Andy's Glasses

So the flight ended up being 2 hours 20 minutes late. BUT… we got a free coffee (small) and a free croissant!!! So it was all worth it and I was then pleased to have been ridiculously delayed and eventually arrived home at midnight rather than the somewhat more leisurely 9.30 as was planned. Man plans, God laughs. Ain’t that what they say? God must fly BA. Though not really their fault: ‘allegedly’. And normally, because we’d been getting warnings all day (on my APP) we could have pitched up two hours later at the airport. Except we’d coincidentally but happily (phah) co-ordinated our flights so that we flew about 10 minutes before Rachie’s flight back to Berlin. So we could all go together. Her flight wasn’t delayed. German efficiency. With EasyJet?

But we’re home and its cold here. Yesterday morning I was in the sea and it was 30 odd degrees out there. Today I have no sea and even if I did I wouldn’t go near the sodding thing. It’s cold. 4 degrees so far. Feels like -20. Only Scottish people go into the sea in such climes.

And so its back to the run up to the election. Boris has a 14 point lead over Labour. But Theresa May had something like that before the last election and that didn’t go quite so well. I think if parliament’s hung this time, most of the population will opt for the same fate rather than have to endure another 2/3/4 years of Brexit bollocks.

But much more importantly, than the election and mass suicide of a considerable proportion of the electorate, is VAR. The thing that is ruining football. That has produced nothing positive in the beautiful game. Other than two marvellous decisions against Manchester City in Spurs games. Other than that, its just shit. It’s a cluster-fuck of nonsense and stupidity. My lovely son-in-law was at the Spurs match on Saturday and told of a 4 minute delay (if 24 hours is a long time in politics, 4 minutes is eternity at a football match) for VAR, during which not one word of explanation, instruction nor cause was mentioned to the crowd. Even though the stadium is brand new and has so much high tech wizardry and big screenery and public addressability and the ref has a mike and headset. But its a secret.

No-one likes VAR, no-one wants it and they’re having a meeting this week with the head ref to decide whether to abandon the project mid-season. I’d vote for that. Much easier decision than the election.

Happy back-to-work day

A xxxx

Here’s a first world problem: my flight home has been delayed. My BA app has told me that, so far, we’re over an hour later than schedule. But that’s increasing every time I look. I’m rather proud of that app, and in fact all my apps because I’m not naturally an ‘appy’ person. Safe to say I’m fairly scared of them. Scared of anything that will ask me for a password I set up more than a week ago and haven’t used since. But that’s me. So the daughter got the BA app for me (and for Mel) so we can become those really annoying people at the departure gate trying to locate our boarding passes that don’t cover a sheet of A4.

Israel (and Jordan in fact) are experiencing a heat-wave. Yesterday in Eilat it was 36 degrees of niceness. Last night back ‘up north’ (think Manchester; then bring up the most opposite place you could ever imagine), it was 28 degrees all night long. This morning it looks like that pic and feels much hotter. Probably 32 or 33. It’s fucking November, up here in the Med, northern hemisphere and we were swimming in the sea this morning. Ok, it wasn’t easy getting in (15 minutes for me… conservative estimate) but that’s because I have testicles. My fellow travellers don’t and therefore entered the water much more easily. Choosing to mock, taunt and gloat. Very nice!!!

We booked to come to a wedding. Booked it back in April. Thought if we were lucky it wouldn’t rain too much. But instead it has been totally cloudless for 6 days. If we’d have known we’d have stayed longer. But we can’t. Lila needs us. Joey needs us. Work might appreciate us. And the election needs us. Needs all the help it can get.

Jeremy Corbyn is unlikely to visit Israel. But they all know him. Mainly as the only man in the world who doesn’t realise that Jeremy Corbyn is an anti-Semite. Funny that. He attends a commemorative ceremony in Tunis to celebrate the killers of the Israeli athletes at the Munich Olympics, but fortunately doesn’t remember it.

And Farage has unilaterally decided to save a few bob for the Brexit party and withdraw its candidates from safe Tory seats. He still remains an absolute tosser, from which there is no redemption, but maybe such actions will see him eventually sent straight to Hell rather than enduring purgatory first.

