Andy's Glasses

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

Lila’s in Berlin. This is her at Heathrow yesterday morning. She has a passport. Bunny (the blue thing) doens’t. Could that be a problem? Now we’re leaving Europe and losing the whole ‘borderless’ thing? How do soft toys feature in the Brexit negotiations? At least she’s handing in her bread roll, which certainly doesn’t have a passport. But she’s gone, with her mummy & daddy, to see Auntie Rachie, who is so excited by their arrival that she stayed almost sober for 2 nights beforehand. Commitment, dedication, love.

So we had a cultural evening. Which, as all culture should, started at Nandos. I haven’t been there for years but I don’t know why. Because, like any fantastically successful food chain, it starts with the food. And Nandos know their strength. Which is chicken. Which they do in a hundred different ways and all are really good. Ingredients all fresh, nothing is pre-cooked, salads are fresh (just thought I’d add that to impress you; because, quite frankly, you really don’t go to Nandos for salads) and cooked really well. Its not ‘fast food’ per se, because it takes 15 minutes to get to the table. But its priced as fast food because it is almost ridiculously cheap for what you get. I would go further and say that, being chicken-based, the food is ‘healthy’. Not that I give a shit but its amazing how food-snobby people get about Nandos. Yet they willingly go to the over-priced, overly-pretentious Ivy cafes and eat half-cold, poorly prepared, badly-delivered crap and pay 5 times the price for it. I’m never eating anywhere else. Going to learn Portuguese so I can order in their natural language.

But we went there because its where the cinema lives. And we went to see ‘Black Klansman’. Which is a very good movie, but its not the ‘great’, the ‘wonderful’, the ‘5 star!’ offering that its been hailed. I liked it a lot, Spike Lee makes good ‘joints’ but not brilliant.

However, it was the trailers that interested me a lot. Because there’s a seed change occurring in Hollywood. Its started and I think its its response to the ‘me too’ thing. So they’re bringing out films which are basically: ‘behind every great man is a greater woman’. No more Jack Reacher, James Bond (who now has to actually ‘ask’ before he can have sex; to ‘send the right message’; tossers), male super-hero, love-em-an’-leave-em types. Now we have a new film out about Neil Armstrong, the first man to walk on the moon. Or, rather, a film about Neil Armstrong’s wife without whom, we will learn, small steps for man… etc, would never have happened.

Then there’s another with Jonathan Price as a nobel laureate for literature who we will learn was NOTHING without the driving force of Glenn Close as Mrs Nobel Laureate. She’s come a long way from boiling bunnies (no relation to Lila’s bunny, thank gawd).

And being someone who enjoys a knee-jerk, over-reacting, Daily Mailesque generalisation; ALL movies now will HAVE to have a strong woman as the main story. We MUST move from just having respect for women to revering them. So starring as the rags-to-riches hooker (Pretty Woman), or the world-champ pole dancer (Showgirl) simply won’t cut it in this more enlightened age.

Society moves on.

Happy Sunday

A xxxx

There was a famous advert on tv for Mars bars, many decades back, which used the line: a Mars a day helps you work, rest and play. And it showed how this (still) wonderful treat gives you energy to work and play, whilst… really not sure where the ‘rest’ came in, but it rounds off the ad nicely. It was all about ‘energy’. Surely, if you eat 2 you can work, play and rest even more fully? The original slogan: ‘a Mars a day helps you… get FAT!’ was rejected by the marketing team, despite its honesty.

We need energy to survive. You put petrol in a car (if you’re an environment-killing, air-polluting total BASTARD!) and that is used to produce the power. Similarly, you put ‘energy’ in a human and they can function. And in food that ‘energy’ is measured in kilo-Calories. Which is a term with serious baggage for dieters and the food conscious. (Speaking of dieting, I decided yesterday, as Mel & I were finishing off a jumbo bag of pretzels as a pre-dinner ‘snack’, that our 5-2 diet intention has now officially become modified to a 7-nil).

So energy in, wakefulness and different energy out. Runners eat pasta, boxers eat half a cow and two pigs, 3 chickens and a dozen eggs for breakfast. Because hard exercise burns energy and if you don’t put sufficient fuel in, the engine will seize up. (I like this metaphor and thus will push it towards the outrageously ridiculous, where all metaphors belong). Porridge is a really healthy, fibrous, energy-giving start to the day. And is very calorific. But no-one minds those calories. And breakfast is indeed the best meal to ingest hi-carb calories.

We give our energy levels a ‘boost’ at times. The morning coffee ritual used by so many gives us caffeine, which is a drug appearing to lift energy levels without the need for horrible accompanying calories. Cocaine is even better (which, originally, was the ‘secret ingredient of the fizzy drink which shares its nickname), amphetamines better still. But drugs tend to give ‘false energy’ and making you feel energetic without anything to back it up, so you burn your own muscles instead.

And sugar is the simplest way to intake calories, or ‘energy’ as those pesky little k-cals can also be known. Even though refined sugar is metabolised in such a way as to make fat rather than create actual, useable ‘energy’. Even though it feels like it does. Because, like caffeine, it gives you a ‘buzz’. A ‘rush’. And that is as addictive as, maybe not cocaine, but pretty close.

So is there a problem with selling ‘energy drinks’ to kids? I don’t think so. Could there be a correlation between kids in the UK consuming 50% more ‘energy drinks’ than in… Europe and the fact that we’re the most obese nation on the planet. (I’m not including America, obviously, because I’m not sure, under current leadership, that’s its still on this planet). Is there an issue with getting children addicted to cans of shit containing up to 20 sugar cubes and two double espressos of caffeine? That they drink 3 or 4 times a day? What’s the problem? Just give your kids ‘energy drink money’ every day along with the ammunition allowance for their guns. Its fine.

Happy Friday

A xxxx

I’ve just come back from nursery rhyme time at our little local library. Its free, its wonderful, its packed with little kids and Lila loves it. The downside is that I have nursery rhyme ear-worms for the rest of the week. Any mention of ‘ducks swimming one day’ or ‘monkeys jumping on beds’ or ‘catching fish alive’ (very topical at the moment; well, fish, scallops, what difference?) and I go into all-out mode, complete with hand movements, jumping up and down, whatever is required. More like a ‘full body worm’.

But apparently there have been complaints about that old favourite ‘the wheels on the bus’, as being ‘offensive’. No, not by bus drivers, nor by Wheels-R-Us, but by feminists who think that mummies on the bus going ‘chatter, chatter, chatter’ is an unfair and prejudicial stereotype. This is not at my library, we all have sufficient sense of time, place and irony to just accept an industry standard. But I’d guess… Camden? Islington?? possibly Hackney??? they were offended by that patriarchal, typically male-oriented slur on an entire gender. By the wheels on the fucking bus? So I’ve re-written it. In a hopefully more politically correct manner. So it can’t cause offence to anyone.

The single-parent mothers on the bus say nothing that could possibly offend anyone, nothing that could possibly… etc…

The Gooners on the bus say ‘not again, not again, not again…’

Please feel free to add more categories, we wouldn’t want to appear prejudicial by omission. So if I’ve forgotten anyone, please append.

Happy totally inclusive Thursday

A xxxx