probably the finest American comedy movie ever made. And possibly my favourite of all movies. Except for… (long list follows).

Stanley Kramer directed a two-and-a-half hour comedy epic which was a who’s who of the top comedians of its day. Spencer Tracy was the straight man, and even he was pretty funny. Then came… everyone. From Sid Caesar to Phil Silvers, Ethel Merman to Jerry Lewis, Jimmy Durante to Dick Shawn (‘Hitler’ in Mel Brook’s original Producer’s movie). Buster Keaton was in it FFS. Milton Berle, Terry Thomas and the incomparable Buddy Hackett. Ok, its slapstick. To a degree. Its ridiculous, to a ridiculous degree. But Sid Caesar and Phil Silvers alone put the movie in the category of comedy royalty. I’m going to force Mel to watch it. Just after Match of the Day. She’s in for a treat.

So who said ‘you can’t get Steve Smith out’? The (former, disgraced, shameful, cheating…) ex-Aussie cricket captain has proved to be something of ‘the immovable force’ when at the crease. But the wonderful Joffra Archer found a way round that little obstacle by aiming a ball at the no-goodnick’s head. That got the bastard out. Obviously with lots of sympathy from me and all good English cricket fans. But a good concussion is as good as a middle stump in ‘the Gentleman’s Game’.

Then we have the rugby this afternoon, followed by, and overlapping, with Spurs visit to Manchester City. To ‘see how good they really are’. In case anyone has any doubts. It’s the only match of the year in which just ‘losing’ is a great result. Rather than getting thrashed, hammered, stuffed or buggered. But in fact I’m going to be very optimistic and say that we can beat them. On the grounds that… well, because… see, its all about… BECAUSE WE CAN, THAT’S WHY!!!! And we fucking will! Bloody overspending northern Abu Dhabis.

Come on You Spurs

Happy Saturday (oh, let it be so)

A xxxx

Caroline Lucas is an MP for the Green Party. And there ain’t many of them, so she’s doing alright. In fact she is the parliamentary Green Party, all by herself. And she came up with a plan. Not just a plan to elevate her from her normal status of “Caroline who? Oh, her, she’s a Green, just ignore her and she’ll just go back to her own eco-friendly, fully-recyclable (natural) yoghurt pot” to a new Special Role! No, it was for the ‘good of the nation’. She made a suggestion that as Brexit was something of a problem, it must be because the majority of those talking about it were men. And men are always a problem. Apparently. Whereas women offer ‘a different perspective’. Which I agree with totally. If we’re talking about childbirth. Or offsides. Or certain types of sexual practices. But not usually about political issues. I mean, in case Caroline hadn’t noticed, Theresa May was a woman. Most of the time.

Anyway, Caroline put forward a suggestion which, like most suggestions made by ‘the Greens’ was a bit silly. She wanted to create and lead a new ‘cabinet’, as in a collection of MPs rather than something for the bathroom (mainly because she’s opposed to abusing trees to use their wood whereas most government cabinets are made from completely dead wood, which is recyclable. And this new cabinet was to be comprised of women, and only women. So it would be less… testosteroney, less aggressive, competitive, less… manly than a normal one. It would be sisterly. Friendly. Pleasant. Women are never ever bitchy, that’s a fact. That’s why its called ‘bitchy’ and not ‘doggy’. But this cabinet would be warm and inclusive. Like a knitting circle. But without the gay bloke who lives by the Rectory.

Then Caroline realised her mistake. The women she’d written to with invitations, all MPs of note and renown, were all white. Holy shit!! And for the Green party image of inclusivity, diversity, hugging trees of any colour, this was a bad thing. And Caroline apologised sincerely.

So therefore, we must conclude, that in Green-world, being a racist, even by omission or by lack of inclusivity, is terrible, but being the most sexist and gender discriminatory person since Harvey Weinstein is ok. Right, I’m learning the rules slowly and making notes so I don’t forget or confuse them.

The answer to the problem was probably Diane Abbott. But any time, in any circumstance, in any universe, parallel or otherwise, that the ANSWER is Diane Abbott, then you’re asking the wrong question.

Happy Green and Inclusive Friday

A xxxx

So this is the plan. To stop the dreaded ‘no deal Brexit’ upon which Boris is so intent. Jeremy Corbyn will have a vote of no confidence in the government. For which really, there is no logical nor political argument. No-one has any confidence in the government. Nor the one before, nor probably, seventeen others going back to Maggie. And then the only confidence you had was that she’d do precisely as she saw fit. Furthermore, there is no possibility of any government, no matter how diverse in its Brexit spectrumisation (new word, sometimes the old ones just won’t do), that would have the confidence of the whole country. You can appease the leavers but only with a no-deal or something similarly ‘hard’. You can appease the remainers, but only by making Brexit look like staying a member of the EU still. Or you can pitch some middle ground, as Theresa May did, and please absolutely no-one.

