Andy's Glasses

London is hotter than the fires of hell. It’s official. Hell burned (Dante et al, 1256) at 106 degrees of Fahrenheits, and today it is 108. In between they invented Celciuses but they just confuse the issue. It’s so hot here that they reckon the roads will melt and the railway lines will buckle. Policemen will explode, teachers dehydrate and reduce to mere powder in 4.6 minutes of exposure, causing school caretakers to overheat as they sweep them all up. People are at peril. Unfortunately though, Westminster is air conditioned.

So Boris is setting out his grand ‘plan’ for the world, at the helm of which, he currently sits. That ‘world’ which is bordered by Vauxhall to the south, Trafalgar Square to the north and Buckingham palace to the West. The East doesn’t count.

But love him or hate him, Boris is a man on a mission. And that mission is Brexit. Yet much as I hate Brexit, if it has to be, and it does, then let’s do it and GET ON WITH LIVING.

Thus I must admire Boris’s first day. Because what he did was effectively take care of the ‘divisions in his party’ at least in the Cabinet. They are all of a mind. A Brexit mind. They’re all keen, driven and prepared to accept the dreaded ‘no-deal’. Because his predecessor’s paradigm of a ‘balanced debate’ got precisely nowhere in 3 years. Boris has loaded his table, getting rid of an unprecedented 17 former cabinet members in the process. The only solitary remainer in the team is Amber Rudd. Don’t know how that happened but if I was Carrie Symonds I might want to look a bit deeper at that.

So now its back to the heat. It’s Lila-day and the object is to keep her out of the sun and hydrated. Neither of which is easy because… because she’s Lila. Therefore, like her MATERNAL GRANDMOTHER she tends to adopt a contrary position to each and every suggestion or effort made by anyone over 2 years old.

Happy HEAT!!!! Because Britain is as prepared for this heat as it is for cold, rain, snow, dryness, wetness, moistness, autumness or Spring.

A xxxx

Well it finally happened. The new man for the job arrived. All the fuss, all the waiting, all the expectation and now…

Tanguy Ndombele plays for Spurs. Our only signing in nearly 2 years. And he came on last Sunday when we played a friendly in Singapore against Juventus. They of the Christiano Ronaldo fame. And Ndombele’s first touch was a wonderful pass to Lucas Moura which made a goal. That drew the score at 2-2 to set the scene for Harry Kane (who else?) to hit an injury time winner from the half way line. OMG.

And they want me to get excited about Boris?? After that?? And yet…

And yet I am a bit excited about Boris. Even though I didn’t want him to be our new PM at all. Though he does make me laugh. Not necessarily the most sought-after trait in a Prime Minister, I grant you, but it always makes him easier to watch. His humour is so dead-pan, so ‘dry’ that lots of people just don’t get him. Even BBC’s political whiner-in-chief, Laura Kuensberg don’t get him. And I’m 100% sure that Boris’s most British of British humour is completely lost on Donald Trump. Who is hailing Boris as the new Caesar. Or, in fact, stated that ‘they’re calling him Britain Trump’. As if that would even be a compliment.

Which they’re not. That’s ‘fake news’. From the world’s fakest fucker. I’ve heard no-one calling him ‘Britain Trump’. If we had it would probably be ‘Britain’s Trump’ but Donald don’t do grammar. And assumes that most political pundits wouldn’t know an apostrophe from an oil well in Texas.

But Boris has done the hard bit. He’s won. Now its the plain sailing years ahead. He just has to unify his party, unify parliament, implement Brexit by October 31st (the absolute essential; fail in that and he’s gone forever), create an economy that can survive all of that and beat off Jeremy Corbyn in a general election. There’s ‘little stuff’ as well, like the Irish backstop, like parliament never going to vote for the ‘no-deal’ Brexit he’s almost insisting on, and doing all that without committing a personal cock-up (and in Boris’s case this phrase must be literal as well as figurative) like he did when he went to Iran to ‘plead’ for poor Nazanin. The sort of cock-up that is almost inevitable for someone who is so constantly ‘off the cuff’ and often tragically unrehearsed or ill-informed. Make ‘em laugh first, worry about the facts later.

