Andy's Glasses

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

This is what ‘militant Judaism’ looks like. This is as violent, as brutal, as radical, as terrorist and as conspiratorial as it gets in our house. This is the blessing of the sabbath candles. One of the few things we let the gels do (probably why Judaism never really caught on in any big way in most of London. “You light the candles, then go away and leave everything else to us men”), so they light the candles and say a (very) little prayer with eyes covered. And its lovely to see.

But now Labour have ‘suspended’ Peter Willsman, one of their national executive (whatever the fuck that means) for ‘allegations’ of anti-semitism. What the tosser did was accuse the Israeli embassy of orchestrating all those accusations of anti-semitism against Jeremy Corbyn, just to destabilise him. Those bloody Jews/Israelis!!!!

One of the oldest accepted forms of anti-semitism is blaming the Jews for their own downfall and for others actions against them. That’s even accepted by the Labour party’s own rather loose and woolly definitions. But serial racist Willsman never got the memo. The irony being that Alastair Campbell was thrown out of the party within 24 hours of his perceived ‘crime’, whereas Willsman has just received a suspension. Again. But please: “Labour is dealing with claims of anti-semitism very seriously”. Yeah. Right.

The problem with tonight is that I quite like Liverpool. I wish I didn’t and to be honest if it was any other contender to be in an all-England Champions League final; Chelsea, the Manchesters… that’s it really for ‘contenders’, I could really hate them. But Liverpool I don’t. So I’ll have to temporarily suspend my un-hatred of them at 8pm tonight, that I may savour the match more fully.

And what a match it promises to be. It promises… errrr… well, football… errrr… excitement, even if its dull, a winner, even if its undeserved, and… lots of alcohol to be consumed by anyone not actually kickin’ or blowin’ a whistle. If we win (may it please the Lord Almighty, pth, pth, pth) I’ll be amazed. If we lose I’ll be shattered. But the more I read and hear about how, basically, ‘Liverpool have already won it’, the happier it makes me. I like to be the underdog. And although Spurs failed to play any decent football in the league for the last couple of months, we are definitely something totally different in Champions League matches.

It’s finally here. O.M.Geeeeee…

Happy Saturday (so far)

A xxxx

I’m a political ‘centrist’. It’s my natural position. Right in the
middle with my head up my arse. That’s where I stand, politically. And
I don’t mind whether its the benign Tory centrism of David Cameron
(well, that ended well, didn’t it?) or the moderately, left-leaning
centrism of Tony Blair’s Labour, I’m comfortable in the middle. Once
the Tories get in any way overly nationalistic, xenophobic or start
moving rightwards, I’m out. Once Labour revert to excessive trade
union influence or slip to the left, I’m gone. I’m a liberal. Note:
small ‘L’. So naturally, intuitively, logically, I should vote for the
Liberal party. In whatever incarnation. Yet I never, ever have. Not
because, for my entire adult lifetime, it would have effectively been
a ‘wasted vote’, because I’ve wasted lots of votes, torn up ballot
sheets, ‘abstained’, when I really didn’t like any of the candidates.
But because of issues with some of their policies or, more often, with
the dubious quality of their leadership. As perfectly exemplified by
the incumbent, Vince Cable. You can give him all the knighthoods you
like; he’s still a tosser. A horribly smug, arrogant, nasty tosser.
Ok, he’s preferable to Corbyn, election-wise, but only because Jezza
is so dangerous to everything I stand for. And I would say that this
Liberal-phobia is just a ‘me thing’ but their ‘success’ in the last 40
years’ elections would say otherwise. Because even when they have 40%
of the voters; they’re never in the right constituencies at the right
time sufficient to get them more than 2% of the parliamentary seats.

So how far has the country come (read: ‘descended’) over (fucking)
Brexit? that the Lib-Dems are ‘top of the opinion polls’ at this very
moment. I know opinion polls never equate to election results, but
they are a clever indication of… of… of opinions. And in the
opinion of a (ok, small) majority of those polled, the Lib-Dems
represent the ‘best on offer’ of the current bunch of shattered,
broken, useless, hapless or just frightening options currently
available in this fine democratic land. And if that indeed is the
case, one can only say: GOD HELP US ALLLLL!!!!

And then thank Him for the cricket. Fantastic first match yesterday
against South Africa and man-of-the-match Ben Stokes. Who would have
won that award for his quite unbelievably brilliant catch alone. If he
hadn’t batted like a demon and bowled pretty well too. To Ben Stokes:
“we forgive you”. I mean grievous bodily harm, assault and violence
can only take you so far, but when you play cricket that well? We’re
no longer allowed to care.

There’s a football match being played tomorrow night. The biggest, the
grandest, the most important, most amazing, richest (other than the
Championship playoff final, obvs), most spectacular game of the entire
year. Or for some of us, for the entire half century since we last
played in something so BIG. I’ll say no more for now but may have
cause to mention again. Just so ya know.

Happy Friday

A xxxx

So I was walking through Embankment Gardens today, as is my morning routine, chanting ‘ohmmmmmm’ to myself, enjoying the gorgeous flowers, the wonderful statues, verdant lawns and parade of winos hitting the Tenants Extra at 9.15, (well, this is London, not the Garden of fucking Eden), when I was faced with an unusual situation, the protocols for which I was unfamiliar. And it gave me great(ish) consternation.

I walk fast. I’ve been in a hurry for 62 years and still haven’t got anywhere, but that’s another debate. I live in ‘fast’ mode. I’m not saying I’m the fastest walker in town, because we’re all lost souls rushing about without purpose round here, but I don’t hang around. People overtake me, I only rarely try and trip them up. Its not a competitive thing. Usually. But today as I ambled through minding my own business I suddenly felt a wave of dissonance well up. Something was ‘wrong’. Didn’t feel right. Didn’t fit with the norm. Then I realised what it was. I was about to overtake a jogger. Sorry, I was about to overtake a jogger!!!!! (give it the drama it demands).

But what are the protocols? Would such an act cause her embarassment? Would it make her cry? That an old grey git can stroll faster than she (on the evidence available) can run?? Or do I just stop! Or slow down and give her a bit of a lead so as to defer the problem? Give her running lessons? I mean Mo Farrer and Usain Bolt had to start somewhere, didn’t they? And here I was, dawdling behind the world’s slowest jogger. Advice please.

Meanwhile the 2nd (by some way) most important European final is being played tonight. In Baku. Azerbaijan, if you haven’t been there. And most people haven’t. Mainly because it is such a fuck of a journey. But that’s the ‘beauty’ of UEFA. That they set the venue for these finals before the tournaments have even started. So either; some dude at UEFA thought: I know, the good people of Azerbaijan (not that banker’s wife who has spent 14 million quid of the money her hubby stole from the state bank there, but good people) would love to have a football final on their doorstep. Even if: that doorstep is on the other side of the planet, it has no direct flights, takes 4 days of planes, trains and buses to get there. And then you have to come home again. Or that dude thought: ‘hmmmmm, 500k in used notes in a brown paper bag… ‘THE WINNER IS AZERBAIJAN”.

2 London teams, albeit not very good ones, going all the way so one of them can lose. My heart bleeds. Oh, I don’t have one. Forgot.

Happy Wednesday

A xxxx