Andy's Glasses

So Sweden. What do we like about it? Blondes? Yeah. Volvos? Great. Ikea? Ish. Lego? Danish, but I get the point; all the same ‘up there’. ABBA? Maybe. And Greta (fucking) Thunberg? Hmmmm…

Greta grew up in Ersturnhurmstaat, (I made that up), near Stockholm, and she lived near a tree. Which gave her amazing empathy with all of nature’s riches. Unfortunately, she never quite ‘got’ humans in the same way. But when she was 14 she decided that going actually INTO school every day was beneath her and her fledgling tendency towards environmental activism. So she turned up there every day, to sit outside with a little banner telling all the other… errrr… normal kids that THEY and THEIR PARENTS were personally responsible for THE END OF THE FUCKING WORLD!!!!, by their neglect, their insistence on keeping warm and driving round in Volvos.

For some reason people listened to this precocious, uneducated little twerp on a world stage. She addressed international climate change conferences; she spoke at the UN, she talked with the high and mighty, the royal and the rotund. Always the same message: YOU (the adults) are ruining the world for ‘us’ children. We have no future. The world is dying because of your actions and inactions. STOP NOW. Stop what? EVERYTHING!!!!

So again, this amazing empathy for middle class Swedish kids not being able to enjoy a holiday home in the mountains in the future, meant that half of India has to stop using coal, the only fuel they can afford. Two thirds of Chinese will go hungry and die of hypothermia whilst saving up for a ‘heat pump’ for their mud huts. Americans will need to produce cars which can’t reach 100mph in less than 7 seconds. She really has no concept of the sacrifices she is so selfishly demanding.

But now she’s found a new ‘cause’. Palestine. And she found a dozen, like-mindeds, to accompany her. That wasn’t hard. “Come with me on a cruise across the Med. It’ll be free because some dickhead or other will sponsor it for us. And we’ll call it ‘a humanitarian mission’, even though there’s only room on board for 3 packets of Paracetamol, 2 toilet rolls and a 0.5kg bag of ‘boil-in-the-bag’ rice. But you’ll get a great tan and take loads of selfies against the backdrop of crumbled buildings and aggressive, warmongering Israeli sailors.”

In fact the ‘cruise’ was organised by Zaher Birawi who is reputed to be Hamas’s representative in London. He’s a gobby ‘charity leader’ with links to international terrorism and is head of many banned organisations. I think, if Greta was my daughter, I’d rather she hung out with drug dealers. But there again, the mouthy Swede was curiously silent on October 7, 2023. There are apparently limits to the virtues she signals.

The Israelis stopper her. Which came as no surprise to… anyone. Despite imbecile-on-board number 2, some Eurotrash posh-boy with a keffiyeh and an attitude, stating that “we’re in European waters and landing in Palestinian water, which we are legally allowed to do”, with all the defiance you’d expect from an entitled free-loader. Who obviously missed as much school as Greta otherwise he’d know there is no recognised place as ‘Palestine’, in whose waters he’s apparently allowed to sail. Tosser.

I really would have gone a bit more ‘Under Seige’ and blown Greta’s boat clean out of the water. But the Israelis showed uncharacteristic and possibly misguided restraint and in just towing them to Israel from where they’ll be deported.

Happy Tuesday

A xxxx

So here’s a question for you: what happens when two absolutely immense egos clash, head to head? Alternatively: who wins when the most powerful man in the world goes to battle with the richest man in the world? And just as a third possibility: what do you get when you set two spoilt obnoxious tossers who both think they’re the next messiah, fighting over who’s got the biggest dick?

Thus we have reached the end of the power bromance which, as virtually everybody knew, was always severely ‘time limited’ by bragging rights. And as Donald Trump and Elon Musk both spend vast amounts of time on social media bragging about things that in reality aren’t true, there was always going to an ‘uncoupling’. And yet the speed with which it uncoupled was brutal, despite its inevitability.

One day Trump gives Elon ‘the key to the white house’, in a stupid, impromptu ceremony in the Oval Office. And just 5 days later there is bitterness, acrimony and actual threats. “I’ll show you photos of Trump with Jeffrey Epstein, raping little girls together”, “oh yeah!!, well I’ll sell my Tesla, stop the government contracts and grants with them and appoint an alternative bozo to be head of NASA”. “OH YEAEAH!!! Then I’ll buy off half the House and force your stupid BIGGEST BILL IN THE HISTORY OF BILLS” to crash!” “OH YEAEAEAEAHHHHH!!!, then I’ll…”

As usual, the greatest accuser of ‘fake news!!!’, the fat orange one, is resorting to fake news to make his point. Given out by his latest ‘blonde news bimbo’, Karoline Leavitt, (the reincarnation of Kellyanne Conway). Whilst the world’s second greatest tweeter, the ugly South African one, uses his devotion to the ‘freedom of speech’ to freely speaking half truths about the fat guy.