The only thing in Boris’ favour is that he is relentlessly positive. Which, after the Theresa May years (felt like about 50 years) of woe and misery, comes as something of a tonic. We can only pray that there is substance behind that positivity. Because its Boris we’re talking about here.

Happy New PM Day

A xxxx

I’ve always been a bit ‘sporty’. I like playing games and if a bat and/or ball are involved then so much the better. Unless its a golf bat, then you can keep it and I’ll go watch a box-set. And as a working definition of ‘sport’, if you don’t end up with sweaty bollocks then it ain’t one. Just a ‘working definition’, on a very personal level, which I appreciate won’t apply to everyone. Particularly women. But that’s their loss.

I also appreciate that there are ‘sports’ and there are ‘sports’. Some are solitary; runnin’, swimmin’, bikin’, and others are more directly competitive. I suppose boxing is the ultimate. Tennis pretty much up there too. Which makes them a bit more sociable. Or, in boxing’s case, antisocial. I suppose you could go for your 10 mile run with a mate, but by mile 6 neither of you would be capable of speech. Biking can be sociable as long as you don’t need eye contact which could be fatal.

It really comes down to what you like doing. I always preferred sports of the fast/frantic variety. Endurance stuff never really appealed. Still doesn’t. I lack the patience. And probably the fitness, stamina, endurance and ability.

But I think I want to do a triathlon. I was reading about it today, the upsurge, how ‘everyone’s doin it’. And I like that bit when they cross the finish line even though the preceding 6 hours of pain and agony I could probably live without. But I just need to up my levels. I already cycle every day, to the tube station. And back (8 hours later). That’s probably half a mile in total. I run after tennis balls for hours, I just need to focus it into a straight line with no balls for guidance. And I can swim. For minutes on end. Well, not so much ‘swim’ in any meaningful way, more ‘splash around cooling off after an intense sun-bathe’. I’ve even been known to do 10 lengths in one go!! Keeping Mel company (swimming is the most unsociable of all sports, unless disruption is your aim) but after that I give up the will to live and leave her to do just another 90 or so alone.

So how hard can it be? An IronMan. Swim a couple miles, cycle a hundred or so, then a full, 26-mile marathon. Phah! But I can’t afford it.

They reckon it cost over 5 grand a year to partake in a couple of marathons. They don’t generally have them at Golders Green Station or my local park. And you have to buy a special bike, special shoes… errrr… goggles be useful and a wet-suit. They have a triathlon at Alcatraz. The prison they built because it sits in waters so cold and so shark-infested that no-one ever managed the swim to the shore. I suppose that could actually make you swim a bit quicker. The thought of IMMINENT DEATH will do that to a man/woman/person/thing.

Or I could just play my tennis, chatting away, drinking coffee, trash talking, and stay in my comfort zone. And pocket the 5k. Hmmmm… I need to think about this.

Happy Tuesday

A xxxx

PS: note Joey’s Wimbledon kit. Bless. He’s gonna be better than Nadal. Who didn’t wear a tennis baby-gro til he was 7 months old!!! Hah!!

We’re on the verge of war. It’s just a matter of days. Boots on the ground. Full military… whatever. Total invasion syndrome. We did Iraq. We sorted Afghanistan, we dabbled in Syria and so logically as well as geographically, we need to fight the Iranians just so we can cross off that whole sector of the Middle East and start working on Libya, Tunisia and Somalia for when the weather gets colder in Europe and it’ll keep our troops warm in the winter.

Iran’s a worry. Always has been. Ever since the Clash (again?? twice in 2 days!!) Rocked the Casbah in about 1980, there’s been aggro there. But not like now. Not like today. When they’ve stolen two of our ships and won’t give them back. Unless we release the Iranian tanker we stole in Gibraltar the other week.

And it all comes down to Donald effin Trump.

