Andy's Glasses

Well that’s it then. We now know that Alexander Petrov and Ruslan Boshirov are innocent of all claims that they tried to murder the Skripals in Salisbury back in March. They couldn’t have done it because they simply didn’t have time. They came on a whirlwind visit to measure the steeple on Salisbury Cathedral (123 metres, if you’re interested) and see why it is ‘one of the most must-visit places in the world’??) and see Stonehenge (a vvvunder of pagan constrrrrruction). Even though they didn’t actually appear to do either. Though they did appear quite a lot on local cctv cameras. They were in Salisbury for a total of about 2 hours, which is not a lot when you come all the way from Moscow. And having gone to all the trouble of acquiring false names and corresponding fake passports, you’d think you’d want to at least see the catacombs and the cloisters too, even though that entry might cost an extra £3.20 per Russian. The problem was that having travelled from Moscow to London, then London to Salisbury, arriving at the train station, they inadvertently walked the wrong way. Because it was probably quite hard to see the cathedral from there, with that steeple only being 123 metres tall, even though you can see it from fucking Scotland. Whilst ‘lost’ they happened to walk in the direction of and quite near to the Skripal house. Cctv camera coverage is not total, even in Salisbury, though it probably will be by now. There’s no coverage inside the cathedral itself because God’s watching you there so its not needed. But of course, they had no idea who the Skripals were, where they lived or anything about anything, just being ‘sports nutritionists’. Who presumably aren’t allowed to read anything other than ‘Sports Nutrition Weekly’. Because if they read anything else in Moscow it would have had the Skripals posted across the front page on and off for about 5 years. Mr Skripal has been a sustained and reviled hate-figure for a long time ‘over there’.

But Alex and Russ have answered all the questions and quite frankly I believe them. They’re very credible, not at all shifty and knew precisely the dimensions of Salisbury Cathedral. They’re just nice Russian boys. Leave them alone.

They’re going to make it compulsory to put calories on restaurant menus. So when you next order your (vegan version) veal in Fois gras with shallots and marrow-fat at Heston Blumenthal or fish’n’chips at Rick Steins, you’re going to know exactly how guilty you need to feel. This latest extension to the vast and accumulative nanny-statism regulations does have a good side though. Because you’ll be able to see that if you ‘hold the side salad’ when ordering the double bacon-cheese-burger with chilli-cheese fries, you’ll be saving 23 unnecessary calories. That you can more constructively use when ordering the sticky toffee pudding with double-cream custard and extra lard for dessert.

Happy low cal Friday

A xxxx

Politics is a serious business. Its about running the country, our lives, our tax bills. Can’t get more serious than that. Yet I tend to make judgments about people by their humour, rather than their seriosity (new word to describe the terminally humourless). And I’m not the most natural Conservative voter, let the truth be told. Ok, I’m an ageing old middle class tax avoider (if only) but I’m also a ‘craft beer socialist’, even a ‘whisky socialist’, which are the modern versions of the champagne variety. I want a fairer world for everyone, I just don’t want to be totally, personally responsible for paying for it.

But the fact of the matter is, the Tories have humour. Not all of them, certainly not their leader. But Michael Gove does, Boris did have but overplayed that hand excessively. Jacob Rees-Mogg would be humorous but chose to be a devout Catholic instead (totally opposing positions, incompatible in human form). And I count ‘wry’ as humorous. And lots of Tories are very much that.

But Labour has none. Maybe they are gut-bustingly, Monty Pythonly funny in private but don’t deem it appropriate in their public personae? In which case they keep it really well hidden. Possibly the only success of the current Labour Party, should that be the case. I hate people who take themselves too seriously. Especially if they are idiots.

Jeremy Corbyn leads the way for humourlessness. He has never made me even smile, other than when he’s caught lying. Which is quite often but the fun wears off. There again, he’s not that bright so its no surprise. He went to Loughborough polytechnic to study woodwork. And failed. But its not about education. Because I’m sure John McDonnell is better educated (can’t be bothered to look him up on Wiki) but also lacks humour completely. Diane Abbot is absolutely hilariously funny virtually every time she speaks. And always whilst taking herself really seriously. But there’s no intention, no wit, no ‘irony’, no nuffink other than plainly ridiculous stupidity.

