Andy's Glasses

I’d love to tell you that my knowledge of the Japanese language has improved and my mastery has led to deep, meaningful conversations with the indigenous little people. But alas it remains as opaque to me as… Greek. Which at least I can read a bit. Yet its actually worse. The longer we’re here the more easily the names and places simply vanish from my mind. So to tell you that we traveled yesterday to Takamatsu via Okayama requires looking at the railway tickets. I look where I’m going and by the time the ticket’s back in my pocket that name has either vanished or worse, morphed into another, similar one in my head. Okayama, Okasaka, Sakayama… it just happens. Maybe its age, maybe its just overload of too many rhythmically sounding syllables divided by the letter ‘a’, but its not good.

But Takamatsu (copied from hotel book) is a gem of a city/town. Not sure how you tell when there aren’t any cathedrals in Japan. But it is just gorgeous. Clean, wide, tree-lined boulevards, a relatively small population so uncluttered and friendly. And it has ‘Japan’s oldest ornamental gardens’. Which we’d call Hampstead Heath but with order and, obviously, Feng Shui. And our Heath isn’t bordered by mountains like these gardens.

And in fact you kind’a get the whole ‘feng shui’ thing when you walk around. It’s about balance, its about wonderful aesthetic and its about places that just make you feel calm and relaxed and… ohmmmm…

Bit like the Tottenham Stadium does, but without the anxiety, disappointment, panic and upset.

We’re only in Takamatsu so we can go over to Naoshima (‘ere we go) which is supposed to be wonderful. I’ll let ya know. But I’m so pleased we’re here. Because its fantastic.

Liverpool beating Barcelona last night was quite unbelievable. Quite awesome. Very ‘Liverpool in Europe’ some might say. All I say is PLEASE GOD BY SPURS!!!!!

Got a boat to catch,

Happy Wednesday

A xxxx

We’re on another burritt train. Looks like this one, pic of which I took this morning, but ours is going the other way. Just sayin’. And they’re fast. Though don’t really feel it. Not like you’re thrown back in your seat with your face pulled back with g-force. No. Feels nice. Smooth. Comfortable (not a word for Japanese people). They call these trains Shankansen. Which means ‘fast as fuck’. I think.

This time we’re going to Okayama, but only to change trains onto a local one to go over the bridge onto another island to a place called Takamatsu. From there, tomorrow, we’re going on a boat to a really little island called Naoshima. Which is famous for art. Not that ancient-Eastern art bollocks, but proper, modern, contemporary art for a- nofficiado like wot I am.

Japan is made from about 7000 islands of various sizes. Seven of my favourite ever salad dressings, even though I’m not allowed to have it any more because if you ask for it in restaurants people look at you with pity. And we’d have it in the fridge at home in the same likelihood as having nuclear waste in the larder.

Sadly we left our little house in Geisha-town which was just fab. I judge any accommodation by how many horizontal surfaces I can put my things on. I don’t do ‘shelves’ and I’m not a ‘hanging’ kind of a guy. I like laying everything out so I can see it. Thus our house was just brilliant. And it was gorgeous.

Yesterday we went to a place called Nara, an hour from Kyoto. Because there, in 800ad, some Emperor, possibly a Shogun, maybe a warlord, Samurai or possibly a start-up entrepreneur, built a few temples. And shrines. Pagodas. All spread out in a lovely park. It is truly wonderful. Yeah, buildings amazing, the biggest Bhudda in Japan (15 metres high, but can it ever be truly ‘big enough’??), fantastic gates and shit. But every single building, shrine, memorial, statue, relic or whatever comes with a caveat here. In the land of wooden buildings, absolutely fucking everything dates from eight hundred and… but burnt down 5 times, last renovated in 1957/1974/2003. Everything. Even big Bhudda who melted (I kid you not, bronze melts too, ya know) in 12-something, lost an arm in 14-something else, and was reconstructed numerous times along the way. It almost makes you scream: WOODEN BUILDINGS ARE WONDERFUL AND BEAUTIFUL BUT BRICKS DON’T BURN!!!!!! But it would fall on deaf ears. Or ears that don’t understand abuse in English.

They’ll never have religious wars here. They’re all Shinto AND Buddhist, and our lovely guide yesterday was a Christian as well. No-one is ‘observant’ in the way of ‘church every Sunday’. They’re more ‘high days and holy days’ types. Yet they all stop and bow at shrines (though they bow at us all the fucking time too and I look nothing like Bhudda, I hope) and say a quick prayer. Though its often for personal benefit, it should be noted. For an exam, a business meeting, family illness. And Shinto and Buddhism are more lifestyle philosophies than ‘proper’ religions, which creates the wonderful feeling of respect and decency and humanity without any of the holier-than-thou garbage attached to the ‘big 3’.

