Andy's Glasses

So where was the elephant? Last night? On Channel 4 when they had the ‘next prime minister’ debate, where was the great lumbering cuddly blonde elephant? There was a pedestal, empty. It had a photo of Boris upon it. But no show from (probably) the next PM of our fine nation. But he’ll only be (probably) the next PM if he doesn’t screw it up by saying something stupid (like ‘I love you’.) And if he’s not there he can’t upset anyone. So that’s one debate down and no massive foot-in-mouth faux pas from President Boris. Instead there were the five also-rans. Geeky, Creepy, Squeaky, Cheeky and Dominic Raab. And much as they need to slag off Boris as much as possible, to enhance their own chances, they are all painfully aware that the Big One will in all likelihood be the winner and thus they all want to be in line for the good jobs when Boris takes over. So calling him ‘untrustworthy’, ‘unpredictable’, ‘stupid’, ‘shag anything with a pulse’, or ‘tosser’, might likely be prejudicial to becoming the next Home Secretary. Even though they apparently implied such things at every opportunity.

I didn’t watch it. Because I can’t see the point. It won’t affect ‘my vote’ whatever they say, because I don’t get one. And yeah, its of some marginal, peripheral interest to see what these people have to say, but other than the 150,000 Conservative Party members, for the rest of us it was just a new, media-inspired form of political masturbation. With no happy ending. And it became a shout-fest of five guys who are all very familiar and comfortable with each other, all yelling at the same time about Brexit. Inevitably. And its not like we ‘don’t know’ these characters. We see them most every day on the news, in chat shows, in interviews. To hear them all say the same things they’ve been saying for weeks, but this time, all saying it simultaneously, really holds no great appeal.

Though I may watch Tuesday’s on the BBC just for… just for… well, just for nothing really.

But first, its time for some physiotherapy. The quasi-medical sadism that we all love to hate. My shoulder’s been getting worse (for about 40 years in fact) over the last months and I have some hip issues which a long beard won’t cure. So its time for some Physio. To try and hold together what, at 63 (yeah, funny, it was all fine on Saturday when I was only 62… as if), nature tries to cast asunder.

Hips, shoulders, knees and toes, knees and toes…

Happy Monday

A xxxx

Its my birthday today. June 16th. Same as last year. Thanks for the (fucking) card!! And its the day after our wedding anniversary (so I’d ‘never forget’ even though I did and only bought the card half way through yesterday) and its also father’s day. Which personally, you can keep. If you need Hallmark to tell you to love your dad then either he or you is doing something seriously wrong. So we have lots to celebrate.

Which started today with the card ceremony (all 3) which took hours of waste paper production. And then moved to the tennis court. Where it only rained three significant times during the hour. Drizzled lots more. But real men, even at sixty-fucking-three (!!! How did that happen???), play tennis because they’re manly. And stupid. And know no better.

Last night we celebrated our anniversary. In style. Well, in our style. Which basically means that whatever we do we need to be on the couch in dressing gowns by 10 at the latest, possibly stretching to 10.30 if absolutely essential. Even though there’s no Match of the Day. It’s just how we like to end Saturdays.

So we booked dinner. And we thought: Zuma? (About 400 quid plus Ubers), or Roka (300 quid plus Ubers), it had to be ‘Asian’ but I’m not sure why, possibly the Japan hangover. I voted for fish’n’chips (change out of 20 quid but apparently ‘lacks romance’; phah!) So then I considered Gokyuzu, our new, mega-Turkish. And because its our anniversary we’d get a ‘meat platter for 4’ just for the 2 of us. Now THAT would be a celebration. Not necessarily of a wedding anniversary but certainly a celebration of gluttony, piggishness and greed beyond any sensibility.