The undisputed most humourless man in all politics, possibly in the whole world, including Kim Jong Un, is Kier Starmer. The shadow-Brexit-bore. You’d think, as a one-time eminent QC, as former Director of Public Prosecutions, that he’d be quite bright, a bit witty, have a quick put-down. But no. There’s nothing whatsoever behind the eyes. Its a void. Almost vampire-like in its totality. And never mind ‘funny’, the man struggles to put a coherent sentence together that doesn’t include “Theresa May’s failure to reach a new deal”. Yet never offers his own version of what that ‘deal’ might look like.

So Kier Starmer, QC, MP, becomes my ‘tosser of the week’ (and many other weeks too).

Happy Thursday

A xxxx

When ‘the future’ arrives, then what happens to tomorrow? These are the questions I ask myself in the shower. Important questions. Stupid questions. Questions that have you chewing a tile. But the future is where we’re all headed so its worth giving it some minor consideration at least. I don’t mean fucking pension planning, I mean THE FUTURE. Its always been a place of interest. So we look to fiction to create possibilities for us, then laugh at them half a century later.

Phones went from big bulky things wired permanently to the wall in a horribly analogue, sound-only kind of way, to being smart phones without any of the sci-fi predictions of ‘video phones!!’ which were always depicted also being hard wired to a wall, in black-and-white. And all within 25 years. Evolution happens fast in the techno-world.

Breaking the genetic code was a monstrously big tidal wave of futurism, enabling a complete re-writing of the medical cure book.

Then there were the Big Brother type visions of the future. Dark, nihilistic worlds ruled by all-seeing bastards. That’s in a way more accurate. As is Brave New World where there’s nothing to do all day so the population is just kept drugged up with happy pills to dull it into inertia. Terminator is more accurate still; the computers take over and start the nuclear holocaust. Cheery.

But that’s only because ‘cheery’ doesn’t sell books and films whereas Blade Runner sells and sells and sells.

When ‘the future arrives’, as with smart phones and self-driving cars (God help us), it does give you a buzz. But only if you’re old enough to remember the past.

Nostradamus made loads of predictions, most about the end of the world, but he was just a self-publicising tosser so no-one listens to him any more.

Whereas just last week I spoke of the 3-dimensional taxis in the Fifth Dimension, as driven by Bruce Willis. Ok, seemed a bit chaotic but at least it gives more space. And now Vertical Aerospace have built a ‘taxi’ that is essentially a drone, driven by four horizontal propellers at the corners, which will whizz you over the traffic to a landing strip or helipad near where you need to be. You wanna go to Cornwall (why?) take a vertical taxi drone thing. They’ll have drivers/pilots but only for a while, then… driverless/pilotless!!! You could get across London in minutes and fuck the traffic.

“‘ere, you’ll never guess oo I ‘ad in me drone the uvver day…”

Happy Present

A xxxx

So accusations of Labour’s anti-semitism is poo-pooed by the left as ‘just trying to discredit Corbyn’. Even though Corbyn joined Hamas and (figuratively) danced on the graves of murdered Israeli athletes, he is absolutely NOT an anti-semite, its just a conspiracy by the right wing to oust their beloved leader.

But then the anti-anti-semites want accuse the left of trying to discredit their valid claims of anti-semitism by shrouding it in a cloud of anti-right-wingism that supposedly the ‘Zionists’ and ‘Trump supporters’ and probably child molesters and drug dealers, that is there to unseat Corbyn.

And so with Boris. Yet another prime example of circular discrediting. He’s trying to discredit Theresa May because he wants to be leader of the party/country/world. Then he can shag who he damn well pleases, whenever he wants to. So Boris writes (its always written down with Boris, nothing that can ever be denied or removed from context) that May’s Brexit plan is a ‘suicide vest round Britain with Barnier holding the detonator’. Nice analogy.

So Theresa May compiles a dossier to discredit Boris. Even though he does such a fantastic job of it all by himself. And now they’re both shouting about how they’re being discredited with untruths and exaggerations, and so it goes on.

I was a big Boris fan. I liked him. He’d had a proper job, albeit only as a journalist, but at least he was quite a funny one. A clever one. Ok, he wasn’t perfect, because he’s human. And thus is flawed. So he had a few extra-marital affairs, always with upper class bimbettes, mainly because no-one else could ever find him attractive in any way. Only women raised in close proximity to the aristocracy with its unique brand of odd-looking semi-inbreds could find something appealing in Boris Johnson.

Then he became mayor. And I liked that. Because his potential for damage is limited in the mayoral role, and he was still quite funny.

Next, by then an MP he stopped being funny. He not just attached himself to Brexit but saw it as his clear path to the top and thus became the calendar girl for the campaign. And embarked upon the lie-fest and scaremongered his way to some awful victory. Note: he had previously been a fairly keen ‘remainer’. But seeing an opportunity for self-advancement, he changed sides in a moment, the cause, any cause, being far less important than Boris himself.