Happy Tuesday

A xxxx

So we left Jordan. And Petra was beyond fantabulous but you can keep Jordan and I’m never going back. Not that its such a big problem in my life, its not like saying ‘I’m never going back to Manchester’, or I’m never going back to the Emirates, its just that I didn’t feel comfortable there for one moment. Other than those lost in the total magnificence that is Petra. Which is just brilliant. It’s not Pompeii and its not Atlantis, its just a load’a rocks. And two and half thousand years ago lots of Jordanians lived in caves in those rocks. And buried their dead in many more of the caves that they dug out from the sandstone. Though they weren’t Jordanians then, Jordan didn’t exist til about 1946. And then you see ‘a building’ of immense beauty. But its not a building, its just a facade carved into the rock, complete with columns and doorways and all manner of adornment. But it was never used as the ‘Treasury’ that its name would suggest. Even though loads of people have dug holes in it trying to find the ‘buried treasure’ that any normal treasury might have once house. But this one ain’t no-one’s house.

But the rocks there are divine. I’d worship them. If I was some proto-Jordanian cave-dwelling type person. And they extend over about 30 square miles. Petra’s big. I got that. Having walked half of it in about 35 degrees with all our worldly valuables in my ruck sack.

The drive back to Aqaba took 75 minutes. The driver seemed as keen to get us back to Israel as we were. If not keener. What a fucking madman. There would apparently be no Arabic translation of ‘lane’, speed limit, blind bend or brow of a hill. It’s just flat out, in whichever lane happens to have the smoother surface.

We hung out in Eilat for a bit, not having been down there for over 10 years. And its changed. From a kind of Red Sea South of France to a kind of Red Sea Blackpool in just a decade. If I’m honest I was never a big fan when it was decidedly and presumptuously up itself and poncey, now it impresses me even less. Not ‘real’ Israel.

So we had lunch and set off 350 kilometres back to ‘home’. The length of the Negev Desert and then on to the Mediterranean splendour of Tel Aviv.

Nice to be ‘home’.

Happy Wednesday

A xxxx

When did you last cross a border? NOT on a plane. Ahhhhh. Probably… never. Maybe on a bus tour? We crossed from Brazil to Argentina to see the other side of Igausu but we had a guide and driver and didn’t actually leave the car. Cash may have crossed palms, but not mine. But have you ever actually, physically, personally, walked from one country to another? (European ones DON’T count, obvs). Checkpoint Charlie time. Well we did it yesterday. We went down to Eilat, as Deep South as you can go in Israel without either falling into the Red Sea or ending up in Egypt. But we didn’t want to go to Egypt. We wanted to go to Jordan. We’re here to see Petra. Because it’s apparently ‘quite nice’. Ok, its one of the wonders of the world and I’m really excited. But possibly not as excited as walking across the border between two friendly… ish but cautiously defensive nations. So there’s 6 passport checks. And guns. Lots of guns. On both sides. And to be honest, its scary. Lots of barbed wire, fencing, walls. It’s like walking into a prison. But a bit more hostile.

We were met half way through by a guide. His name was Mohammed and he then drove us to Aqaba where we were spending the night. And although he sounds like an Uber driver, he’d never qualify. He drove at 90 miles an hour virtually all the way. Whilst on the phone. And checking texts. And THANK GOD (and quite frankly, any fucking God would have done by then) we arrived at our hotel. We were in Jordan.

And I kind of want to like being in Jordan, I want to love the people, want to feel ‘the brotherhood’ and embrace them all unto my (pathetic little) bosom, but… but…

But I can’t. The culture is not merely alien, because I’ve traveled sufficiently that I’m happy to embrace other cultures, third world cultures, anything really. I almost forgive the ‘call to prayer’ at 4.30am and the WTF!!! you feel when it happens. And I appreciate that Arab culture is something I am prejudiced about. But you walk the streets here and there are no women. Yet Jordan is a moderate country, not a ‘Muslim State’, you are free to live as your personal views dictate. It’s not Iran and its not Saudi Arabia. But the ways endure. The values which are so opposite to our own. Particularly towards women and particularly when these allegedly puritanical men leer at my daughter in ways that make me want to hurt them. Oddly I never get that feeling from the Arab men in Israel, but maybe I’m just not as sensitive there.

But heh, I’m not here to check on the tolerance to gays, women’s rights or dirty old men. I’m here to see Petra. And I did. Spent the day there today. And a wonder of the world it really is. Breathtakingly magnificent. Unbelievably beautiful. This pic is a little taster. If I get time tomorrow after the long hike from Petra to Eilat then pick up the car and go 4 hours back to Tel Aviv, I’ll tell you allllllllll about it. If not, it’ll wait.