We had an agreement with Iran about nuclear armaments and their lack of pursuit of such things in the interest of world peace. Because if Iran had nukes they’d immediately send one to Tel Aviv and another to Riyadh. So we had an ‘agreement’ that the nations of the world would not impose financial and trade sanctions against Iran if they stopped chasing the nuclear option. And the whole planet was happy. For the ten minutes until Trump unilaterally decided that Obama was wrong to sign that agreement so he pulled the US out and immediately imposed stringent constraints on Iran, totally fucking up their economy. At which point the Ayatollahs said that if there were sanctions against them, they might as well start enriching nuclear stuff again. And pestering foreign shipping sailing peacefully through the Gulf.

Thus by Trump acting in his own, ‘maverick’, naive and stupid way, he has single-handedly destabilised the region, the Ayatollahs and how Europe AND Britain should respond. Because Europe is under the impression that if Trump pulls out of the agreement, it somehow won’t affect the deal with us. As if there are two agreements, two scenarios, two Irans. Fuck me, one is more than enough.

And now its come to ‘this’!! Ships sailing in neutral waters attacked by Iranian terrorists/pirates. In response to us impounding an Iranian ship in Gibraltar suspected of taking oil to Syria, against the UN law.

Britain is guilty of having been unprepared for what the Iranians have been threatening, guilty of not having protection in the Gulf, guilty of letting Jeremy Hunt state that ‘a military option is off the table’ when it should be saved as the ultimate bluff to a nation that responds to not much else, and guilty of being stupid and trusting the Iranians in the first place.

Yet ‘war in the middle east’… how’d that work out last time? And the time before? And the time before? And…

Happy peaceful Sunday

A xxxx

Electric scooters?? Fucking death traps!! People die on them. Are they supposed to ride on the roads? Where they’re in the way and a nuisance, or on the pavements? Where they’re in the way and a nuisance?? We’ll show Bird what its all about.

Bird is the company who rent these things. These killer machines of misery and… death!! They’re from Los Angeles. Typical!! And they rent their electric scooters all over the world, with their company rising in ‘value’ to one billion dollars!!!! in less than their 2 years in existence. But NOT IN OUR COUNTRY, MATEY!!!! Because we’re not some godless, 3rd worldy place where you can just… just… just do things! No, this is England! This knife of Sheffield steel. (For Clash fans, everyone else feel free to ignore that remark).

And we have the solution. Because an act from 1998 bans such vehicles (?) from the roads, and now they’ve unearthed another act, this one from 1835, which bans such things from the pavements. SO WE FUCKING WIN!!!!! Keep your scooters away from these shores (not sure if there’s any antiquated, anachronistic law banning them from beaches, but I’m sure we can find one in the Bayeux tapestry or the doomsday book specifically mentioning rechargeable vehicular transportation.) Keep them to yourselves, in LA, Berlin, New York… all the… all the kind of cool places where they’re stupid and death-loving and… and… and prepared to embrace the novel, the unusual, the pretty useful and most importantly, the things people want to do, with an open mind and some kind of solution.

I hate the smugness and sneering satisfaction that politicians and the press use when they find such a ‘solution to a problem’, which is basically a legal framework to ban things. I don’t like banning anything. Even if they can be dangerous. Cars can be dangerous. Buses catch fire, people fall in front of trains, get knocked off pushbikes, die in plane crashes, get… errrr… hit by boats on Oxford Street. Travel is dangerous. In fact movement in any direction by any means can be dangerous. Add into that mix the massive overcrowding in all British cities and before the first tube train driver has even rolled his first joint of the day, getting around is precarious. Riddled with uncertainty and insecurity. Have you seen me cross a road? Holy shit, it even scares me.

Banning things just because they’re new and different and their place in society hasn’t been worked out yet is just the knee-jerk Daily Mailistic reaction to novelty. And novelty which can be useful and fun.

I’ve never been on an electric scooter. But I want the chance to do so. And if it seems dangerous then I won’t do it again. But it’ll be MY choice. Because in case anyone hasn’t noticed, getting around in London in particular is never easy. We need options. Not rejections by the jobsworth tossers in City Hall.

