Andy's Glasses

What a weekend. It started with high drama as our allied nations joined us in bombing a bit of Syria. But that went well. A ‘clinical’ and ‘surgical’ strike on a chemical weapons plant which even the Russians can’t complain about. Though they are, obviously. Interrupting their usual endless stream of denials (we didn’t poison the Scripals; we didn’t bomb civilians in Syria, we had nothing to do with chemical attacks…) and blaming Britain for all the evil in the world, they said that if that’s the end of the bombings then they’re ok with it. Putin is worried that any retaliatory action may jeopardise the state visit of the Conways next month, which the entire Russian nation is financially dependent upon. Oh, and the World Cup’s coming too.

Then came the wonderful stuff. Like playing tennis IN THE SUNSHINE!!!! Its so lovely. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy playing in the endless months of arctic fucking winds and cloudy wet horribleness, as long as its not actually raining. But to play in actual, honest-to-goodness sunshine?? Holy shit, its almost as if tennis was invented as a summer game. Who’d’a known?

Ok, Spurs lost to Manchester City, that wasn’t so wonderful, in fact it was downright awful, but also somewhat inevitable. And when Manchester United lost to West Brom yesterday to donate the league title to their local rivals, you could see it was just all written in the stars. But I didn’t go to the City match at Wembley.

Because Lila came to stay. She came for her first, solo sleep-over. So I thought we could watch the football together, even though we had friends coming for dinner, then get her too excited to sleep, as I do. Then later, wake her up for a midnight feast. Sweets, chocolates, cakes, maybe some booze, I had it all lined up and ready. But she went to sleep at 6.45 (before the football even started!!) and didn’t make a peep until 7.45 the next morning. Bloody killjoy. But when she wakes up…

She is ‘Lila-the-Destroyer!’, a mythical warrior of viking descent (never knew they had Vikings in the shtetls of Poland, did you? Well you don’t know everything then, do you?) who lays waste to all that comes before her. Rooms, toys and her particular favourite, kitchen drawers and cupboards. I know, you wouldn’t think it possible with that ‘butter wouldn’t melt’ look and all that sweeter than sweet squeaking. But trust me: she’s lethal. Soon as she can stand without help I’m going to take her to martial arts classes; focus all that destruction. Maybe turn her into a hit-man-girl or something useful like that. Suppose I should discuss with her parents first, they may have other plans.

Oh well, the weekend’s over. But its STILL sunny. Halleluyah!

Happy Monday

A xxxx

I’ve fished out my army surplus stuff from the attic; genuine Marines belt, 4 medals, awarded to someone else, a tin helmet and a (broken) gas-mask in a nice little khaki bag. And I’m ready for the call-up. To do my duty for God and the Queen and fly out to Syria. Or Moscow. And if its the latter I can save the War Department a few bob because I’ve already booked my flight there next month with British Airways. I’m ready.

Last night in a co-ordinated event, with America, France and Britain, we bombed a bit of Syria. In fact it was the little bit where the chemical weapons are produced. The bits that hadn’t been moved to Iran or Iraq in the last 4 days since we told them we were coming. Very fair of Trump to announce his intentions. No-one likes a surprise. Especially in war. Its not fair play. So Assad had already moved loads of planes off to safer lands plus anything else in danger. Possibly including his own, sorry, cowardly arse.

The strikes didn’t touch anything even vaguely Russian. Even the cabbage fields were left unscathed for fear of Putin nuking every city in the West. In his promised ‘retaliation for the retaliation’.

So this is just an ‘escalation’. And Theresa May is very comfortable with her conscience for her participation. Not that she actually flew the planes or fired the bombs. You can’t fly an F15 in kitten heels.

But you can authorise an attack on a foreign power without putting it to Parliament first. Because you don’t have to put such issues to the vote, but you can if you want. So Corbyn wanted it before parliament so he could vote against it. Not due in any way to the actual merits of the specific case but because he always votes against attacks of any description. Unless they’re on Israel, obviously, then he’s ok with it. Otherwise he’s been anti war since 1863.

A more interesting question perhaps is why, if chemical bombs are against international law, regular, blowing up, shrapnel spreading, instant death for thousands type bombs perfectly ok? Even on civilian populations? Even atomic bombs are ok. Is a bit inconsistent, don’t’cha think? But those chemicals are rather nasty. Even though dead is, generally, dead.

Lovely to have some sunshine for once; the dream.

Happy, sunny Saturday

A xxxx

It is widely believed that there are three paths to eternal life. Ok, there is no eternal life unless you’re a Bhuddist or a vampire, we know that, but figuratively speaking. Paths that will lead to longer, healthier, fitter lives. I’ll give you a clue; McDonalds isn’t one of them. Even football didn’t make the final cut. And single-malt whisky won’t actually make you live longer but will make what time you do have much more pleasurable.