Happy Sunday

A xxxx

You can get married anywhere. All you need is a bride and a groom and a geezer with a hat. Could be a priest’s hat, a rabbi’s hat, a mere ‘kippa’, a ship’s captain’s hat, or a registrar’s special head-thing. Ok, they don’t have really have special head-things, but normally you’d need a hat or the wedding might fail. So its all a matter of where you choose. You can get married in your own garden. You can get married in a church, synagogue, temple, hotel foyer, garden, on top of a mountain, the bottom of the ocean (aqualung required; hats may float away), on parachutes (helmets required), there’s virtually nowhere that hasn’t been chosen for that special day.

And thus yesterday we entered what is officially termed ‘the middle of fucking nowhere; and then some’ for the nuptials of Flo and Dan. Two Londoners who elected to forgo the chance of a wedding at The Landmark, to shun the banqueting suite at Tottenham Hotspur Stadium, to ignore the thousands of options that London has to offer to any happy couple. And instead have a wedding in the middle of the Judean desert.

There’s destination weddings and there’s destination weddings. And everyone feels happier if there’s some kind of ‘connection’ rather than just some random location selected from the ‘weddings of the Stars’ handbook, or I want to get married in Benidorm cos it was the best’olidee I ever’ad.

We went to a wedding Sydney last Christmas. Almost the ‘ultimate’ destination for Londoners, but as both bride and groom and all their families live there, quite selfishly, there’s only so much complaining you can do. Even though I’m a great complainer and can always find something.

The groom’s parents are Israeli. They live in London but they’re Israeli. And if any destination is acceptable for Jewish people of any origins, it is Israel. Because its a has a special place in all our lives and all our hearts.

And the weather’s great so that improves the whole ‘destination wedding’ scenario. No-one wants to be dragged half way across Scandinavia for a wedding in the dark whilst its pissing down. And just because the groom loves herring.

This wedding was in possibly the most beautiful setting ever. Spectacular. In a place just kind of put there in the middle of the desert for such purposes. And it was quite brilliant and quite wonderful. Magical even. And a lot of fun.

Mazzletov to Flo and Dan

A xxxx

So we come to Israel. And on our first night we always eat at the same place. But I mean ALWAYS. There’s no discussion, no debate, no arguments (who would argue with that? Other than a vegan, maybe, so we just don’t bring them here) just; its our first night, we’re travel-weary, tired, lazy, we’ll just walk ten minutes along the road to…

I don’t even know what its called. I’m sure it has a name but its not about that. A hotel concierge sent me there about 15 years ago when I asked ‘where’s good shawarma?’ and I’ve never looked back. It ‘changed my life’. Especially my waist measurement. Ha, ha. But not even true. Because this is the famed, fabled, legendary ‘Mediterranean diet’ which makes you live to 110. Ok, there’s chips so maybe only 108. Nothing vaguely ‘mediterranean’ about chips other than salt. But we include them because… because we like them.

Hummus with sautéed mushrooms and onion, with a little tahini and some shawarma meat because I wanted some. They do hummus with mushrooms or hummus with the meat. I wanted both. They can’t fit both onto the plate. So we compromised. Chicken livers from the barbecue. Israeli chopped salad (at least 3 of your 5 a day) with chips (take away 2) and some wonderful pickled vegetables and chillis (must be worth 2 or 3 more). Couple of warm, fluffy pittas and cold beers. Heaven might look a bit different but could never taste better.

Then we come back and another miracle was occurring. Spurs were winning a game. Of football. In Belgrade. And continued to win. And won more. 4-0 to my boys. Are they back? Well, let’s not get carried away. Champions League is one thing, we have Sheffield United at home on the weekend and then we can say if we’re on the up or not.

And Saracens rugby club have had a 35-point deduction added to their league campaign. Let’s say, winning the league will be difficult. A hefty fine too. And there’s a move to strip them of their last 2 victorious campaigns. On the grounds that they cheated, financially. Broke the very strict ‘salary cap’ that top flight rugby has.

How reassuring that rules against financial cheating can be imposed in major league sport. I hope the Premier League, UEFA and FIFA are paying attention. When all they collectively offer is their token gesture ‘Financial Fair Play’ which… certain teams, shall we say, flout regularly.

Ok, I have some sun-rays to catch

Happy Wednesday

A xxxx

You get two types of people on a flight from Heathrow to Tel Aviv. Jews. And Christians. The Jews, in the main part, from England/Europe and the Christians always from America. Ok, there are others in the flight demographic, a few Muslims, possibly some Hindus, Catholics, Zoroastrians, Buddhists Jains, who knows or cares. Pilgrims. You go to Madrid, Rome, Prague, you’re a holiday-maker, go to Israel you’re a pilgrim. The Jews returning to the mothership, like salmon do when they spawn. Except Israel is not where most Jews originated. It is possibly more our future than our past. My ancestral homeland is somewhere between Poland, Belarus and Whitechapel. So we go for a wedding. Not to spawn. Nor as pilgrims. Because we’ve been there 327 times before.