Happy Saturday

A xxxx

I love a happy ending. Especially when its a totally undeserved, unwarranted, ridiculously happy ending that is as surprising as it is a testament to corporate stupidity.

We applied for a new life assurance. In case we want to murder each other. Double Indemnity kind’a deal. With Zurich Life. They wanted to send round medical people for check-ups to make sure we were both alive. So they sent us appointments. Or rather, the outsource company they used for medical people sent appointments. And mine was an email with “2.30pm Tuesday 17th March”. No wriggle room, no negotiation, not asking ‘when’s good?’, just middle of a working day. So I rejected. And they sent me another. 1.56am on Sunday 9th. Tossers. So I called them and said ‘what have you got?’ and I’ll find one that suits. THIS IS CURRENTLY VERY SILLY. But they don’t do that. They find some random doctor, ask him when he has 45 minutes to come to my house for a cup of tea and send me that, and only that, time as an offer.

Meanwhile, Zurich are emailing me regularly, nagging me to have my medical. This was in March.

I emailed back saying not to nag me, instead use an efficient company capable of making an appointment.

I heard back from Zurich telling me how they were ‘starting a complaint procedure’. Yeah, whatever.

March turned to April, April to May, and eventually a doctor came round on a Sunday morning, just after tennis, nice lady who stuck me with needles, hooked me up to machines and stole some of my urine! when I wasn’t looking.

I then had a letter from Zurich telling me how sorry they are to hear about my ‘problem’ and I’d be hearing from them within 6 weeks, 10 weeks, whatever. BUT, if I was really pissed off I was given details for the financial ombudsman. Yeah, for a problem with an appointment-making company who can’t make appointments. I wrote them back and said medical’s done, forget the complaint, it was nothing.

Joey was born, then it was June. And we eventually decided against the new policy, sticking with our old one instead. Case closed.

Until yesterday. When I heard from Zurich. Who are nothing if not thorough. Oh, yeah, there’s slow, don’t forget slow. And they said how sorry they are that months ago I had a bad moment. And as I was just about to shred the letter, the last paragraph caught my eye. “… so in copensation we’ll pay you £75 for your bother. Please send details for payment…”

Seventy five quid will never feel so sweet. I might spend it on a doctor’s appointment. Just because.

Happy Friday

A xxxx

Trump’s latest series of tweets telling four Americans to ‘go back where they came from’ is a wonderful thing. It’s a thing of the past. A thing of ignorance and intolerance. And of course, as is everything ‘he’ does, it is very divisive.

What it isn’t is a simple thing. No mere stupid, off the cuff racist comment. But something more calculated, more intentional, more… more Trump.

The very phrase ‘go back where you came from’ would never be shouted at a white person. (In America, obvs, in Nigeria it would be different). Even if that white person is from Poland, Argentina, Glasgow. It can only be said to those who are outwardly ‘different’ in appearance. And the fact that 3 of the four told to ‘return!’ are American born, it actually makes it worse. It makes it ‘go back to the land of your ancestors’ implying that none of them/you belong ‘here’.

The native Americans could tell people to ‘go back where they came from’ and that would be more acceptable. But Trump said it, and said it to ‘The Squad’. The four Democrat congresswomen ‘of colour’. But the problem is that the Squad, essentially, started the whole thing. They are overly defensive and sensitive to all matters regarding race and use it at the forefront of all they do. Quite aggressively. They introduced the race card, and Trump now trumped it. The four women question the Declaration of Independence on grounds of it being racist and sexist, they attack ‘white America’ at every opportunity and, obviously, because they’re ‘radical left wingers’ (by American standards, Corbyn they ain’t), they’re very anti-Israel too.

And Trump’s tweet is very calculated indeed. For the same reason that very few Republicans have come out to censure the pres. over his tweet, it must be assumed that a vast majority of Americans are receptive to the whole ‘go back where you came from’ thing. Its not quite Mississippi Burnin’ but its a phrase that resonates with those whose idea of multi-culturalism is people from Alabama AND Tennessee. And they vote Donald. Yet another shit-storm that will not damage Donald’s re-election chances one little bit. He’s so stupid he’s almost clever again.