I might move here. Even without the football.

Happy Tuesday

A xxxx

Ya need a plan. You always need a plan. Cut and cover. Death or glory. Laurel and Hardy. Well we have a plan when walking round foreign cities in search of certain shops or where to eat. It’s called ‘wander and stumble’. And sometimes it even works.

We booked this little trip through a Japan tour company, obviously. The Dutch one was cheaper but didn’t quite do it. So we did the British based Jap one. And in Kyoto they said: we won’t put you in ‘otel cos they’re boring. Instead we’re going to put you in an air b’n’b type place. In the Gion area. Yep, meant absolutely nothing to us either. Gion, shmion is what I probably said.

But once you arrive… you realise that Gion is in fact very special. It’s the old (hundreds of years, obviously, this is Japan) Geisha centre and place of temples, shrines and… old stuff. And its full of little alleyways and lovely wooden houses. And in the whole area, there is just nowhere you could put a hotel. So they haven’t. Ok, it does get rather full of tourists but we are living in a little wooden townhouse with all the geishas. And its brilliant. The house is hundreds of years old (apparently) but is the most hi-tech place I’ve ever been. Underfloor heating, air-conditioned throughout, has a fab little kitchen, 2 rather odd ‘Japanese rooms’, not sure what you do in them, something inscrutable, I reckon. The toilet, obviously, cleans your undercarriage in a way its never been cleaned before, heated seat mandatory, like everywhere else. But its also got a digital bath. No taps, no spout, just a ‘control panel’ at the end. Like operating your bath from your iPad fixed to the wall. In a power cut, you die.

Suffice to say: everything in the house works brilliantly and perfectly. It’s us that don’t. So everything is about referring to the very comprehensive guide-book which talks you, in English, through the hundreds of digital panels, which aren’t.

And big surprise: Geishas aren’t shy, retiring, demure little goddesses but bright, chatty, laughing, fun and funny real people. Who just dress up strangely and look really fucking odd and bizarre. This was our one. She was as delightful as she was strange. Geishas aren’t hookers. You just kind’a wish they were. They’re entertainers. Full stop. No add-ons, no ‘extras’, no ‘happy endings’ other than finishing your tea.

But ‘dress up’ is a big part of Japanese culture. Karaoke bars all have fancy dress rooms to use before ‘the fun starts’. And here’s the odd thing. Karaoke bars here are loads of private rooms. You don’t make a fool of yourself in front of 200 strangers, but just with the people you went in with. But dressed as Elvis/Marilyn Monroe/Harry Kane.

Lots of people walk around the shrines dressed in kimonos. As our guide said: none of them are Japanese. You rent kimonos (they’re outrageously expensive) for the gels and samurai silly black things for the boys and armed with the present day version of a sword (a selfie stick) you spend the entire day annoying everyone around you. It’s the best fun. We passed. Unlike all the Chinese and Koreans who just can’t get kimonoed up enough.

Football results last night simply amaaaaaaazing. Thank you, Arsenal, from the bottom of my heart.

Happy Monday

A xxxx

Kyoto used to be the capital of Japan. Until I arrived, then they moved it. Actually it was ages ago. But they couldn’t move the buildings. So they left them here. Mainly, shrines and temples. The former Shinto, the latter Buddhist. They swing both ways here. Shinto is great, they have no God, no prayers, no hymns, no bible, no nothing. Just great shrines everywhere. And think there are actually 8 million gods, cos everyone and everything is a fucking god. My words, my interpretation. And they never skimped in the religious department. In Tokyo they have them, obviously. But in Kyoto, because of its ancientness and proximity to the Emperor, when he lived here, there is literally one on every street corner. Which makes it quite impressively beautiful. But its not the only thing you find on every street corner.

You also find ten of these. Really odd little electric cars. Cubic things with no style (who cares?) no streamlining (who needs it at 14 mph?) and no pollution. Funny that I’ve never seen any in the UK, which is probably where Honda and Toyota and Nissan build them (along with Hyundai and Kia and…) because we get a lot of Japanese steel on our roads. But apparently not all of it.