But the Christians are pilgrims indeed. They are in search of Jesus. And you know they’re Americans by the completely bewildered looks on their faces as they realise that row 27 is actually right in front of row 28 and just behind row 26. Or perhaps that is part of the search itself. Looking for Jesus on BA 0164. Then, as the Bible says (New Testament), sit down and speak really loudly. But that’s fine. These are good people. Even though they probably live in Arkansas, vote Republican, own a garage full of guns, love Trump and burn crosses on a Saturday night. But we love them too. Because friends of Israel are sadly only too rare in this world, and totally non-existent and not-allowed in the Labour Party. And these Americans love and revere the Holy Land with all their heart and soul. Hallelujah and Amen.

There were so many groups at the airport, all with their signs ‘HolyLand Southern Baptists’ and ‘Mormons for Jesus’, ‘Adventists World Tour’, we really didn’t know which to join. So we went to the car rentals instead to start our own tour. Less Jesus, more Hummus.

Israel is experiencing a late summer (November?) heatwave. It’s currently about 30 degrees and fabulously fabulous. And for the Americans: that’s degrees of ‘shit that’s hot’, rather than ‘fetch me my bearskin’.

Happy holidays

A xxxx

I put this picture up because I don’t want you to think that Joey spends all his time bent double on the floor with his neck at a funny angle. Even though he does. Well, what d’ya want; he’s 5 months old; what else is he gonna do? He rolls around as he’s too young for crawling, and rolls around, until he hits a wall (literally, not like in the Man vs Food way), then he calls out for help so he can start rolling the other way. But then he sat up! Holy shit. Yeah, I know you can sit up, you’re 30/51/64 FFS, of course you can do it. For Joey its a big achievement. For you its just another function that you should enjoy for the short time til you cross that off your list of the ‘physically able to still do’.

But what’s that got to do with the election? Joey’s not standing this time. Though will definitely be Prime Minister one day, you can see it. Just after his sister runs for 2 terms, Joey will take the mantle. And it will be a wonderful Britain (well, England, not sure Britain will exist still by then after the Scots and now the Welsh want to leave the Union) that will be. It will be a pink and purple Britain under PM Lila, filled with Pepper Pigs and Unitorns (I hope she can pronounce ‘c’ by then) and dinosaurs and everyone will get free ice cream and babychinos, and croissants will be available on the national health service. And everyone will be happy and skip a lot. Ahhhhhh…

It will be different under Jeremy Corbyn. Ok, it will probably be different under Boris too. Or even possibly (though remote) under Jo Swinson. Nigel Farage??? Well the horrible obnoxiously smug little chain-smoking shit is fielding 600 candidates even though none will win a seat. Yet not standing himself. Making him the prime tosser in a rich field with plenty of stiff competition.

It’s day 3 and Labour are already spending 60 billion quid a year on the promised ‘give-aways’ that all prospective political parties feel they have to use to bribe the electorate. The Tories aren’t doing bad on the giveaway front either.

The problem is that the Cons have moved noticeably to the right whereas the Labs have gone so far left as to be re-approaching the right from the other side. The kind of Marxism that becomes Stalinism which is so close to Naziism that you can’t see the difference. Control the services, control the workers, control the papers (with ‘elected editors’) and take control of part of all private companies too. But instead of fierce, imposing, powerful Stalin you get limp, lefty, protest-marching, Arsenal-supporting Corbyn wearing the moustache.

Once you start re-nationalising things the bill will go up. But like stratospherically ‘up’.

So much as I like Boris but don’t like these neo-Cons, there is no choice. Other than the Lib Dems. But really… I mean, really! Though having a televised leader debate without Jo Swinson does seem a bit… harsh? a bit exclusive? a bit sexist??

Everything to play for. Off to Israel tomorrow. Not for good. Not yet anyway. Just for a wedding.

Happy Tuesday

A xxxx

Greta Thunberg, annoying Norwegian enviro-warrior, has something of a dilemma. In fact its a typical dilemma faced by all of us tree huggers who live a saintly life of carbon-free-ness and yet at times need to get somewhere. Because living the zero carbon life is fairly simple if you stay in one place. It’s only when you move that the problems start. Particularly if you need to move quickly. And worst of all if you need to cross continents.

