Andy's Glasses

Now that’s football. The (current world champion and favourites) American women beat the Thai women 13-0 last night in their womenly World Cup match. Nothing feminine about that score. The Thai team offered a free massage to every American player after their very happy ending. I mean 13-nil!!! Were the Thais using a Scottish goalkeeper or something? I mean…

But still not convinced; if I wanted to watch girlie football I’d go to Arsenal.

And though its a million miles from my beloved beach volleyball, the American team are good to look at. Don’t know why; one fit babe with a pony-tail is much like the next, but Alex Morgan, scorer of 5 goals, of whom I’d previously never heard, stole my heart (or thereabouts) in a way that Ronaldo never could.

I am opposed to all forms of the objectification of women.

Except beach volleyball.

Next year my dad (may it please the Lord) will have to pay for his tv license. 155 quid. Which he’s had free since 2001 when the Labour Party decided to give it free to over-75s. Well, unless they make exceptions for the over 90s, Dad’s gonna cough up. In a monetary sense only, I sincerely hope.

And this is why I hate politics. Because you’d think, ‘ahhh, nice Labour government, looking after the old people and taking away their license fee, nice’ when they did it in 2001. But they actually did it because they realised that with an ageing population that ‘grey vote’ could be theirs for just 155 quid a (silver) head. George Osborne in 2015 then did a clever thing. Sneaky but clever. The £750million a year benefit of free licences was moved from ‘the public purse’ to ‘the BBC’. The beeb, even though that’s publicly funded too, had to cough up all that money from its own funds, raised by everyone else’s license fees. And that is unsustainable. But George made it the BBC’s unsustainable problem rather than the government’s. Which makes them the bad guys, rather than the government. Who remain (no pun) as they were, merely shambolic, pathetic, divided, impossible, ungoverning, useless and moronic. But not ‘bad’. In this (and possibly only this) instance.

Off to a funeral, alas. Work will have to wait.

Happy (or sad) Wednesday

A xxxx

Ok, gloves off, get ready, stand and declare. The Tories who wish to become the new leader and consequently the new Prime Minister (150 grand a year, company car, nice house, own police force, all the security guards you can eat) have thrown their hats into the ring for the first vote on Thursday. At which the parliamentary members get to reduce the field from its current 10 down to (I think) just 2 or maybe 3 (fell asleep at that point on the news) who go to the 150,000 members to vote upon.

There’s 3 blondes, Esther McVey, Andrea Leadsom and Boris, one bald one, Javid, and 7 who can’t be separated on hair alone, which is why Gove wears glasses. It distinguishes him from the crowd and enhances the nerd vibe he’s spent a lifetime very successfully creating. All generally wear suits. Or running gear. Most have held cabinet office, but not necessarily recently due to… Br…

They all have varied drug histories, but no-one gives a shit what the fuck they did when they were 18. Except the other 9.

Yesterday half of them gave ‘launch’ events. And this is what they said. In very specific terms.

We need to move forward!
The party needs new direction!!
I’m the person who can take us beyond the current shambles. And only me.
We need to re-engage the population with politics again.
I have a vision, not just of the present BUT OF THE FUTURE!!!!

In other words, a load of meaningless bollocks. Because guess what it all comes down to in the end? Fucking Brexit. In politics as in life. Brexit is all. Half the candidates are Leavers, half Remainers. They all speak in very positive terms about how easy it will be to finally implement Brexit IF THEY ARE IN POWER. Yeah. Right. They’ll get a new deal. They’ll leave without a deal. They’ll leave in October COME WHAT MAY!!! (Not Theresa, the other ‘may’).

Only Rory Stewart remains ultra-soft on Brexit. Mainly because, being a sensible and clever person, he doesn’t really want to leave at all. And despite his odd looks (Stan Laurel meets Woody Allen) he definitely makes the most sense out of all the chancers and tossers who see a cheap and ‘easy’ way to reach their ultimate aspiration. But he’s a Remainer. And you have to suspect that the 150,000 Conservative Party Members who make the decision, because of their age alone, are likely to be a majority of Leave supporters. I’m thinking pipes, twin-sets, country piles, servants, Rule Britannia, Maggie Thatcher and Winston Churchill.