Honestly, America is in a state. They need to take note of how ‘uncoupling’ should be done. Consciously. Like Gwynnie did it with Coldplay. They need to look no further than Tottenham Hotspur, that wonderful, cup-winning, football team. Who yesterday uncoupled from their manager, Ange Postecoglu. The man who broke the team’s horrendous ‘duck’ in terms of actual, silverware-proven, achievements. Who took that ‘monkey on their back’ and ceremonially burned it alive, outside the Emirates stadium.

And his reward? The sack. Right. Bloody cup-winning Aussie. Who needs him.

Of course, in other matters this season, like the league and the team morale and the injuries, his record was not exactly ‘stellar’. So he had to go. Cup or no cup. And gone he is. I’m happy and I’m sad.

Whereas Trump and Musk? I’m truly lovin’ it. Big boys throwing big toys out of their prams. In each other’s faces. Let’s keep that one going.

Happy Saturday

A xxxx

First of all, this is not an article about red meat. Eat what you want. As much as you want. My body’s a temple, which is why I adopt the ‘almost vegan’ attitude to life and food. With the ‘almost’ giving me a teensy weensy bit of ‘latitude’ over my diet. So I basically eat completely and totally vegan. But ‘supplement’ it (sounds vaguely medical that way) with small amounts of ‘calcium’ (milk, cheese), proteins (meat, fish, eggs) and ‘nice food’, to take away the taste left by all those vegetables. And if a cow or a fish or even, heaven forfend, a pig!!!!!, should die in the provision of my plate; so much the better. There’s plenty more out there.

This is about statistics. A long-term hobby-horse of mine. Adhering, as I do, to my own maxim: ‘all statistics are total bollocks’. And people accuse ME of cynicism. ‘Oh, but it’s ‘statistically shown’ that 47% of red-headed females are married to men called either James, Hector or Mohammed’. 27% of left-handed men can’t watch more than 6 minutes of women’s football with out screaming, whereas its 7.2 minutes for right-handers. This pill is statistically shown to make you live for at least three years after you’d wished you’d died.

All rubbish. Obviously. Yet we believe. If its in the paper and it has enough PhDs’ names attached to it, the numbers carry sufficient weight to have us rushing to the shops to buy flax seed or courgettes, or rushing to the bin with all the meat from the freezer.

97% of statisticians won’t work for nothing. So when you see ‘a study has shown…’ the first thing to do is look who sponsored the study. Who paid for it. Numbers don’t just ‘appear’ as if by magic when you hold a calculator to a raw steak. You have to ask questions. Or test for certain things. So, logically, there are other questions that you’re not asking; other tests that you’re not doing. There’s always a ‘bias’. And that is driven by what you’re looking to ‘prove’. ‘Beyond mere chance’.

Which accounts for red wine being the best thing you can drink to live longer, one day. And three days later, that same bottle of wine (assuming you didn’t drink it) will KILL YOU STONE DEAD!!!!. One study was funded by the red wine marketing board, the other by the society for those who fucking hate red wine.

Now it’s in The Times. So it must be true. 82% of articles are true.

Happy cynical Thursday

A xxxx

As we were on the tube, Sunday afternoon, on our way to the Victoria & Albert Museum, on a gloriously sunny day, happening about 50 yards above us, to meet ‘the twin’ and together go to visit the Cartier exhibition!!, I was thinking: ‘and why am I going, exactly?’.

Not that I don’t simply love amazing jewellery and watches. Not that I don’t just adore clusters of diamonds and rubies and sapphires. And not that I don’t lust after beautiful necklaces and bangles and even stomachers. Yes, you read that correctly. Was new to me as well. So I took a pic. Above. Me and a ‘stomacher’. Worth about 50 billion quid. That’s just me. No idea what that thing was worth. I’d have to work out where you put it before buying it. Clue: it’s not on your stomach.

But this wasn’t about ‘buying it’. I had noticed that none of the hundreds of items on view had price tags. Unlike the museum shop, which has loads. And if a cheap, cloth shopping bag with a necklace drawn on it (probably by Taiwanese children) costs 20 quid, what’s the chances of getting that great lump of platinum, encrusted with thousands of tiny diamonds surrounding a 35 carat emerald, for less than a ton? For cash?