So ‘no confidence’ works really.

Then, as happens after such a vote is won (assuming it is) anyone else can form a government. Corbyn, UKIP, Greens, Lila. Ok, Lila is neither an MP nor an official party but she’d definitely win my vote. So Le Corbyn is suggesting that he leads some sort of hodge-podge coalition as ‘interim PM’ just to avoid ‘no deal’ and then he’d call a general election to work out what everyone really thinks. He’d need the Scots, probably the Welsh and possibly several other lesser parties to achieve this aim and on some levels it almost makes as much sense as anything else in Westminster these days.

Except its Corbyn. My own, personal and absolutely non-negotiable red line.

And there is just NO situation whatsoever in which I’d want him even temporarily acting as Prime Minister. I’d rather see Britain banished by the entire world than have him as ‘my leader’. I’d leave Europe tomorrow and forever and even give up Spurs place in the Champions League!!! To allow him into number 10, which he’d probably convert into a commune for abused workers, is simply unthinkable. And they’re all abused. Blinkered is one thing but never mind not seeing wood for trees, Corbyn is totally tree-blind too. He is a communist. Which as a philosophical social construct is interesting but as a political paradigm is an abject failure always and everywhere. He is not an anti-Semite but he seems to collect them like a dog collects fleas. But most of all; he’s a low-grade, intellectually-lite, gravitas-free joke. To have him as our ‘boss’, temporary or otherwise, would further enhance our nation’s joke status even beyond what this Brexit fiasco has already done.

ANYTHING BUT CORBYN. Simple as ‘ABC’.

Happy Thursday

A xxxx

In the last year ‘overcrowding’ on the tubes has doubled. By their definition of ‘overcrowding’. Which is when they actually close the station to stop more people coming onto the platforms because they’re gonna get pushed onto the tracks by sheer domino effect. They closed stations nearly 500 times. I bet mostly it was London Bridge which was being rebuilt. Probably with bigger platforms. Oddly, most travellers would define ‘overcrowding’ as ‘any tube train in rush hour’. Ridiculously hot, horribly sweaty, rammed, jammed, crammed with people who seem to possess 4 elbows each. But London Underground view things differently. In fact Transport for London do too. Because now they’ve realised that the tube is too busy, they kind’a need to think of alternative modes of commuter transport.

If only there was some kind of vehicle capable of riding along the roads carrying honest folk to work. Something like… a car! But no, we don’t want them in London. So they’re effectively banned. If the congestion charge and Ultra Low Emission Charge doesn’t scare you off, there’s parking at about 8 quid an hour, not that you can find any, and the fact that they’ve ruined any possible journey with speed bumps and traffic light sequences that are horrendously driver-unfriendly. Bikes are dangerous, motor bikes more so and buses much too slow. They’ve invented electric scooters which tick virtually every box (when its not raining) in ease, lack of congestion, environmental friendliness. Which is so brilliant they’ve been instantly banned. Wouldn’t want them around, would upset the unions.

I don’t know what the answer is.

So instead, I’ll show you a photo. Taken in, I reckon, 1984, in Portugal. Because that’s when I went on holiday with Dom, for a tennis week in the Algarve. And no-one ever has 2 holidays with Dom. Only the very foolish. Or Mrs Dom. She has no choice. I did. And I’ve always loved this photo. A guy we were talking to just picked up my camera and snapped as we were in post-match refreshment mode. He didn’t think ‘back light!’ nor ‘need to over-expose the fore-ground’ (all of which is meaningless to an entire generation who’ve never picked up a camera in their lives). And so its dark. And mysterious. And… dark.

Happy Wednesday

A xxxx

I’m an Essex boy. Well, I moved there (probably in fact ‘was moved’) when I was 1. From da East End. In those days the East End was the domain of the Krays, of everything dodgy, of slums and workhouses (ok, bit Dickensian but I’m allowed to exaggerate for effect). Nowadays the East End is so hip, trendy and over-developed that I couldn’t afford to live there. And when I meet ‘old mates’, from school, from growing up, from… ‘over there’ it always makes me happy. Generally, Essex people are good people. Funny people. GSOH. But there are two types. Those who speak ‘Essex’ and those wot don’t. A few can oscillate, depending on to whom they is spoken wiv. Generally, those who embrace their inner Essex Boy (whether they live there or not any longer) and like sounding like a barmaid in Eastenders, and those who perhaps never really did fall into that linguistic rabbit hole and decided at some stage to polish a few vowels, strengthen a consonant or two, who basically ‘learned posh’.