To me it comes down to who can defeat Corbyn at a general election. Nothing else matters.

Happy Tuesday

A xxxx

So the Sunday Times had a poll. ‘Should women footballers be paid the same as men?’

Oohhhh, that’s controversial. But in fact it ain’t. Not at all. Nothing to do with sexism, equality or anything else; its just economics. The boys’ game is funded by tv rights. For which the tv companies pay, literally, billions. And until the gels can generate the same viewing numbers, equal pay just isn’t going to happen. Not that people don’t watch women play football, its just that the numbers are minuscule compared to the men’s game. At the moment.

A more valid question for the Times to pose might be: ‘should male footballers be paid such ridiculous sums of money?’ When Eden Hazard will earn £400k a week after his move to Madrid this summer. When the ‘average’ footy fan earns £24,000 a year and the lowliest of premiership bench-warmers earns at least 3 times that amount every week. Obscene and revolting but its simply a reflection of the ridiculous amount of money floating round the beautiful game.

So perhaps the Women’s World Cup, being played right now in France, will change that, will convert the viewing, football-obsessed public to the wonders of ladies on a footy pitch.

Thus, I sat down and watched some, not all, of the England vs Scotland match yesterday. Just in the interests of… football. Of the ‘level playing field’ in every sense. And because there was no ‘proper’ football on at that time. And by ‘proper’ I mean… errrr… I mean non-gender specific, lgbt-inclusive, non-discriminatory… errrr… man’s football. But I’m on a learning curve.

And the football was good, it must be said. The passing accurate, the control neat and tidy and I really loved seeing 22 pony-tails bouncing over the pitch. But it didn’t engage me. I didn’t get excited about it. Which may be just me, which may be a prejudice so deep that I’m unaware. It may be because certain players are exciting to watch but you kind’a need to know who they are, and I didn’t. Because one swinging pony-tail looks much the same as the next. The game was less physical, which is to be expected with less testosterone around the place and seemed generally slower.

I didn’t love it. But that’s not a sexist thing. Because I love beach volleyball played by (particularly Brazilian) women, can watch that for ages. In fact have to be dragged screaming from the tv. And I approve of women in general, you’ll be relieved to hear. But much as it would be inappropriate to have a male ‘best tits’ competition, unless it was for the over-40s, obviously, I think football, currently, must remain a universal, inclusive, non-sexist, free-from-prejudice-on-grounds-of-gender-race-or-religion game. For men.

Now I’m going to run very far, very fast.

Happy Monday

A xxxx

Last week I had cause to mention, in a rather complimentary, supportive and positive way, Peter Willsman, after he was suspended from the Labour Party for anti-semitism. For the second time. And thus suspended from his exalted role on that party’s ‘national executive’. Pending ‘investigation’. Which Labour are really good at. They may not be the FBI but they know how to ‘investigate’ errant members, holy fuck, do they. They descend on them like a ton of… like a barrage of… like… like… ok, like nothing. The word ‘investigation’ doesn’t really cover it as much as, say, ‘brushing it under a very big carpet’. And here’s why.

If you’re ‘IN’, then you are one of Corbyn’s people and you can do no crime, commit no sin, make no mistake that cannot be simply ignored.

Which is why it now transpires that Willsman also has a charge of sexual harassment (actually ‘inappropriate conduct around young women’ but if you can tell the difference between those two, other than by implication, you’re a better Trotskyist than I am) against him from a co-worker.

So Willsman is pretty much a proven serial racist guilty of misogyny and sexism, probably with rapist tendencies (well whey not?). Pretty much against all of the Labour Party (as we know it) core values.