I don’t like him any more. He doesn’t make me laugh at all. In fact he makes me quite nauseous. And I really don’t care about his dalliances, that’s between him and his (now ex-) wife. But they do show a lot about loyalty and commitment. Which in Boris-world are as fleeting as they need to be to take him to the next level.

Now he can discredit me. That’s the way it works.

Happy Tuesday

A xxxx

Went to see the movie ‘Cold War’ on Saturday. It was that rarest of things; the recipient of glowing reviews which actually lived up to the praise. And even rarer, it was black’n’white, and rarest of all; Polish.

And it really is a fantastic movie. Dark, depressing, but gripping and beautifully filmed. It starts in 1949 with Poland in the wake of the war and under the Soviet machine. The story follows a group of kids recruited to continue the tradition of Polish folk songs and dance. Who were taken to a lovely old abandoned manor house to train and learn. It was like Fame: Poland. And instead of Manhattans’ glowing skyline, the back drop was more… mud. Lots of mud. And snow.

It follows events up to about 1969, the effects of the Cold War, the Russianisation of Polish life, the loss of its own cultural identity and the general badness of life under the Soviet hammer. Which kind of bashes you on the head 6 times every day in case you might have found something to be a little happy about. And all through the filter of the songs and dances.

Its great. Go see, if you can find it. Black’n’white, subtitled Polish movies obviously lack the mass appeal of Harry Potter or Die Hard 27.

Sunday was a fab day. All sunshine and tennis and Lila. Because she’s moving. In with her other grandmother with her mummy & daddy for about 3 months whilst they’re re-building her house. So it can be made all lovely as she enters the most brutal period of toddlerhood and can smash the place up again and they can test the washability of crayons on the newly decorated interior.

And today is Rosh Hashanna, the Jewish New Year. Less a party, more a day of adding up all you’ve done wrong in the last 12 months so you can get forgiven on Yom Kippur 10 days later. Its all a bit catholic for my personal taste; I reserve the right to be a total bastard every day of the year. And the price I’m prepared to pay is to host 25 people for dinner tonight.

Boris Johson is not invited.

Happy New Year/Shona Tova

A xxxx

David Steele, sorry, Lord Steele, the former leader of the Liberal Democrats, made a speech. As the (many decades ago) leader of the anti-apartheid campaign, he knows precisely what the term means. And in his speech he drew the parallel with Israel as an apartheid state. And listed the atrocities, the ‘massacre of civilians’, the ‘second class’ system with ‘the wall, all the populist, Labourite garbage (approved by the Ku Klux Klan’s ex-imperial grand wizard, just to show how far Corbyn has taken the so-called ‘Labour Party’), and spoke many of the words spouted by ex-Lib Dem peer, Jenny Tonge, who was subsequently suspended herself for anti-semitism. Obviously a great source of wisdom and impartial news.

And tomorrow, David Steele is going to my best mate’s for lunch. He lives in France, as does David Steele, most of the time. But whereas his Lordship’s other time is spent here, my mate’s is spent in Israel. Where his son lives, and his two grandchildren. And my mate loves Israel.

Which doesn’t mean he approves of every action taken by Binyamin Netenyahu and his government, doesn’t mean he’s happy with every political decision made there. Because, like me, he’s liberal in his views. But when the debate comes back to ‘Israel’s right to exist’, which is an argument never levelled at any other nation, or to pulling down the wall (which reduced terrorist attacks by 90%, but can’t stop the regular and almost constant bombing of schools and farms, though presumably those are not manned by ‘innocent civilians’ because they only exist in Gaza), it gets a little uncomfortable.

And my mate worked with David Steele back in the day. When the Liberal Democrats were formed. Remained friendly ever since. And see each other once/twice a year.

So the dilemma is: do you headbutt Lord Steele or kick him in the bollocks?