I don’t question the magnificence of any of the items on display. Some weighed so much that it took two very strong men to place them round the necks of very little women. Like walking round with a car hanging round your neck. Or, hobbling round, maybe. Because these were jewels made for Maharajas and Maharanis. And other people who do a lot of sitting and being carried around by servants.

I had to go because I’m obsessed with culture and history and the pure aesthetic of masterful art-works, which is what Cartier represents. And also, I went because there was no football on tv. And yes, I got a bit ‘jewelled out’ after the 25th amazing necklace… ok, maybe by the 3rd, but I didn’t moan, nag, or keep asking for snacks. Because it was all quite magnificent.

But when we saw the little video showing how they actually made one of their trademark ‘tigers’ that I really marvelled. Because it is simply amazing, the skill and the time involved. It gave me a new respect for what I was seeing. For at least 4 minutes.

Basically, it’s the most ostentatious and flamboyant stuff you’ll ever see not wrapped round a rapper’s neck. It’s marvellously created and wonderfully put together. I have thus had cause to re-assess my view of Messrs Cartier. No longer will I consider them as “a bunch of upmarket bling-peddlers and no ally in the class war, fucking French fascist tossers!!” They now have my total respect. I just wouldn’t wanna wear it. Maybe a tank watch…

Happy Tuesday

A xxxx

I’ve seen the future! And it’s bright! Its wonderful! And its succcc-sesss-fulllll!!!

I am officially, as of 22.37:42s last night, a PSG fan. Yup, got the shirt… metaphorically, arranged season tickets for Paris, bought an old person’s Metro pass and I’m starting a course in ‘being an obnoxious French-person’, so I can fit in with my new ‘brethren’. It would appear I’ll also need to learn how to attack the police, get arrested and possibly speak passable Arabic. My French is actually quite acceptable. I use the ‘one French word in 3’ technique, speaking the English words in between really loudly. Seems to work buying a ski pass.

Because the Champions League Final last night was something beyond spectacular. Even though it was the most one-sided final ever. But that one side was pretty much all you needed. They amazed. They impressed. They were simply magnificent for the entire 90 minutes.

Finals can be dull affairs. ‘There’s so much at stake!’, so they set up to defend first. In the case of Inter, Italian teams default to ‘9 at the back’ anyway. It didn’t matter how many they had at the back, PSG just tore them to pieces. With such amazing skill, speed, stamina (they never stopped), resilience and style that you could only think ‘wow!’

The incredible front 3 joined the defence the entire match. Chasing back to help. That takes incredible fitness. But as their average age is about 16, fitness is not an issue. Though it is something quite frightening for every other team in Europe, particularly those with aging squads.

Best of all; although they have some incredible ‘stars’, PSG play first and foremost as a team. They play for each other. No glory-seeking. No egos. Summed up when Doue, the nearest they have to a superstar, unselfishly crossed to make their first goal. Which was finished beautifully by their right back who was in the centre forward position. Because that’s how they play. The skill runs through the entire team. They reminded me of the very best of Brazil teams in various World Cups.

So that’s it. Done with Spurs, vive le (la? Les??) PSG. A team worthy of me.

Happy Sunday

A xxxx

There’s a new ‘n-word’ been brewing for quite some while now. A word guaranteed to produce sharp intakes of breath, possibly palpitations (if you’re chatting with any Victorian women, and let’s face it, we all do that), even a sharp slap, in some situations.

The word is… nazi!!! And I get that, to a degree. Throwing it around as a poor metaphor for any slightly right winginess is patently wrong. Accusing someone of being a nazi just because they support Nigel Farage is sometimes wrong. Ken Livingstone banding it around to a Jewish journalist was patently awful. So the normalisation of the word is wrong and undesirable. It actually downplays the horrors of the Nazis.

And in steps our esteemed Attorney General, Lord Hermer. Into the debate about whether or perhaps, by how much, we should step out of the European rules on Human Rights. Specifically as it applies to refugees and asylum seekers. So far, so fair.

Lord Hermer is a dickhead of the first order. He is that most vile of things (in my house): a ‘Jew-hating Jew’. He’d describe it as being ‘anti-Zionist’, probably, but if you’re basically denying the right of the State of Israel to exist in the current middle-east climate/crisis, and give time to the ‘river-to-the-sea’ genocidalists, then you’re an antisemite, Jewish or otherwise. So he’s no friend of mine.

In the immigrant debate, what Hermer said was, that to remove us from the European Court of Human Rights, in order to allow the state (that’s us) to go above the law and deport or prevent certain types of immigration, is what part of Nazi philosophy included. The Nazis realised that they, the governing party, had to have power OVER the courts in all matters, so that’s what they did. Who was gonna argue with them?