But that would be the Labour Party of inclusion, of tolerance and of decency. Or ‘old Labour’, possibly even ‘New Labour’. Not THIS Labour. Because in this labour adherence to Corbyn’s radical form of Marxism is not merely an ‘underlying precept’. It is the essential entity that is singularly important. In whatever form it takes. And everything else, like racism, like anti-semitism, like bullying, like violent threats to women MPs, like consorting with known terrorists, all of that is seen as just mere details of total insignificance compared with the Class War they are fighting. It’s just a little ‘collateral damage’ along the path to revolution. Which is why they treat all such criticisms as trivial and of no importance in their grand scheme.

So if a few Jews get upset, that cannot stand in the way of their plans. If a few women get bullied, get assaulted, get conducted against inappropriately, as long as that bullying, assaulting or inappropriate conduct is perpetrated by proven and loyal ‘brethren’ and ‘comrades’, then its just brushed aside with contempt. Because their plans are too lofty to worry about mere middle-class morality. They want Britain bankrupt. Only then can they wear their red flags with pride and joy.

Have you noticed that Corbyn has given up speaking? He only shouts. All the time. Whatever the question. Must be fun at home asking if he wants tea or coffee.

Happy Sunday

A xxxx

Michael Gove is a drug addict!
Michael Gove uses cocaine!!!
Michael Gove took cocaine a couple of times!!
Michael Gove made a mistake!!!

So we learn today that 20 years ago Michael Gove, minister for something-or-other, or possibly not, but Tory leadership candidate and all round good guy, took cocaine (!!!!!) on a few occasions when he was a ‘young journalist’. And we also learn that ‘it was a mistake’. Ok, Michael, what did you mistake that white powder, arranged in neat little lines on a horizontal mirror, what did you ‘mistake’ it for as you rolled up your ten pound note and inserted it into your nostril? Where did the ‘mistake’ occur. Did someone tell you it was a new sinus unblocker? Which it pretty much is. Unfortunately with too much use it doesn’t just unblock but gets rid of all that useless flesh that holds your nose together too. But Michael has admitted it and declared it to be a ‘mistake that he wished had never happened’. Which, presumably, is why he took it on several occasions. To realise how big a mistake it really was. I’ll bet he didn’t think it was a mistake at the time. Cocaine’s not like that. At the time it felt like the most fantastic, empowering, life-affirming, superman-creating thing he’d ever done. He felt like a GOD!!!! Leadership competitor Boris thinks he’s a god too, but without any drug assistance.

So why did Gove feel the need to ‘get this news out there’? Oh, because he doesn’t want photos of his ‘illegal activities’ suddenly appearing in the Daily Mirror (wouldn’t be the Mail because him and his wife both write for them), probably with the implication that the photo was taken last week. It’s what politicians with aspirations do; clear out their closets. They have to. David Cameron said he toked on a joint a ‘few times’ (read: spent 4 years at university out of his fucking head which, when it wasn’t sucking on bong was stuck inside a box of Crunchy Nut Cornflakes), Barak Obama was a stoner, Clinton would have been but chose, rather stupidly if you ask me, not to inhale. Which is like drinking a fine whisky without swallowing it.

And most people forgive their leaders, or potential leaders, the ‘folly of youth’. The young are almost expected to act stupidly, borderline illegally, its was ‘growing up’ is for. It makes them more human. I’ve forgiven Gove already. In fact I admire his honesty (if it wasn’t so damned cynical) and feel he’s more ‘rounded’ for having lived a little bit on some kind of super-middle-class ‘edge’ before becoming the nerd we know and love.

Yet on the radio this morning was the ‘ultra-Tory’ saying that taking drugs is a ‘crime’ and is not forgivable and should rule Gove out of the race. Tosser. And unfortunately, the 150,000 members of the Conservative Party who get to vote for our new Prime Minister, and them alone, in all likelihood, will share that very view. They’re not renowned for their tolerance to any kind of deviation from their own very stringent and proper norm.

#anyonebutcorbyn

Happy Saturday

A xxxx

There! I’ve said it. Lila and JOEY. Or, as she says, ‘Doey’, which cracks me up every time and I have to remember not to call him that myself or his mum gets upset that YOU DON’T ENCOURAGE SPEECH MISTAKES! even when you really love them and wish them entrenched into common law. I’m not allowed to call her ‘Yiya’ either, much to my eternal sorrow. Though following rules has never been my strong suit.