Yoga, Pilates, Tai Chi. These are the golden dream activities. I read it so it must be true. Things that will serve you well into your old age and keep you fitter and better and… more… better.

I don’t think they mean Tai Chi as I do it. Unless your inner peace is derived from leaving a wake of destruction behind you. With broken arms and missing teeth. They mean just the tai chi ‘form’, that wonderful oriental ‘dance’ that flexes every muscle in your body and keeps you poised and balanced, like wot I is.

Pilates is kind of ‘yoga on steroids’. It takes nice, easy, soft movements and increases them exponentially until they really hurt. I’ve done it. Its horrible. Nasty. Women love it. In that masochistic, ‘no pain, no gain’ kind of way. But its undoubtedly good for your muscles, ligaments, cartilage, all the shit that seizes up when you watch the match on Sunday afternoon.

But yoga is the ‘pure’ activity. Just you, yourself and your peacefulness. Ok, you do a bit of downward dogging and upwardly mobiling or whatever, but its basically… kind of… well… sort of…

Before our Thursday night tai chi class, we have to wait for the yogis to leave the studio before we use it to hit each other. Otherwise you trip over them, lying on their mats with beautific smiles on their faces. No, I didn’t say ‘smug’, how dare you! But they always finish late, which we’re tolerant of, and you look through the door to see 25 adults asleep on the floor. I mean wtf? You really don’t need to spend 100 quid a month gym membership for napping on the floor and then getting trodden on by impatient martial artists. I call them the ‘sleeping bunnies’.

And yet as I look at them (as I try to step over), there is something definitely at peace in their expressions. And in fact in their whole demeanour. Their bodies are totally relaxed, their minds completely at rest. They are, internally, under a lotus bush in Rajasthan, rather than on a hardwood floor in North Finchley and that is indeed an aspiration for us all.

So why do I always think: ‘BUNCH’A FUCKIN’ TOSSERS! GET A LIFE! DO SOME PROPER EXERCISE YA LIMP, FLABBY YOGIC DICKHEADS!!!!?

Rachie took a yoga class in Berlin. “Ommmmmmmm… SCHNELL!! RRROUSSS, RRROUSSS!!! Ommmmmm…” She hated it. But she’s my daughter. If you’re not sweating when you’ve finished then you might as well have stayed at home and watched the football whilst drinking beer.

Peaceful Friday

A xxxx

We’re getting slowly ready for our Russia trip. About 5 weeks’ time. Because everything to do with Russia is done slowly, other than murders and military attacks.They happen quickly. And to check out everything’s safe and ok, I’ve sent Spurs Paul and Mrs Spurs Paul out there this week for a ‘recce’. And so far they’re still alive, which is pretty much an assumption because anyone could have got hold of his phone and sent me photos of the Bolshoi and of glossy Moscow eateries. Anyone. If you can hack into the US electoral system, sending a few whatsapps shouldn’t be a massive issue.

So this morning was ‘visa day’. That eagerly awaited day when you get to stand in line outside a grotty little building in Clerkenwell in the rain and beg the good people of Russia to grant you entry into their fine and… into their country.

Before you go… gawd. You realise why Russia is Russia. You fill in an online ‘application’ which takes no more than a few days to complete. You get not just booking references from your hotels but actual, formal, signed and stamped ‘invitations’, details of travel, details of where any dead relatives you have were when they died. Then, and only then, are you worthy to go and queue up in Clerkenwell (like a little Siberia next to Shoreditch). And get your first taste of Russia.

There’s a big sign on the door that says: ‘STOP SMILING!!’ Well, there might as well be. Because Russians, even when they’re being quite helpful, simply don’t smile. Its not in their nature. Or if it was they beat it out of them at some further stage on life’s pathway. And they’re officious. Even if they’re actually quite helpful, as they were, quite nice, as I think they could be, there’s a box-ticking jobsworthiness that you feel inflicts the entire nationality.

So our form had something missing. NOOOOOOO… FUCK!!! ITS SIBERIA FOR US!!!!

But its ok; you can re-do it on our computer over there. Only a fiver. And you’d pay 50 quid because by then you’ve absorbed the general level of nervousness and perfectionism that accompanies all things Russian. But it was fine. All done, paid for (not cheap) and now we wait for our passports to return so we can start (panicking??) preparing for the trip in earnest. If we’re not at war, obvs.

Schastlivoy sredy (happy Wednesday)

A xxxx

I simply cannot understand the appeal of Jeremy Corbyn. Let me rephrase that: I fucking hate Jeremy Corbyn. Yet people support him and his toxic, evil, destabilising views.

In the wake of the ‘Salisbury affair’ Corbyn remained defiant in defending the right of Russia’s presumed innocence after 2 people, hated by Putin, were found near-death after ingesting military grade Russian nerve agent.