Happy Wednesday

A xxxx

When you ride a bike you feel free. With the wind. Ecologically ‘on-message’. Pollution free. You are holier than all those thous in their toxic, polluting, climate-changing cars, vans, buses and aeroplanes. But when you’re in a car, those same bikes are a pest. They are insects to be trodden on. They are IN THE FUCKING WAY.

Well in Berlin they escalate the ‘bike issue’ to a new level. Like most European cities it is very bikey. It’s pretty flat and cycle lanes abound making it as safe as it can ever be. The emigrant daughter uses a bike as her chosen mode of transportation. But when its raining, or freezing (Berlin knows how to do both) or when you don’t have your bike with you, there is a plan B. In fact there is B, C, D, E and F. Possibly G and H. Because Berlin is so cool that it caters to people’s needs.

So you see everywhere, rental bikes. Like Boris bikes. Wolfgang Bikes. Whatever. And they come in ‘normal’ or ‘lectric versions. With Uber bikes and many others providing short-term bikes with battery power. Electric scooters. Shit-loads of them. Actual motor scooters with engines, which rent with a helmet. (Or a Helmut). And all available for the duration of your journey. Pick it up in one German sounding place name, drop it off in another, click ‘lock’ on your phone and you’re off. Unburdened. Credit card charged a paltry amount and when you want to return to Aufweiderseinplatzstrasse later on, you just jump on something else. They’re on every street corner.

And it works with cars too. We ‘took’ a car for our parliament tour. The daughter clicked her ‘drive now’ app, which showed 3 cars within a 5 minute walk from her flat. Do we want a convertible mini (its raining), a BMW i3 or a Mercedes B class? Who cares? We too the mini, drove to the Reichstag, parked it outside (pretty much) and pressed ‘lock’. That cost 4.5 Euros (they don’t use pounds in Berlin, strangely). Tube fairs for the three of us would have cost about 8. Not sure how much it would have cost to get Mel on a bike. At least 3 new handbags and some shoes. Probably.

And we used others. Because its so easy and so cheap. But why it works is because of the fantastically almost non-existent parking regulations there. Because obviously you have to leave the car somewhere legal. And over there its virtually anywhere. Can you imagine renting a car and going to Leicester Square? Mansion House? Westminster?? Journey time 22 minutes, parking time 3 hours 24, ending up in a safe space outside your house. The only available one in London.

And that feels like a freedom. A big freedom. Which is part of the Berlin story. A big part. They let you do what you want to do. I like that. A lot.

Happy Tuesday

A xxxx

What do you keep in your shoes? Ok, your feet. That’s generally the case. But what about when you pack for a trip? Do you ‘fill’ your shoes, as I do? Or do you leave them empty just in case a group of uniformed security border controllers mistake a bottle of baby powder (yeah! Why not?? You got a problem with that???), a 3 socket USB plug, two charge leads and a pair of electric toothbrushes as a BOMB!!!! Well it may be time to reconsider the latter option, as I sit here at Berlin Tegel airport relieved to be a free man. Because they stopped my bag in the scanner and it stayed stopped. And they called a few other bods. Then a big bod (every sense of the word) and everything else in the airport stopped. They all stood back from my case. Called over another dude wearing rubber gloves, at which point I thought ‘NOOOOOOOO’ but he just swabbed the outside of the case. I’m not a generally anxious or nervous person, but a group of armed, uniformed men shouting in German just… just… just.

They opened the case, very carefully, very gingerly, and found that the heap of electronic shit in my shoes was less about explosives, more about ergonomics. More stuff into less space. Well, said ‘the nice one’, perhaps its best not to load things into shoes when you pack your carry-on. But… but… but…

Berlin. It is just the coolest city in the world. My home is always London but my heart is in Kreuzberg. And my daughter too, so that’s nice. It is just a city of such startling contrasts, as exemplified by this photo taken in the affluent, almost opulent area of Rosenthalerplatz. The ultra-modern, super high-tech and the derelict remnant of an old house which survived the war and the Russians, but only just. And that photo is pretty much the perfect metaphor for the city. Yet everywhere you go there are little surprises. Areas along the river with a bar, coffee shop and just generally ‘heaps of cool’, in what was ready for demolition last year. The parks are fab, the restaurants, cafes and bars abundant and pretty uniformly great value if not exactly cheap.