But Joey/Doey is a little star. He had his circumcision and barely batted an eyelid. I didn’t either. I was strong. I was brave. Cold and unemotional. And in another room. Me and his mum. Hiding. Shaking. And then it was over and we ate bagels and Danish pastries, according to the laws of Abraham, Moses and Daniels. (NW11 joke.) As it is written. Joey/Doey is given his first taste of blessing wine, which he loved and made him forget any temporary ‘discomfort’ from his recent brutality. But then we all ignored him so we could get to the front of the buffet.

And it was emotional. We were all emotional. Nothing to do with a stale bagel or anything important like that, but it is indeed a wonderful thing. The continuation of a bond between Abraham, God and me. And Doey. Even to a unrelenting unbeliever, it holds a significance that just can’t be denied. And made all the stronger by the procedure going so well and the baby so good about it. It’s a continuation that is (now its over) a truly wonderful cultural imperative.

But you can’t live on penis talk alone. Even though I try. Because there’s still a world out there that’s not in a great place. And by ‘out there’ I’m looking only as far as my back garden. Our world. Britain.

And on Question Time last night they were discussing whether a general election would be the best thing to have, rather than get 150,000 unknown old crusties (the members of the Conservative Party who are the only ones to elect the new leader) with an average age of 57, to basically impose their own preferred Prime Minister on the nation. Which is precisely what’s going to happen. It’s also the way it always happens, so there’s no goalpost shifting going on. And a general election would do nothing to solve the problem. It would shift the Tories’ horrendously uncertain leave/remain arguments to the same but with a Labour flag. (God fucking forbid!!!) So we’ll just have to see what new leader looks like and sounds like. Let’s just hope its not the Blonde.

Happy Friday

A xxxx

And yeah, verily, as it is written, shalst the male child of the tribe, on his eighth day of life, undergo the ritual of circumcision, fulfilling the Covenant of Abraham, in accordance with the Jewish tradition, duty, mitzvah and… and… well, you do it, that’s all.

So to get this straight, some old geezer (99 years old and possibly senile) who apparently heard from God (hmmmm, hearing voices), that he should circumcise himself and ‘his household’, which apparently includes me, set a precedent which became a rule in the intervening 3000 years. During which time, old people who self-harm have been approached differently. Like secure units with constant monitoring. Why is it done? Because…

Because it is
Because Abraham did it
Because its always done
Because you have to
Because the Royals do it too
Because its healthier

There’s a divide. Obviously. There’s always a divide in anything. And whilst circumcision isn’t Brexit, in many ways (and to the circumcisee) its more important. And remember, in Jewish tradition, for every three debaters there are 7 sides to any argument.

And now its Kevin’s turn. He passed his 8th day upon which he was still a little jaundiced so received a stay. But only temporary. So now all the wonderful arguments as to the pros of circumcision (as listed above) all move from the abstract to the immediate and very concerning when its YOUR baby (I use the term collectively because any baby born within the sphere bordered by 3rd cousinhood twice removed is MY baby). And Kev is my baby and he’ll be hurt. Not a lot (because apparently it doesn’t when you’re a baby, or are they just telling you that????) and the after-effects are generally really limited. Other than the shape of his nob, obvs.

But there are ‘benefits’. Its cleaner, healthier (I googled it and it prevents a disease so rare I’ve never heard of it nor can remember its name) and its… prettier. And IT IS DONE!

And its not MGM. Which is like Female Genital Mutilation but for boys. Because there is no accepted medical procedure for FMG, which is an evil thing, whereas circumcision is ok and actively encouraged in some hospitals.