Greta is in California for some very very worthy save-the-planet issues and was set to give a speech to a Climate Change Conference in Chile. But due to ‘political issues’ (rioting on the streets), they’ve moved the gig to Madrid. In 28 days. Which is a problem, out of all the delegates attending a CLIMATE CHANGE meeting, only for Greta. The rest of them will gladly hop on a plane to Spain, as long as someone else is coughing up for their First Class tickets, obvs, but not Greta. She don’t do ‘plane’. She won’t emit carbons. I’m amazed she’s not hooked up to some wonderful aqualung type thingy which takes every exhalation she breathes and removes the carbon to leave just the ‘dioxide’ to return safely to the world. So she needs to get a long way. She went to New York, famously, aboard an Americas Cup carbon-free sail-boat. But they’re not exactly things you can just ‘rent’, or call on a app. And she’s got to get to New York (or thereabouts) first. Then she’ll have to swim. Or possibly walk-on-water, as befits her new status.

Euro-wings have offered her a flight for which they’ll offset the carbon, leaving the journey ‘carbon neutral’ but apparently that flight would probably be cancelled, delayed or break down, according to that airlines record.

It’s a problem. And one once faced by Leonardo Di Caprio, with whom little Greta has been spending a lot of time lately…

Leo was awarded an environmentalism award in New York. But was in Paris. So he made the 8000 mile round trip in a private jet. Who said that Americans have no sense of irony?

For the rest of this missive I’d like to talk about the wonderful game at Goodison Park yesterday, giving particular attention to all the wondrous football they played. And here it is:

Son broke some geezer’s leg. Got sent off. Wrongly. Ended 1-all. Everyone cried. Especially the fans of both clubs. A true advert for the beautiful game. Now I’m going to vomit.

Happy Monday

A xxxx

My newspaper didn’t arrive this morning. Sunday morning. The ultimate ‘tea and newspapers in bed’ morning of the whole week, the defining morning for the entire concept of such a simple but fabulously decadent pleasure when both Mel & I are there to share in its enjoyment (she takes the Magazines, I take the Sports sections and politics; there is no deviation from gender stereotyping allowed in my house). And the fucking papers didn’t arrive. ‘Delay at the depot’, said Yogi, our newspaper delivery executive. And I am aware that even mention of such a decidedly ‘first world problem’ makes me some petty dilettante nancy-boy tart, so I went digital and downloaded the Times onto my iPad. Which produces the exact same wordage but via a medium that I don’t wish to read them upon.

But what I did read scared the shit out of me. Again quite literally so but I’ll save the whole ‘bowel movements’ issue for a dedicated article at a more (in)appropriate time.

Because as soon as they announce the election, Corbyn shortens the lead that Boris has enjoyed for all those lovely months when it didn’t matter a toss. Now it does and the polls start in earnest. Although three polls gave significantly different results. Though we must always remember, and apply the required syllogism, that:
Opinion Polls are statistics
All statistics is total bollocks
Therefore…

You really don’t need to be Aristotle to complete the missing deduction. Especially as opinion polls are all fatally flawed. Because they tell you that ‘40% back Boris and only 22% Corbyn’. Which, if we were a nation using proportional representation would be fabulous and accurate. But we’re not. We are, as we always have been, first-past-the-posters, which makes prediction difficult verging on impossible. Classically, the Lib-dems poll up to 40% of the vote, yet end up with 9 seats out of 625. Because they ‘just’ come second in virtually every constituency. The winning party can often end up with less of the nation’s percentage vote. Which is why the Lib Dem’s and other small parties all bang on about PR all the time. They would do brilliantly. As did Hitler’s National Socialists when they managed to first muscle into power in 1923 (or thereabouts).

But in the absence of PR, the mere percentage of voting intention is almost irrelevant. You need to know how those percentages are distributed in each constituency. So really they should poll within constituencies and then collate all that together for a national picture. But they don’t.

I just this second had a visit from the Lib Dem’s. Not all of them, though as there aren’t that many it actually could have been. ‘Will you be voting for Luciana Berger?’ they asked. ‘No’, I said. Not because I don’t have admiration for her and her principles (basically the principle that Jews should be allowed to live peacefully and unpersecuted in this fine nation) but because I worry that voting Lib Dem would take votes from the small Conservative majority held here and allow Labour to sneak in the back door. In other circumstances, with a ‘different’ Labour I’d think differently. But then again, Luciana would still be in their party and the MP for somewhere in Liverpool, like she was.

It’s all about the basics. Going back to ABC. ANYONE BUT CORBYN!!!!!

Happy Sunday

A xxxx