They all make versions of this same concept. Small, four seat, four door, cube shaped, electric. Most are black, some like this one, others in fab retro 2-tone colours, like light green and cream. They are City cars, I presume, and they come along in packs of 15. You wouldn’t wanna drive to Manchester in one (not from here anyway) but for town they’re just so cute and silly I might bring one home. Just as check-in luggage.

Then fucking disaster.

Spurs went to Bournemouth (they don’t play football in Kyoto, only Sumo and sushi), had 2 players sent off, both of whom will now miss next week’s final game of the entire season, and lost 1-nil in the dying seconds of the match. We haven’t had a man sent off all season and then this. Playing with 9 men is beyond difficult. It enters the realms of the ridiculously stupid, moronic, dumb, pathetic and insane. So now, unless Chelsea and Arsenal fuck up again today, both of them, we are in a ‘must win’ situation next weekend, the Premier League’s Finale, against currently unbeatable Everton. With 14 of our players injured and the rest banned. Not even mentioning a little game beforehand against Ajax. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!!!!!

It was to be a happy Sunday, but…

A xxxx

We left Tokyo and bullet trained it to Kanazawa. I wrote to tell you, then, because sleeping at nighttime seems to be a problem here, I collapsed in a heap of deep sleep. Neat.

Mel, who’d also been asleep for a bit, woke me up with ‘we’re there!’ The train was slowing down, coming into a city. I groggily roused myself (no coffee, no shower, no drugs), pulled the carry on bags from the overheads, gathered myself and left the train. With Mel but without my sweatshirt. Left as my gift to the lovely people of Japan. All 160 million of them, they can share it.

The station was fantastic and we got stuck in a food shop that was wonderful. We bought stuff, drifted outside into a sweet little market in the forecourt of the station. Wandered round, then finally got in a taxi and gave him the name of our hotel. Which we knew to be (according to Mr Google) 5 minutes away or a 30 minute walk. The taxi driver looked puzzled but eventually we got the name of the hotel to him. And he still looked puzzled. Plugged it into his phone and showed us that the hotel was in fact 65kms away. Lot of taxi fare.

The penny dropped. Or the yen. We’d got off at the wrong fucking station. We weren’t in Kanazawa but in Toyama. I’m guessing, about 65km away. We had UNDER MEL’S GUIDANCE!!!! got off at the wrong place, a station too soon. but I place no blame, no accusations, no… ok, I reserve the right to laugh about this each and every day as long as I should be breathing air.

Because it was just so funny. We took the next train, 15 minutes later, at no cost (we have ‘all you can eat’ rail cards) and I get to take the piss out of my wife for the next 47 dinner parties we attend. It was a win-win.

Kanazawa was fabulous too. And we went to the most amazing sushi place in the entire world. And this is from the least sushi-loving person on the planet.

We found this place on tripadvisor, on the basis of amazing reviews and that it was a 10 minute walk from the hotel. But it was a bit ‘off the beaten track’. And furthermore, the name I was looking for was no-where. There was a sign in Japanese but who the fuck knows what that said. No windows, closed door. Could have been a vet. A brothel. Massage parlour. But I pushed the door and saw people eating and a man in a chef’s hat. So figured this might be right. But it was tiny. Just a lovely old man, about 70, behind the counter, 10 people sitting all around, two little tables behind, 4 people each max, and the man’s wife bringing tea and sake.

You pointed on the vast menu (nigiri, nigiri, nigiri or, otherwise, 97 different nigiris) of a vast array of fish and ‘other seagoing things’, that we sometimes eat and sometimes just tread on and scream, and he made it, slapped it on the desk in front of you, and you just carried on talking, drinking. It’s leisurely. There’s no rush (you fucking, in a hurry, western bastard) that’s not how its done ‘here’. WE eat slowly and drink quickly and take hours.

The man was funny, even with the amazing gulf in language, the woman charming, the sushi the bestest, freshest, most everything-est you could ever eat anywhere in the entire world. Quite literally. And the experience quite magical. As are most things with enough sake.

And yet it convinced me yet further that although sushi is lovely, it is just not my favourite food. Not even close. Because it is essentially bland and tasteless, other than the soya sauce and wasabi, at which point it all tastes the same. If the fish has too much taste, its generally not fresh enough and rice is rice. I’ve had the absolute best, enjoyed it immensely. So I don’t need to do it again. You can keep your Nobu, I’ll take Dirty Burger instead. (HE’S SO UNSOPHISTICATED!!!)

Happy Saturday. On another train to Kyoto. I’ll decide when we get off this time.