The voice of my dear, departed mum comes back to me at such times. Whenever I justified doing something (stupid) just because someone else had. She’d say: ‘oh, so if he sticks his head in the oven you’d to that too?’ Therefore, ‘because everyone else does it’ is not really, on its own, justification. Yet the pressure on Jews, and Muslims, ok, and Royal Family, is the pressure of history, of continuation, of culture. And it is big. So big that the default question shifts from ‘should we have our child circumcised’ to ‘well, give me 3 good reasons why I shouldn’t’.

So I’ll conclude that it must be a good thing. Abraham had it. I had it. And now Kev’s gonna get it. And get a new, proper name in the process. Kevin had a foreskin. ******* doesn’t.

Happy Wednesday

A xxxx

Trump’s here. He’s basically a big fat Daily Mail. Right wing. Reactionary. Inappropriate. Writes a load of rubbish. But here he is. Yesterday he put on a fat suit. Sorry, a morning suit, to have dinner with the Queen and a few mates, even though it was in the evening. They had lamb. If you’re interested. Harry was there. Megan passed. Spent the night at home getting ready for the new series of Love Island. But she also passed because she can’t stand Trump. That’s her choice and I respect it.

I don’t respect Corbyn’s choice to do similarly. He’s not American. He’s not a woman. And much like its our duty to show respect to the POTUS, whoever it might be, its also Corbyn’s duty as (he’d like to think) Prime Minister in waiting, to attend state functions in his role as Leader of Her Majesty’s Opposition. And even when the holder of that exalted title is indeed and forever a tosser, he still shoulders that responsibility. Corbyn makes out, and doubtless will speak of it today, that its about Trump ‘the man’, the evil, useless, blah, blah. A racist will accuse misogynist of being inappropriate in public office. Corbyn’s English, he should see the irony. But eat with the man? NEVER!

Though as always, its more instructive to consider the bigger picture. Those who Corbyn WOULD eat with. Like Putin. Like President Xi. Like Hamas. Like the Libyans celebrating the Olympic terrorist attack. Like the IRA. Always on the basis that ‘dialogue is the way forward; you have to engage these people, even if they have evil views’. But that stops when those ‘evil’ views represent capitalism in any manner. Then he can speak no more. Then Corbyn the ‘diplomat’, the ‘statesman’, pulls off his everyday suit, like Clark Kent, to reveal his threadbare duffel coat and Trotsky hat underneath to join the protest in character. Tosser.

Though not as a big a tosser (very close call) as George Galloway. The muthafucka’s muthafucka. The hateful Scot sent the above tweet on Saturday night after the football. Ok, it cost him his job at Talk Radio as they immediately sacked him, but is that enough? Galloway’s been sacked from more jobs than Theresa May’s cabinet in the last 4 years. He’s almost a professional sackee. But here’s a brain-teaser: how do you get from ‘Spurs’ to ‘Israel flags’ in six steps without using the word ‘Jew’? Because if you do then you’ve crossed anyone’s rules on antisemitism, even Labour’s!!!! Alas the fat fuck will be back soon. Like every nightmare of ‘the bad penny’. And Liverpool FC is currently owned by an American billionaire.

Happy Tuesday

A xxxx

Today begins the official, state visit of the President of the United States of America! He’ll arrive, be greeted on the tarmac by Prince Charles and the EasyJet ground staff who’ll then go and lose Melania’s bag whilst explaining to Donald that although his flight was delayed by 4 hours and 57 minutes due to total incompetence of the staff, crew, drunk pilot and landing team, he is NOT entitled to the statutory compensation of 300 Euros because all of that is some kind of act of God. If you’re religious enough, everything comes back to God in the end.

Can you imagine Melania travelling with ‘a bag’? She probably travels with ‘a plane’. Another one. Just for clothes. And a third for make-up and ‘fillers’. She likes a filler. Whereas Donald could do with a bit of un-filling really.