But we ended up at Oka. Mel’s absolute favourite little ‘Asian’ in Primrose Hill. And its very ‘little’ and even though it was booked ages ago they’d managed to lose the booking, but with just about 7 tables we dined, we didn’t wait, we celebrated. And although its a glorified cafe, the food is wonderful, the sushi quite outstanding, yes, I know I swore ‘never again’ but I lied. And its cheap as chips. Ok, not as chips, which I wouldn’t have minded, but great value for really great food. And drink.

Home at 10, celebratory whisky and episode 3 of Killing Eve (series 2), on the couch. The perfect end to a perfect day.

Happy Birthday

A xxxx

Jo Brand caused a shit-storm this week and was one, little, pathetic, nanny-stated, overly-concerned, politically-correct moment away from police prosecution. For a joke. The comedienne (if you can still call them that, because there’s been no such thing as an ‘actress’ since 1974) said, on a radio show called ‘Heresy’ (ffs; in case anyone thought it was biblical readings or children’s hour), that people shouldn’t waste time throwing milkshakes over politicians when you can buy battery acid instead. The BBC edited the show (it wasn’t live even though it sounds like it; the Beeb aren’t quite that stupid) and passed the comment. On the basis that ITS A FUCKING COMEDY SHOW and a fairly ‘on the edge’ one, as its name might imply. It was not a ‘how to do violence better’ show, nor a ‘teach your children useful tips’ show. It is satirical comedy. Of the ‘humorous’ variety.

So why was Jo Brand’s commented investigated by the police. Who, because of their vast numbers and our total, national lack of any terrorist threats or knife crime, have so much time on their collective hands to waste vital resources on the hurumphing of a bunch of twin-setted, Home Counties retirees? (The single demographic of those ‘complaining about BBC radio’, in my mind.)

Because ‘she was inciting people to acts of violence!!!’. Bollocks.

In reality its because Jo Brand is very very dead-pan and dry and thus doesn’t give her punchlines with a BANG!!!!!! She’s subtle. Challenging. Saying ‘am I joking or is this real?’ And I love her for that. If not for the incessant left-wing politics, verging on actual Corbynism (the ultimate sin and unfunniest thing ever). So her comments need to be taken in context. That context being a comedy program called ‘Heresy’. Bit of a giveaway really. But not in the Home Counties. Where humour requires red noses and banana skins to remove any ambiguity between ‘funny’ and ‘real life’.

So did Jo Brand simply misjudge her audience? Who she possibly imagined were the midnight crowd above a pub in Shoreditch? Whereas in fact they were a mid-day radio 4 listening group who only tend to use the word ‘hip’ in conjunction with ‘replacement’.

I had a Jo Brand moment myself this week. Misjudging the tone of our little WhatsApp ‘group’, when a late night ‘chat’ got a bit boisterous and what some of us perceived as hilarious was viewed by others in a more personal and insulting way. Again, misjudging one’s audience.

Therefore you shouldn’t assume that everyone’s sense of humour is ‘on the same page’. Nor that everyone really likes insults and abuse in the same way that bizarre individuals like me do. Hard to take but some people actually have limits! Who’d’a thought? Though this should be easier to control or understand on a group chat than with a national radio show, I grant you.

Basically; LIGHTEN UP!!! Do as I do; treat EVERYTHING as a joke, except parking tickets and you won’t go far wrong. Won’t necessarily go far right either but that’s not he point.

Happy Anniversary Mel, you’ve put up with me for 33 years. Medals don’t suffice. Only medication.

A xxxx

So the Conservatives had their first round of leadership voting yesterday and immediately got rid of all the women. And some other geezer who no-one remembers, less voted for and was only there to avoid accusations of sexism after the first cut. Maybe politics is no place for a woman (nothing controversial in that sentence) or maybe its the ‘May effect’, I don’t know. But Andrea Leadsom, who I liked, is out. And Esther McVey is out simply because it is unacceptable in modern Britain to have a Prime Minister with a scouse accent. She looks alright but sounds like Stevie Gerrard. Had to go.