Then last weekend after Assad (with his lovely allies; da Russians and da Iranians) dropped chemical bombs on a civilian population in Douma killing at least 70, Corbyn came up with some wise old words. Sadly, long after everyone else had come up with far more understandable recriminations and offered more pragmatic actions. But eventually, with everyone saying “but you MUST say something!! Its an atrocity; people have died!!!” Jeremy finally stepped up as ‘the statesman’. And said that we need to find evidence first, investigate before condemning and the solution to this problem must be achieved round a negotiating table after a cease-fire”.

What a total fucking tosser.

In fact I think the current status in Syria is one of ‘cease-fire’, maybe it is, maybe it isn’t, the words are empty and meaningless with Assad/Putin/Ayatollah. They do as they please, when they please.

And its Putin’s presence in the mix that gives Jeremy his issues. He simply can’t condemn a man who is a ‘communist’. Albeit, allegedly a man richer than every single capitalist in the world. Thus ‘the cause’ of communism/socialism/whatever becomes more important to Corbyn that the lives a few children.

I suppose no-one’s ever thought of ‘peaceful negotiation’ before. What an inspiration he is.

Oddly, his very strong sense of ‘never comment until you are SURE of all facts’ only seems to apply when Russia is involved. When Israeli soldiers killed 7 Gazans, who it now comes to light were part of a 3000 strong army under Hamas leadership attacking the Israel border with violent intentions, Corbyn was the first off his blocks shouting his condemnation and demanding action. Yet for lovely Mr Assad, with his long history of chemicals-against-the-masses, he is far more equivocal.

I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again: I hate that man.

Happy Tuesday

A xxxx

What can we do about Manchester City? They have a ‘massive problem’. Ok, not in line with chlorine attacks in Syria, the imminent war with Russia, the gender ‘pay gap’, but still, its a problem. The team have won the league. The hardest, most competitive league in the world (Bayern Munich just won the Bundesliga for the 6th consecutive time, Celtic are about to win the Scottish league as they’ve done every year for 9 decades, Real Madrid and Barcelona pretty much win every Spanish title and no-one cares about the French), and City had it wrapped up last October. They might have faltered against Liverpool, buckled against Man United and (may it please the Lord) get FUCKING HAMMERED AT WEMBLEY NEXT WEEKEND, but its a done deal. Though it is a bit odd that the team I myself even called ‘the best club team in the world… probably’ have started to show vulnerability and even fragility. And from a fan’s perspective (the only one I have) the vulnerability against Liverpool hurts but the fragility against Man United simply kills. No fan wants ever to be on the receiving end of “2-nil, and you fucked it up, 2-nil…” (repeat until the pubs have closed and the last buses long gone back to the depot). Because after that, and I speak from a vast experience, you stop trusting your team even when they have a ‘great lead’. You live in a state of panic. You start hearing things at your ground from fellow fans, just after we’ve taken a 1-nil lead, like: ‘oooh, that’s a bit too early for us to score really’. At 3-nil up you’re really worried.

Spurs used to be like that. For decades. Fragile. Unpredictable in adversity. Unable to close out matches. And yet now I have a confidence in them, in the players, in their mind-set, in the way they play, that I’m comfortable with. I don’t get in (so much of) a panic when we’re 2-0 up and concede a goal in the 63rd minute. Well, only momentarily, perhaps. But I have faith. I believe. And trust me, that’s new.

And attributable to Daniel Levy. The club’s chairman. Who just received a yearly pay award of 6 million quid. And as he’s famously ‘mean’ about player wages to the extent where no-one quite knows how he manages to ‘underpay’ (100,000 a week?? Underpay???? But heh, this is football) our array of superstars, but he does and keeps them happy. He found us the absolute best manager in the world who, coincidentally, earns a similar amount, which is a total bargain. And he’s building us the best stadium in the league for next year.

What Toby Alderweireld thinks he’s worth is irrelevant here. Its like bemoaning Stephen Spielberg earning more than Kate Winslet. Its not comparable. Daniel Levy is the boss. He can earn what he wants. He runs a massive, multi-million pound company which turns a very healthy profit and keeps me very happy. His pay is simply not comparable to ‘the talent’. However talented they may be or think they are or, worse still, their agents think they are. Its facile and stupid to compare salaries of people doing completely different jobs.

Happy Monday and if someone says ‘we need more rain’ at any time in the next 6 months, I’m going to kill them.

A xxxx

The White House has a weekly Bible Support Group meeting. So the cabinet can get nearer to Christ. They won’t address the gun-laws which result in the death of hundreds of children each year, but they want to be next to Christ. So they can have Jesus and Donald, kind’a ‘together’. Wow. One turning the other cheek whilst the other puts his hand up skirts to find the other cheek. That’s a kind of symbiosis in itself. Its the first time such weekly meetings have been held there for over 100 years.