Happy Saturday

A xxxx

What’s the matter with ‘meat’? I’ll tell you. Its not wot’s writ on the tin, that’s wot. They tested a load of ‘meat’ and some of it was just plain ‘wrong’. Pork sausages containing chicken, beef burgers containing lamb, venison steaks filled with turkey and aardvark. All wrong. One in five was not as described. Which is awful. The worst culprits, unsurprisingly: sausages, kebabs and restaurant curries. On the basis that they are all ‘drunk food’ and thus eaten by the least discerning recipients in the world. The people who are just happy to have found somewhere open at 3 in the morning. Because Gordon Ramsey is closed then, and La Gavroche, so Stavros’ Kebab’n’chicken will have to suffice. Drunks seldom looked for terms like ‘locally sourced’ or ‘made from pure…’

I mean, are butchers just stupid? Even Lila knows the difference between a cow and a hen. Although, according to her, both say ‘Mmmmmmmm’. Or is it a conspiracy to unload all the unwanted dodgy bits of all the animals into a form in which it is least discernible? And as for curries, many of the ‘normal’ emporia actually say on their menus ‘meat madras’, rather than the more specific, though apparently not much more accurate, ‘beef’ option. At least ‘meat’ is honest. In a ‘general’ kind’a way.

This is obviously most of a problem for Jews and Muslims who really don’t want to be eating pork when they’ve ordered lamb or chicken. Though strictly, they shouldn’t be eating meat that isn’t kosher/halal in the first place, so get no sympathy. Because kosher ‘meat’ is very different.

The chickens for slaughter get to meet the rabbi, who offers comfort and compassion and tells them that they’re going to be martyred for the cause. That cause being born into a carnivorous world. And when they die they get to chickenly heaven with 70 eggs. And they die really happy and nice. Then those chickens are carried, individually by the rabbis, to the place where they’re cleaned and wrapped, at no time leaving his sight. Same with the cows. Every last steak is monitored and has prayers said over it to ensure it hasn’t come within 73 metres (biblical) of a pig. Or a prawn. That’s why kosher meat is so fucking expensive. All the rabbis. That you have to pay, not eat. They’re not kosher.

But its wrong that so much meat is wrongly accredited. The expression ‘what’s written on the packet’ shouldn’t just be a metaphor. Yet the same rules apply in virtually everything; if you buy cheap anything, its risky. Though often, in particular in ‘meat’ vindaloo, its also very tasty.

And THAT is why we should all become vegans. Kind’a.

Happy Fish on Friday. Yeah, but WHAT fish??

A xxxx

How do you envisage ‘the future’? Robots strutting around zapping people with inbuilt ‘phasers’ for parking on a yellow line? Moving pavements (just what’s needed for the obesity problem)? Invincible Cyborgs coming back from the future to settle old scores? Or some dark and sinister Blade Runner world with no joy to be had?

I like the Fifth Element version. Just the cars. Which, having run out of two dimensional space just take the logical step and move upwards into the third. So Bruce Willis cab has to negotiate right, left, front, back plus up and down. I can see ‘down’ as being the real problem, unless you have glass-bottomed cars. But it illustrates a point. That we’re reaching maximum point, possibly for people, definitely for cars.

Personally I would just get rid of all the shitty drivers, the lane hoggers, the wide-berthers, the terminally slow, the old, the stupid and those who lack the wherewithal to drive in manic fashion. But I fear my ideas may not be taken into the law. So we need something else. We need driverless cars.

Apparently.

And although I can see massive benefits of this, in reality it will not affect congestion at all. If anything it could make it worse. It will benefit parking. Because you don’t need to park them. So don’t go buying shares in NCP any time soon. Though it does make you wonder where they’ll all go, like just after the presumable rush hour maximum usage time, for the next 8 to 10 hours. Will they shrivel up and fold themselves away, like Transformers? Or will we have driverless car mountains in Aldgate and Kennington as they wait for the next call?

Why I think congestion may increase is because there are many people (I can only speak for London here, firstly because I live here and secondly because I don’t care about anywhere else) who would drive in to work every day but don’t just because of parking costs and availability. So if driverless cars are cheap (as they must be) and fares keep getting more expensive (as they must do), then in fact more people will opt for ‘driving in’, albeit driverlessly.

Toyota have just invested half a billion into Uber for driverless technology. Toyota already have the technology but Uber have all of us hooked up to them already. Which is why they’re so valuable on a corporate level.

And yet, as the driverless wave continues, people keep dying. I know, its all for progress, but tell that to the woman who got hit crossing the road in Arizona. Well, you can’t, she’s dead. Or the guy whose driverless car decided that the massive truck it was just about to hit was ‘just a reflection’ that it chose to ignore. Brown bread.

Driverless technology is here, its inevitable and it will be massive. But the testing? That’s (quite literally) the killer. Never mind, they’ll all become ‘martyrs’ to the driverless cause.

Happy Wednesday

The Luddite
xxxx

Doctor, I, errrr, I have… errrr… I have a little rash.