The journalist Amol Rajan from the BBC made a programme about it. Being a ‘poor kid’ who managed to get into Cambridge (them’s rare) and move into top journalism jobs on tv and print, he doesn’t sound very BBC. He doesn’t sound Dirty Den exactly either, but almost like a posh bloke who has reversed the aforementioned polishing process and filed away a few spoken edges to sound more… more.. edgy. But his point is that posh kids are more successful. More employable, even with less qualifications, than poor kids. It’s a ‘class’ thing. Which is a British as the Queen, as roast beef, as chicken tikka masala.

The thing is that we all judge books by covers or humans by sounds. Perhaps more so in the UK where speech and accents are so distinctive and carry a world of socio-economic as well as geographical baggage.

And all because my barbecue is running out of gas. Or may be. Or should be. But you just don’t know with those things, until you find yourself eating a raw sausage. So there I was shlepping round a fucking great, 15kg cylinder of Butane, also known as ‘a bomb’ if someone should hit the car, looking for a replacement. The garage where I acquired it informed me that they haven’t sold them for 4 years. Telling me I haven’t barbecued enough. Homebase do them. But the low-class, scummy, unhelpful, quite rude and unfriendly, ‘Estuary’-speaker told me (shouted at me) that they don’t do ‘THAT’ one and a new one would cost 100 quid. I told him, in a much nicer, more genteel accent, that he could just FUCK OFF. So we called a lovely little garden centre in Muswell Hill. And a very posh young lady (not a mere ‘gel’ this one) informed me very politely that they DID sell such things, and they EVEN took my exact one back too.

The process was so smooth, so slick, so easy (just drive over to the ‘collection point’ where Igor will manhandle the monster bastard things in and out of Sir’s car) and just so wonderful that I thought… gimme posh kids any day of the week. Not just because they gave me exactly what I wanted, which The Artful Dodger at Homebase couldn’t, but because the whole process was nicer, easier and filled me with more confidence that they knew what they were doing.

Therefore, I have degenerated from East End scumbag to The World’s Biggest Snob. In just one change of a Butane canister. Cor bloody blimey.

Happy Monday

A xxxx

Football’s back on again. It stopped. In May. I hated that. Now its on again, and that marks the end of the 10 WEEKS OF HELL!!! which is now over for another year. So on the first weekend, the ‘big teams’ get staggered over the whole weekend. To maximise tv potential. And the ‘top 4’, which is all anyone’s really ever concerned about, had its first representation on Friday night when Liverpool beat newcomers Norwich City 4-1 to ‘welcome’ them to the Premier league. You can run away with all the Championships you like, this is what the top flight feels like. Put that in your Kenwood, Delia.

Next up was Manchester City. The ‘team to beat’ (except you can’t). The current, twice-running, champions of the world. (Well if this was America the Premiership winners would be known as ‘World Champions’, so why not? Oh, because this is Europe and we realise the existence of other nations. On some peripheral level). City went to West Ham. To the Stolen Stadium. As they nicked it from the government, the council, from all of LONDON in the dodgiest deal of all time. And it wasn’t so much a massive win for City (even though Pep thought them ‘underperforming’) at 0-5, but more a statement from the Hammers that they’re wasting no time this season with any aspirations of greatness (finishing 11th) but are heading straight to the relegation zone directly.

They played some other matches at the sacred and holy ‘3 o’clock Saturday’ slot’ but that holiness has gone because neither Sky nor BT nor even the Church of England are allowed to show those matches live, so they tend to be the games of ‘less interest’.

Then at 5.30 was ‘the big one’. Spurs. The nation’s favourite team. God’s favourite team. My favourite team. And Joey’s favourite team. Lila was busy. And we played another just-promoted club, Aston Villa. A team I really don’t like for the sole reason that they play in claret-and-blue and it bothers me. It wasn’t an easy win by any stretch. In fact, for most of the first half, we looked doomed. But you never say ‘never’ when Harry Kane (probably had 3 touches in the entire first half, none of them memorable) is playing. Because, if I’m honest, he is just the best striker in the world. Thought the win wasn’t down solely to Harry. The game changed for my boys when Eriksen came on. The player who wants away to Spain gave three good reasons why we simply can’t afford to let him go as we won 3-1. Ok, if Alli and Son were playing maybe we wouldn’t have missed him so much. But they weren’t. And we did. He makes the team tick in a way others just don’t. We should swap him for Modric. No-one else is good enough to replace him.

Today Chelsea (top 4) are playing so that’s of vague interest, especially as they’re playing Manchester United who, in the transfer window, have managed to swap 3 awesome attacking players for one lumbering and over-priced defender. That’s good business.

The other games don’t involve top 4 teams and therefore are of no interest whatsoever. Though I hope Newcastle win.

Happy First Sunday of the rest of our Lives.

A xxxx