And this was a philosophical debate. It was not a partisan slanging match, it was a discussion of our policy following Brexit and all that ‘control of the borders’ bollocks, which obviously, is still 20,000 miles from happening.

So although everyone gasped at the N-word, I really don’t know why. The nazis were a political party. Not a very nice one, but they weren’t stupid and they certainly were big on political changes. And Hermer’s use of the word was in a perfectly acceptable context. He wasn’t accusing anyone of ‘being a Nazi’. He was just pointing out how the government taking control of laws over the judiciary was part of Nazi tactics.

So no, Hermer shouldn’t be sacked because of this massive reactionary knee-jerk to using the n-word. He should be sacked because he’s horrible and no-one likes him. (Again, that would be in my house).

Happy Saturday

A xxxx

My favourite grandson is obsessed with football. Be it going to Spurs (poor kid; even though he loves it dearly), getting footballer cards for his albums, or, best of all, playing it, football has become 60% of his life. The remaining 40% is ‘snacks’. And I’m not only proud of his skills and his enthusiasm, I’m more proud of ‘the way he plays’. With what he’s learned from the professionals. Basically, he fucking cheats. All he can get away with.

We played a little ‘one on one’ in the garden yesterday evening. Having already played a little in his kitchen in the morning.

Joey points out my goal. It massive. The width of the patio. About 10 yards. And there’s his goal; slightly smaller. And, it must be said, rather more vaguely defined.

He scored first. No surprise, my goal is fucking massive. Then I scored. Or thought I did. But in fact, I’d ‘hit the post’.

‘No, my goal starts at… that bush, over to… another bush, there’. Oh. Ok.

He scored again. I scored again. But alas, VAR (or ‘Joey’, as its called in our house) disallowed the goal because the goal wasn’t in fact where I thought it was, and was much smaller than I was possibly led to believe. Ok. 2 nil then.

Then I scored. Incontrovertible. Right in the 14.3 inch space to the far right of the garden which his ‘goal’ had become. Unfortunately, unbeknownst to me, I’d committed a foul. So it was Joey’s penalty, from 4 foot in front of my goal. Which he scored. 3- nil. Fair’s fair.

What Joey considers a ‘foul’, there are many who would use the term ‘tackle’. But as his default is to fall on the ground clutching some part of his head/body/legs randomly, as he’s seen the ‘real pros’ do, its just easier to cry ‘foul’.

So its not just every facet of the ‘beautiful game’ little Joey loves, he’s truly embraced the entire culture of ‘professionalism’. Which, as we all know, is a fancy word for ‘cheating’. But only if you get away with it. ‘Shifting the goalposts’ is not just a metaphor, ya know.

Couldn’t be any prouder if he turned up in a Lamborghini with an arm full of tattoos.

Happy Friday.

A xxxx

My favourite author in the whole world is Stephen King. No-one else comes even close. Maybe John Irvin. It’s about the characters and how they’re built. And no-one can compete with the boy from Maine. Not Dostoevsky, not Dickens and, as far as I know, no-one in Jayne Eyre had their throats ripped out by rabid dogs from hell. Ok, he did a lot of ‘horror’, but he’s also done loads of other stuff. Shawshank Redemption. My stock answer to anyone who questions the man on ‘horror grounds’. I loved the horror. It was such a wonderful way to produce pure ‘evil’.

But the horror gave way to a less supernatural version of evil. So although his more recent body of work may contain a little ‘telepathic suggestion’ or two, or some useful precognition, these are now done slightly more moderately than in, say, Carrie, and more subtle than in It. There are sledgehammers more subtle than It.

And in a way, the evil produced by ‘mere mortals’ is much more scary than by a vampire. Or a killer, eternal clown.

About 10 years ago he wrote a book called ‘Mr Mercedes’. About one of King’s favourite character types. The embodiment of pure evil. Evil for evil’s sake. And the eponymous baddie drove his great big Mercedes, at speed into a crowd queuing up for a concert. Multiple deaths, more horrendous injuries, the stuff of nightmares. Stephen King stuff.

Then a bunch of jihadis ran a truck down a promenade in Nice, killing 80 people. This was followed by vehicular attacks in lots of other countries, from Belgium to Spain and even the UK. The weaponisation of motor vehicles suddenly became ‘the thing to do’. And not just jihadis, there were other great causes for which the cretinous fuckwit believers thought the murder of dozens of random people would be a great benefit to those causes.

And then Liverpool. Monday. Tens of thousands of Scousers and Scouser-sympathisers from all over the world had gathered to celebrate Liverpool’s league victory. A joyous occasion. A massive party. Which one man chose to ‘rain upon’. Proclaimed immediately as ‘white, in his 50s’, so as to stave off any more attacks on refugee centres due to lack of correct information being forthcoming. Drove into a bunch of people. Amazingly none died. But about 75 were injured.