A xxxx

I’m on a train from Tokyo to Kanazawa. Why? Because I am, that’s why. It was suggested to us, its half way between Tokyo and Kyoto and it sounds good. So we’re off. On the Bullet Train. Which is so clean, precise, on time and organised that you are reminded once again that this must be Japan.

Kyoto (the shit you learn from tour guides is almost endless; almost makes you wish you’d paid more attention more of the time) is the old Capital city. Because the Emperor lived there. But he only lived there because the big, bad, nasty Shogun lived in Tokyo. Or Eto, as it was called then. No relation to the ex-Barcelona striker who was Samuel Eto’o. And the Shogun (it all sounds a bit Mikado at this point) was the warlord who lead the Samurai warriors, from whom I am directly descended. Via the offshoot branch which came through Poland (read: ‘Swords and Sefa-Torah’ by Suzuki Goldberg, for more on this.)

Japan is steeped in ancient rivalries, wars, battles, all the usual shit that humans inflicted on each other everywhere in the world from when we invented ‘sharp things’ to when the Atom Bomb fell (going there next week). And Japan also had 300 years of ‘isolation’. No-one allowed into Japan from outside (flights were banned from 1463 to 1729) and no Japanese were allowed out. Isolation. Which ensured some kind of stupid ‘purity’ ideals, but also prevented information and technology flow. Things like ‘gunpowder’. So when the first invading force arrived with their cannons and guns, the Samurai quite literally had no idea what hit them.

It’s over now, obviously, otherwise no-one could ever play Nintendo. But its left a rather strange society, loosely caste-based, seemingly conservative and introspective but with inner ninjas just waiting to leap out in front of the nearest karaoke machine.

But its a failing system in which young Japanese are not marrying nor reproducing anything like they should. Because society’s conservative facade almost prevents normal, inter-gender meetings in bars and restaurants and clubs. Which has led to such a need and craving that not only has a massive sex industry grown all over the country (did a ‘red light’ walking tour last night; amazing, alas, no free samples) but even an immense spin-off of ‘escorts’. But genuine, no sex please, we’re Japanese, faux boy/girl-friends that you pay fortunes to. And who become superstars on billboards all over. You think they’re boy bands (who look girl-band-like in their androgynous lack of masculinity) but they are the Fucking A-list Escorts adored to obsessive levels by the teeny-Jap-ettes.

Basically, I’m loving it here. Especially now the sun’s finally risen in a meaningful way.

Happy Friday

A xxxx

We took off on Monday at about 11.30 in the morning. They fed us, turned off all the lights and pretended it was a night flight. 12 hours, 2 movies, half a book and countless failed sleep attempts later, we arrived in Tokyo at 7.30am Tuesday morning, local time. Fresh as… someone who hadn’t slept at all but was then very ready. But we’d purposely arranged a tour to orient(ate) ourselves. And book the bullet trains that we are going to need. You need help. I need help. All I can get.

I don’t want sympathy. I really don’t. Japan, according to everyone’s ‘bucket list’ is number one. Everyone I spoke to in the last couple weeks anyway. And I’m here. And its very Japanese. Busy, chaotic, but in so many ways very organised. The tube trains have millions of passengers every day, yet you always get a seat. And they’re air conditioned. We arrived at the airport and spent 25 minutes in a taxi getting into town. On a freeway, completely empty and free-flowing. The first time we actually came to a stop was at our hotel. And that was in the morning ‘rush hour’ in which an estimated 20 million bods commute into the city. And on the streets, they are all there. Them and the 17 million who live in central Tokyo. But I counted them and reached 37 million very easily. Possibly more.

When we finally got to bed on Monday night, it was about 7. We crashed. And slept through til 8 the next morning. With just a few toilet stops and odd jet-lag moments. One of which, at about 4.30am, made me look at my phone. Spurs 1-nil down. Hmmmm. Do I want to try and find it on tv? If we had been 1-0 up maybe. But 1-0 down I went back to sleep.

We went to the fish market. What a place. Or a plaice? Though in fact you don’t get plaice there. Mainly tuna, crabs, shellfish, salmon and lots of odd bits and creatures that you just don’t recognise and would normally scream if you saw them alive or attached to the rest of what they came from.