And I do. Friday night I was itchy. In my groin. Odd. Had a look after my shower and found a red rash (would have preferred a blue one) on both sides of my groin. Itchy. Looked nasty. Googled it; its called ‘jock itch’ and comes from… basically, sweaty bollocks. Its athletes foot of the testicle region. Athletes Testicles, I shall re-name it. Sounds cooler. And it said you have to wash properly. I’m an obsessive washer. Not just 2 showers every day but I WASH. Between every toe. Mel laughs at this but that’s why my feet are fucking cleaner than hers! And you must dry properly. My bathroom looks like Pablo Escobar’s. Covered in a thin film of white powder. Ok, a thick film of white powder. Johnson’s baby powder. To say I use this ‘liberally’ is an understatement akin to saying ‘West Ham are having a difficult start to the season’. But still I got the rash, which I’ve never had before. Its fungal. Like mushrooms. I have Toadstool Testicles. And treated with some cream, its almost gone. Phah.

Then I read this in today’s paper (see above). And screamed. Haven’t really stopped screaming yet, I’m just doing it internally so as not to upset fellow tube travellers.

So whilst I’m panicking the National Executive Council of the Labour Party (henceforth, for purposes of simplicity referred to as ‘Hezbollah’) are today redefining their previously redefined redefinition of anti-semitism. Which is a good thing. Or would be if they actually meant it, felt it or even accepted that this issue is a problem within their midst. And not just a ‘conspiracy against Brother Corbyn by Trump supporting, right wing, anti-workers, capitalists and other fucking Jews’.

They will probably have to accept the IHRA official definition, in full, with all those pesky ‘examples’ which were what they’d removed the last time they tried to redefine. But it all comes down to attitude. And what Labour have to understand is that words, even IHRA words, are pretty fucking meaningless if actions say something else. To reluctantly accept something due to massed public outcry and accusation is not quite the same as embracing its spirit. They don’t seem to understand that if you judge Israel differently from all other countries (as does the UN too, by the way) then a bunch of neurotic (we all are), over-thinking (yep) and possibly overly sensitive (understandable) Jews will ask what differentiates Israel’s ‘atrocities’ from those in Syria, Yemen, Saudi Arabia, Darfur, North Korea, even Mayanmar, which barely get a mention.

Oh happy days.

Let’s make Tuesday one of them.

A xxxx

Let’s talk about sport. Not football. I’m not having anything to do with that at the moment, its just… gone off my radar. Horrible game. So instead let’s talk about ‘other sports’! Oooohhhh, there are loads, apparently. Not that many are that good or demand our attention but trust me, the world is full of sport, you just have to pick the right one. And in fact the two that have drawn my attention are the two that I simply ‘can’t watch’. Don’t ever watch. Yet like seeing the results, particularly when ‘we’ win. I’m talking of cricket and Formula 1. The ‘long games’.

On saturday a weird thing happened. I sat in front of the tv for an hour of the Test match. Cricket. In case you didn’t know. That never ever happens. But I watched the end of the lunchtime football and as Liverpool won at the final whistle, I fell asleep. And woke up an hour later with the test match in front of my very, slightly opening, eyes. So as I slowly regained consciousness I watched 3 or 4 overs. And it was… totally… errrr… amazingly… hmmm… nothing happened. 10 minutes, 20 balls bowled, 2 runs scored, brilliant. Paint drying. Yet I (in theory) love cricket. Love the scores, love the statistics, love the fact that the very next day we won the 4th test against World number 1 team, India and have now taken the series. I love watching that final wicket fall, I love watching their rather arrogant but quite brilliant captain lose a stump. But I’m just not prepared to sit there for 4 days waiting for it all to happen. Does it count as ‘watching cricket’ if you’re asleep? I think it bloody well does!

Then again yesterday Lewis Hamilton won a grand prix. Nothing unusual in that, its what he’s paid (totally obscene amounts of money) to do. But it was in Italy and he beat off two home-grown Ferraris to claim the victory. In one case simply knocking it off the fucking track. Good riddance. It was like Mad Max comes to F1. Again, I can’t watch the whole ‘thing’. Its dull and repetitive, though being a petrol-head I can listen to it on the radio just for the VVRRROOOooommm. And what they show on the 10 o’clock news is sufficient. A 30 second snippet showing the start (Hamilton in third place behind the 2 Ferraris), the crash on the first lap when 1 Ferrari died and then Lewis going past the chequered flag and wasting half a gallon of champagne. The 5 hours in between is my sad and tragic loss.

So Lewis won! England won!! Who cares about football?

Yours miserably

A xxxx