Boris was the stand out ‘winner’. But it ain’t over til the fat person of ambiguous gender sings. And now it becomes all about who gets the support from those eliminated. Because these initial eliminations are voted just by MPs. So between the 3 who are out, there are about 40 votes up for grabs for the other 7 who remain in the hat.

It’s a long process. I’m a bit bored with it already. Mainly because Boris stormed ahead with almost as many votes as the rest put together. Yet has tried to get out of a live tv debate with the other contenders. On the grounds, as my son-in-law, Tory-Boy, astutely pointed out, that Boris is his own liability. Or, to be more precise, his mouth. Because although Boris is by far the cleverest of this sorry collection, and certainly the funniest, he has a history of speaking from somewhere between his left foot and his anus. So to limit his time on tv is an exercise in risk reduction for the Johnson camp. Similarly, at his ‘launch party’ the other day, he limited the press to just 6 questions after his speech. Again, limitation of potential damage. When Boris speaks he can certainly crack you up, but just as likely he can spout something he shouldn’t be saying. As he did in Iran when allegedly pleading for jailed Zaghari-Ratcliffe but in fact inflaming her situation far worse by stating, incorrectly, that she was ‘training journalists’. Which is like pleading in someone’s defence over here by stating that they were ‘just innocently being a terrorist’. Such is the value of ‘free speech’ in totalitarian regimes.

Coming home from Tai Chi last night Sajid Javid was on the radio. A phone in. He was possibly the most underwhelming speaker I’ve heard since my last AA meeting. Ummed and aaahhh-ed and struggled to get his point across, other than in the obviously pre-prepared sound-bytes. But there again Rory Stewart is quite brilliant on the radio (where you don’t have to look at him) but scored least of all the surviving candidates. Mainly because he’s a transparently passionate Europhile and that, sadly, is not what the country needs right now.

So, with all the excitement of Transylvania versus Moldova in the women’s World Cup, (made that up; no idea who’s playing), we have the next round of voting on Monday. Even though its already looking like a long and drawn out coronation ceremony for Boris. Unless… unless… he fucks it up.

Happy Friday

A xxxx

I’m thinking about my health. As I went to a funeral yesterday and that’s what you do. And I’m so relieved. Because yesterday in the paper they said that playing tennis increases your lifespan by 9 years. Holy shit. If I played more tennis I could never die!!! Because surely if you start playing at, say, 90, you’re guaranteed 99. Unless you fall over and break a hip.

So that’s 9 years in the bag. And then today, if you eat more fish and less red meat, you get a 25% increase in life. Well, they said ‘reduce the risk of early death by 25%’ but I’m not gonna be picky when I stand to live to, by current mathematical reckoning, 273. I do eat some red meat but not much. Very little. And if you avoid processed meats… well. You could live forever. Playing tennis and choking on fish-bones.

As a fish-eating tennis player, the world is my 750-gram-bone-in-fat-on-sirloin.

But really its all about moderation. Something I’m not very good at generally but as there was no mention of chocolate, processed, red or otherwise, in the articles then I shall continue to treat it as ‘neutral’ in terms of fat, sugar, calories and banned substance-ness. I’m also particularly ‘moderate’ when it comes to salad. Too many leaves will fucking kill you. From boredom, mainly.

Meanwhile, I’m loving ‘this’. The picture above. Uber’s new ‘flying taxi’. Mo takes to the skies. From Prius to THAT in one week. Except you can buy a ‘slightly used’ Prius for 15 grand and one of these will set you back 2 mil. But I don’t care. I don’t have to buy one. They take four passengers, take off vertically, then the 4 motors rotate 90 degrees to propel forwards. Or backwards (???) Only for cities. Or anywhere else with skyscrapers upon the tops of which are heli-pads. It’s like the Fifth Element and Bruce Willis’s flying car… but bigger. But its real, its brilliant and its (almost) NOW! (Well, in America by 2023; that’s ‘now’ in evolutionary terms.)

Now is also very late. Lila day. Busy day.

Happy Day

A xxxx

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