This tuna, (bigger than Mel, in fact, so we didn’t hang around in case the man with the knife came back), shows to what extent the term ‘top to tail’ applies here. Basically, you can’t eat bones. Everything else is fair game. These fish sell for thousands of dollars. Because once you’ve put 2cm strips on a bed of sticky rice, that sells for $2. And in a four foot long, 18 inch wide (dead) fish, that’s a lot of sashimi. And eating sushi is what people really come for. They’ve moved the wholesale market, with the tuna auction, elsewhere but kept this bit just down the road for old times sake and for people to eat. You can’t eat a whole tuna from the other market unless you’re really hungry. Which, it would seem, the Japanese are. All the time. Every restaurant and cafe has queues outside, the good ones anyway. But you need to know what they sell inside, and that’s, apparently, a secret. Unless you know, or read Japanese. Amazing that obesity is not a problem here.

Then I woke up this morning to find that Liverpool had been beaten by Lionel Messi in Barcelona. The prospects of another ‘all England’ final are diminishing faster than the flesh of a fresh-caught tuna fish.

Fishy Thursday.

A xxxx

That’s the first disappointment really. You arrive in Japan pretty much at dawn and instead of a rising sun it looks like a bad day in Manchester. Wet, grey, mist, rain, dull. But heh, we’re in Tokyo!!!! Which you know because half the population are in demi-burqua-in-white mode. Surgical masks are everywhere. It makes it all a bit ‘clockwork orange’ but inscrutability is what made this nation great and then anti-pollution obsessions made it even better.

That’s really the only disappointment with Tokyo, the rest is just… just… just wow. Firstly it’s big. Secondly its bigger. Thirdly its so full of people you can barely breathe at times. Don’t think a mask would help. But I’m willing to try in the interest of international relations. Because they can’t see you sniggering at their masks from behind your own one.

The women here are wonderful. The young ones simply divine. Like little dolls. The men and boys are not. They’re like tragic caricatures. And they wonder why marriage rates have declined here so steeply that their population is set to reduce by 25% in the next 40 years.

Above is the ‘tube map’. And you use the tube all the time. You have to. Would take you all day just to get from Akihabara to Shibuya. Tokyo joke. Some of the lines are nationalised and some are private. And to link between the two you sometimes need to go to a different entrance at street level. And every station spreads about 6 blocks in each direction underground. They’re all signed in lots and lots of Japanese characters and a little afterthought English single word underneath. Or round the corner. Which doesn’t make it easy. But it does make it both fun and the cause of a major fucking celebration every time you just find your way outside. Lots to celebrate here.

Then there’s the restaurants. Oooooh, we all LOOOOOOVVVVVVE Japanese food. As in Nobu. As in the western interpretation of Japanese food. Ya don’t get that here. They’re all bloody fakes in Japan, nothing like the real thing. New York has 30,000 restaurants. Tokyo has 160,000. BUT: they specialise. You want sushi, you get sushi, probably the best sushi anywhere (doh). But you won’t get noodles there, or steak or teriyaki anything. They have their own restaurants. And the groups of similar specialties seem to group together. So you get 100 restaurants across 3 streets, but they all sell the same thing, done in slightly different ways. Basically, you walk into any restaurant here and you’re taking a gamble. Are you feeling lucky, punk? Or just hungry??

And then I learned from a guide the most fascinating fact ever. That in Japanese there is no ‘L’ sound and no ‘R’ sound. Which is why, stereotypically, orw dose retters get rost in tlansration. Because they can’t pronounce either and even those fluent in Engrish get a bit lost on that. ‘Lila’ is simply a non-starter over here.

Basically I’m lovin’ it here. If it would stop raining for an hour I could even love it more but even though they can’t pronounce ‘umbrella’ they can certainly sell them.

Happy Wednesday

A xxxx

I’m off to Japan. Now. Soon. In the lounge at the airport fulfilling my basic requirement. Consume twice my bodyweight in food and coffee before getting on the plane. And then we’re Tokyo-bound. It’s a pilgrimage. I’m going to the place where my Sony Walkman was born in 1979 and my Suzuki 185. And although we travel regularly to far and exotic places, I’m really excited about Japan. And I don’t know why. Sushi, if I’m honest, I can take or leave. Though I’ll probably be taking a bit more than I’m leaving in the next couple of weeks. But its the toilets that really excite me. You hear so much about toilets that wash, dry and powder you, that caress you warmly and lovingly, that are so amazing, so wonderful, so… so Japanese, that the act of merely taking a piss can leave you in a heavenly, revitalised, invigorated place for the rest of the day. They sort out your yin from your yang and leave you in heightened feng shui.

Mel is looking forward to feeling ‘tall’ as she calls it. Elevated from her normally minuscule 5 foot (nearly)1 by the diminutive average of the indigenous peoples, she’s hoping to ‘tower’. In relative terms.