I have great respect for the President of the United States, I honestly do. The position, the role, if not so much for the present incumbent. So whichever ignorant tosser those stupid Americans pick to lead them will gain my respect, to some or other degree of grudgingness, for his- or HER- term. Because whatever we think of Trump (see above) America has earned and deserves our ongoing respect and friendship. Because they keep us safe. We are a tiny island nation with delusions of grandeur. Delusions of power. And that power, in a military sense, if it exists at all, is mainly due to the fact that if you pick on us America is gonna fucking kill you. Britain is like a Woody Allen type character strutting round the favela, because over his shoulder is the world’s biggest bully armed to the teeth.

So if people want to protest then fine, I’m all for free speech and freedom of expression and the Donald, more than anyone, deserves derision and attack for many things.

Yet it all comes down to one thing really. Which is that our ‘new Left’ hate America, hate capitalism, hate its somewhat heavy handed efforts at maintaining world peace. And therefore adherents to that mindset will take every opportunity to find any reason to knock the USA. Like little shit Sadiq Kahn. Like Corbyn, like McDonnell whose stated aim is ‘to bring down capitalism’. Because other options work so well. Fuck. Me.

And much as I think Trump a horrible and unpredictable man, its those very things that make the world so wary of him. Would Kim Jong-Un be so nervy of a calm and cool statesman of a president as he is of a fucking nut-job with a funny hair-style? In the international world of bluff and bravado there is no-one going to call Donald’s bluff. You don’t ‘dare’ a lunatic.

So bring him on/in. Let him have dinner with the Queen, let him grope Kate, stick him a carriage driven by (pretty strong) horses and if you wish, stand along the Mall with a placard. But love him or hate him, we need him.

Happy Monday

A xxxx

It wasn’t about ‘destiny’, it wasn’t about ‘history’, it won’t require 12 public inquiries (because Liverpool won) and it wasn’t a very good game. But it was just that. Two teams massively underplaying the immense potential they demonstrated in the respective semi-finals. Of the two Spurs definitely played better. The Scousers (one Geordie, one Yorkshireman, a Scotsman, two Brazilians, one Egyptian, an African, Dutchman…) played their worst game of the year. Spurs just managed to out-worse them, even playing better. Ok there was a quite ridiculous penalty but that, after 1 minute, didn’t decide the match. Only Arsenal games and Manchester United games are, according to the vast sea of whinging fans and managers, lost as the result of such ridiculous and ridiculously timed events.

But it was about ‘the journey’. Which, for Spurs was a magical, mystical, mysterious one which flew in the face of all known gods. And all known statistics. We blew away so many ‘never before has a team come back from…’s that they need a new statistician at UEFA. Old one was probably corrupt anyway.

And every fan has his story of ‘where he was and how he/she got there’. Because it wasn’t easy to avoid the exploitative shark disease which afflicted all airlines and Spanish hotels as soon as the final was known. Worse still is the UEFA ticket distribution, which, like everything in our ‘beautiful game’ on the European level, works on a “one for you, two for me…” system. So the proper fans were allocated less than half of the total tickets and the rest went to ‘the clubs’ and to ‘the hoy-poloy’ who all sell them to the touts who fleece the less lucky real fans for all they can.

Other fans went to watch at Spurs ground, where for just a tenner you could sit and enjoy the spectacle with thousands of ‘brethren’, which is probably what I’d have done, except… Kevin was born.

So we decided to watch all together. Thus I’ll relate this fan’s ‘journey’ to the match.

I walked to Lila’s house, 4 minutes away, in my flip flops, because it was hot and I know you’re keen on detail. And with both daughters (one post-natal, the other over from Berlin for the game… and ok, the birth and a few other things), my son-in-law (who was blessed to have been at the semi-final in Amsterdam but wasn’t allowed to go to the final, obvs) and with Lila in bed (ok, with Mel for most of the first half) and Kev lying on my lap being forced to learn the players’ names, we watched. And taught Kevin the value of swearing excessively when the penalty was awarded. Well, its a skill for life. Then the curry arrived just after half time and that was probably the high point of the match. Because it was really good. And even better washed down with Jack Daniels and coke. In roughly equal measures.

Then we walked home.

Everyone has their story. And will always remember exactly where they were when… well, something happened.

Happy Sunday.

A xxxx