Yesterday, according to records, we walked a total of 16.2kms. We started at the Reichstag for a 9am tour and went on from there. The tour was incredible, comprehensive and educational. In that when Germans of today talk of Hitler and the Hitler years, they are talking about ‘them’ and never ‘us’. They treat him, and that whole era, as the most important, catastrophic and horrendous lessen ever to be learned.

Then we walked, we ate, we had ice creams, we ate more and we just managed to squeeze in the two longest sporting events in sporting event history. The tennis? Holy shit! And the cricket??? OMGeeeeee…

We (that’s the English, not British, not pre-Hitlerite, not post-Hitlerite, not Berliners, not anyone else but our ‘royal’ we) are the World Champions. Amazing all round.

On the way home now. Shame. Love it here.

Happy Monday

A xxxx

Ok, these things are the ones that will kill you: smoking, obesity and…

Yes, there’s a new ‘social killer’ on the block and its not, like, ‘buses stepped in front of’ or ‘people with knives’ or even ‘slow death by Brexit’. No, its lack of sleep. Because apparently we Brits don’t sleep enough. Only whilst we’re at the wheel of a car, and that don’t count. It’s proper sleep. In bed. Sleeping. So the government, having bored us to the point of mass, collective suicide over the ways to keep us alive (irony? what fucking irony) by excessive regulation and information, are now going to send in the sleep police. Different from a ‘sleeping policeman’. They ruin your car suspension. Sleep police will just render you numb from the boredom induced by excessive nanny-statism and repeated messaging. Repeated messaging. Repeated messaging…

“Failure to sleep between 7 and 9 hours a night is associated with: strokes, obesity, heart attacks, depression, anxiety…” But supporting Spurs gives most of us that same level of risk EVERY SODDING WEEK, but they don’t legislate for that. And really, 7 hours sleep? Lila barely sleeps for that in one go. And her poor mum, like any other mother-of-newborn, counts 2 hours as a miracle sent down by the Lord God him(/her) self. I know loads of people who get by on 5/6 hours a night max. Ok, they’re all in hospital suffering with the above… but really they’re not. They just ‘need less sleep’. Although in future those people and other insomniacs may be subject to arrest because the government will decide what we ‘need’, thank you very much.

But Labour deputy leader, Brother/Comrade Tom Watson is a bit of a case in point. Not about sleep but health and stuff generally. Having gone from an immense lard-bucket obese fat fuck with type 2 diabetes to a svelte and pert little size zero with, credit to him, no more diabetes, all in a year or so. Yet for some, namely Corbyn, McDonnell, Dippy Diane, (the team number-cruncher), Tom is a bad person. Because Tom said that perhaps Jenny Formby, head of Labour’s National Executive, should reveal all to both him and to the EHRA inquiry into anti-semitism and she’s been a bit slow/stupid/non-existent in the anti-anti-semitism department. To which Abbott & Co said how shameful and uncaring and rotten of Watson to speak such things whilst Formby is undergoing chemotherapy.

And I have all sympathy for anyone undergoing the horrendous brutalities of chemo, even hateful, duplicitous and morally questionable chairpeople of parties so mired in their own amazing levels of bureaucratic spiralism and party denialism that they can’t notice how the ridiculous repetition of ‘we are opposed to all forms of racism’ has as much validity as if it was chanted by white-robed and be-hooded members of the KKK as they burnt another cross in Mississippi. Actions generally speak much louder than words. And Jenny Formby, like all the others, has taken no action worth speaking about. Though I wish her well on a personal level. Which is totally irrelevant to questioning any actions in her job.

Happy Saturday

A xxxx