I’m not blaming Stephen King for this. I’m sure there have been such incidents before he wrote the car-killer’s handbook. But wow, it’s scary. And an epitome of that ‘pure evil’.

So to defend myself (and to get rid of some really troublesome, dying old bushes in the garden) I finally fulfilled a lifetime’s ambition and bought a chainsaw. It’s cordless, to save me severing cables, and so ‘eco’. And dangerous. But not as dangerous as the one I really want which is twice as long and has a V8 diesel engine. Baby steps. Get this gentle little thing, then ‘upgrade’ later.

Happy Thursday

A xxxx

So we all hate the Chinese. You simply have to. All 1.4 billion of them. Not that it would be that easy to be a bit more selective. Though in fact we don’t hate every person there, some must be alright? Aren’t’ they? At least half a dozen or so, surely. But we hate President Xi and we hate the government there but as it only sits about once in every 10 years to announce another 20 years under Xi’s stewardship, bit like another coronation, we only have so much dislike of a bunch of old Chinese we couldn’t name.

And we hate that they persecute the Uyghurs and that their population of over a billion humans have not one human right between them. They oppress the population, repress opposition and cries for any form of democracy, they stole Hong Kong and they send their children out to work at 7 years old. Not sure what that last bit says about people buying from Shein or Temu but we’re all guilty of creating a disconnect between principles and a cheap dress. And don’t get me started on Covid.

However, if you have a problem to solve, China is the place where it will get solved. It’s just what they do. Throw another 15 million people at it and the answer will come. If not, there’s plenty more 15 millions waiting in the wings.

Hence the Electric Vehicle situation. Which is not even a situation any longer in China.

Our problem is that charging takes fucking hours and that’s if you’re lucky enough to find a charger which will accommodate you, enable you on their app and produce the necessary output. If you can’t find such a thing, it’ll take you another 20 miles of stress and anxiety before you fail a the next one. Teslas have a better network of rapid chargers but not every EV is a Tesla. Especially as they’re the double-damned now. Parts made in China, get taxed to shit entering America, where they’re built, then taxed again when they arrive here from the US.

In China, their BYD electric cars have a massive network of chargers which will give you 250 miles of ‘lectric in 5 minutes. As a consequence, BYD sales there have now overtaken those of Tesla.

But they also now have the CATL network operating. You drive your battery-depleted car in and they remove the battery, replacing it with a fully charged one. In three minutes!!! Less than the time it takes to fill your motor-scooter with unleaded.

We could have all this here. Where they keep telling everyone to drive electric whilst doing nothing about the almost total lack of charging infrastructure. But we won’t. Because they’re worried about the information from your vehicle ending up in Beijing. So President Xi will KNOW you went to McDonalds when your wife wasn’t looking. It’s not like your Electric Mini is filled with state secrets and military details, FFS.

I truly love our EV. But ask me if we’d buy another? Go on, ask.

Happy Bank Holiday Monday

A xxxx

The government are now going to reverse the original reversal of the winter heating allowance for miserable old gits, like me. When Labour took power the first thing they did was to condemn pensioners (like me) to DEATH! By hypothermia. As, without the 250 quid they give us, we’d have to turn off the heating, dim the lights, put on 14 cardigans (old people have loads of cardigans) and generally, just lie down and die so we’re less of a demand on resources and NHS time. This was the ‘caring’ government we’d chosen.

Well now Rachel Reeves is in trouble. The heating debacle remains so tragically unpopular that she simply has to revise and reinstate the payment. BUT: not for ‘millionaires’. Oh. Yes, they’re actually going to liaise with HMRC and find out which pensioners spend more than the annual heating allowance on lunch every day, who really really don’t need it, and those without chauffeurs who will really find it of massive importance. Funny that the government couldn’t work out a system like this before they made themselves so terribly unpopular. But no-one said you needed to be clever to run the country. Though it wouldn’t hurt.

HMRC know everything financial about everyone in the country. They know who needs a heating allowance and who really doesn’t. They could have saved themselves so much bother.

But now the football season is finished. Over. Spurs, buoyed by their quite magnificent Europa Cup victory in the week, decided to bow out by letting Brighton beat the shit out of them, even though it’s Joey’s birthday and he was there. We lost 4-1. The perfect end to a totally disastrous league season. But no-one gave a care because they brought the Cup out and paraded it round the pitch and that made everyone very very happy. And we only have to wait til August for it all to start again.

I’m relieved.

And counting the days til the new season.

Happy Sunday

A xxxx