You travel round Japan on ‘bullet trains’. It’s what you do. I’ll keep you posted. We’re going to Kyoto (anagram of Tokyo; its like the town planners back in 1643 were only given 5 letters to choose from, and one of them was a repeat). And we’re going to Hiroshima. Which I find exceptionally exciting and I’ve rented a Geiger counter just in case.

But I have to leave Lila. For 2 whole weeks. And that’s the painful bit really. I’ll bring her back her first Samurai sword. Unless someone else buys her one in the meantime.

And I’m also away for the last 2 weeks of the football season. Almost as painful. 8 hours ahead, Tuesday’s Ajax match played at 4 in the morning Tokyo time. But amazingly, having lost so abysmally to West Ham on Saturday, Spurs have yet again dodged another bullet (train). Because Arsenal managed to lose again, heavily, appallingly, unconvincingly, morale-shatteringly and… ok, badly. 3 losses to ‘lower’ teams in 8 days. What is known, in Tottenham, as ‘the dream’. Then Chelsea and Man United had the inevitable and prayed for draw, leaving us still 3rd.

Sayonara

A xxxx

Donald Trump is coming over for a state visit. The full works. He’ll be dressed as Henry VIII with a stick-on beard and paraded up the Mall in a horse-drawn carriage so the crowds can adore him. They’ll probably let him take Melania to the Tower and cut her head off, then its over to the Palace for dinner. With 200 people, dignitaries, leaders, royals, the lot. William and Kate will be there. Harry and Megan too. Meg will have her own table for 1 next to the main table because no-one likes her, even though we used to love her. Theresa May will be there, bending Donald’s ear to see if maybe he’d like to vote for her deal as no-one over here will. It will be a grand affair. Evening gowns, black tie, be-jewelled, silver service, the best cutlery brought out, no plastic knives and forks or pizza buffet. Even though Donald would probably prefer that. But Her Majesty the Queen will be there and doesn’t do pizza lap-dancing. Not at the Palace anyway.

But one noted absence will be Jeremy Corbyn. The leader of Her Majesty’s opposition party, the Marxist’s Trotskyist, the anti-semite’s anti-Semite, the elbow-patcher’s duffle-coat. It’s not that the Queen didn’t invite him because she tries to keep scumbags out of the Palace as unfortunately for her, scumbags are part of the job. Come with the Crown. Otherwise she’d have had to ban Prince Andrew, Prince Edward, Sarah Ferguson, her own husband and many others. Her Maj did indeed dutifully invite Jezza but he declined, refused and snubbed our monarch as an act of principle. You can’t get more committed, more moral, more simply splendid than that, can you? He passed over a free dinner because of his exemplary standards. What a (fucking) hero. Personally I have no principle that is more important than free food. That’s why I’m not the leader of the Working Man’s Labour Momentum Bully Party for Communists.

The only problem is; no-one’s really sure what that principle might be.

Donald Trump is not being invited because he’s a misogynistic, ‘pussy-grabbing’, Pringle-wearing slob. He’s not being invited in celebration of being ALMOST innocent in Russian collusion charges. He’s not being invited to play golf. He’s invited here as the incumbent President of America. It’s not personal. It’s national.

Any sensible Brit, (thus precluding all of Labour and Momentum, sadly), realises the importance of the USA to us, here on our little island. It’s what keeps us safe. Ok, a few nukes help but Russia would never invade or attack us whilst America is onside. Twice in OUR world wars, the Yanks have come to help us. Normandy was NOT their war, but they came, they helped, they fucking died in their thousands for us. Furthermore, nostalgia aside, when (if?) Brexit comes, we need trade. And what better than a country with 360 million to trade with? So its not about Trump, who I hate, but about America, which I love.

But Corbyn won’t eat at the same table as Trump. Even at 200 yards away, as they have very big tables at the Palace. Yet oddly, he was happy to eat with the leader of Hammas. Got a deliveroo with President Xi of China (human rights? What are they??). He’s had pie and mash with 14 assorted known IRA murderers and would happily drink vodka with the Russians who came to murder the Kripals. Or any Russian.

Thus Trump ain’t the problem, ain’t the principle. America is the principle. All that capitalism, all that ‘establishment’ in one place. And also, never forget, Corbyn is, above all else, the Tosser’s Tosser.

Happy Sunday. Unless you are an Arsenal fan, like Jeremy Corbyn.

A xxxx