And with good reason. Mainly that you really don’t want bible-bashers having any influence on the running of a country. Ever. In any circumstances. Whatever fucking version of the ‘bible’ they choose. Because then you end up with Iran. Or the Taleban. Or to a lesser but more common degree, with Ireland (both Northern and the Republic) and even parts of America itself.

Because the bible imposes restrictions that have no modern right to be there. Its regressive. Its a story-book of allegorical, fictional tales and once you start treating it with any kind of literalism then you’re fucked. And its also, in case you missed it, the most easily manipulated rule-book ever. It can justify almost any atrocity, from burning gays to Apartheid, from Female Genital Mutilation to ISIS, with anti-contraception, banning abortion and female repression all thrown in for free.

There is no mention in any bible of ‘Tottenham Hotspur’. And they’re God’s own team! So how valid can it be?

The dude who runs the White House bible classes offers great insights. He says that ‘homosexuality is not supported by the scriptures’. Like ‘flash player is not supported by Windows 7’. His groups are run by various ministers, but never by women. Again, incompatible, will not compute. Women are in charge of the children but NOT anything churchish or prayish. Its in the scriptures, so it must be obeyed.

As if the White House wasn’t fucked up enough.

Meanwhile, Manchester, last night, OMG. Amazing game, wrong result only because it gave Morinho the right to be even smugger than normal. If that’s possible. But the BIG GAME was at Stoke. And a brilliant and totally deserved result for my boys. Whatever anyone else says.

Tennis rained off agaiaiaiain! Terrible. I’m going to find a bible class instead.

Happy Sunday

A xxxx

So a robber breaks into a home at night. Living there is an old couple. The husband is threatened with a screwdriver by one burglar while the other goes upstairs, where lies disabled wife, to find the ‘swag’. A melee ensues in the kitchen and the 78-year-old home owner stabs the burglar once resulting in the scumbag’s death. I make no judgments or preconceptions. Innocent until proven whatever, even if you’re a serial burgling low-life preying on the elderly. As was, errr, coincidentally, the case here.

The police arrested the old man for murder.

And the entire country went: WTF???

Murder. Which involves its own implicit level of preconception, otherwise its manslaughter. So this 78-year-old went to bed and what? Phoned a few burglars up to get one round so he could stab him? He went to the kitchen with the express purpose in mind of committing a deadly sin?

He has since been released to face ‘no further charges’. But really. I mean, REALLY!

The man should have instantly been proclaimed a hero, presented with a medal for valour and given a peerage for ‘helping the community’ by getting rid of at least one totally parasitical, nasty criminal shit-head.

If you stab a man on the street, or a woman (must remember not to discriminate next time I’m looking for a stab-victim), that’s generally a bad thing. On the grounds of ‘why were you carrying a knife?’ But when someone comes into your home with bad intentions and weapons, then I’m afraid all bets are off. You can gun the fucker down. But probably don’t have a gun. Unless you’re Tony Martin and he ended up in prison. Which was the most unpopular move ever perpetrated by police except the repeated shooting of black men in their backs. But that was American police and they have different rules.

So the law, as I understood it (10% information gleaned from the Daily Mail, 90% guesswork), changed after that case so that if intruders are in your home, the force you use may indeed be ‘disproportionate’. Which to me says ‘you can kill who you like in your own house’. So be careful next time you pop in for a cuppa tea. Not that I’m inviting you.

Everyone’s excited about the game tonight. If Manchester City beat Manchester United at Old Trafford they not only win the league but do it at the home of their neighbours/rivals. The final insult. Like when Arsenal won it at Spurs. Like a kick in the teeth. Like stabbing a burglar. Whereas I’m more concerned with the truly massive game at Stoke this afternoon. Every game Spurs play is now a 6-pointer, if not more. And we don’t want Stoke having some kind of ‘resurgence’ at this point in their sad and doomed lives.

Happy Saturday

A xxxx

Its amazing how fast you can hit the floor. I’d thought that my extensive training in tai chi would have me totally in control of all bodily movements without even thinking about it. We practice ‘falling over’ all the time. How to fall painlessly, how to fall in control and be up again to defend or attack pretty much instantly, how to roll, anything you may need in a fight. But not, apparently, in a fight with a protruding paving stone. So my back foot hit the stone, my front foot having leapt into action that I might catch the really annoying pedestrian lights by Farringdon station that were green and only about 30 yards away and if you miss them you have to wait an horrendously impatient 3 minutes (feels like a fucking hour) before they change again.

And that sudden change in my momentum was like the carpet being pulled out from under me. I just went down. Splattt!!!! as Batman would say. Glasses flying, both knees BANG! onto the concrete, hands out in front. I jumped up (avoiding the karate stance, thought I might appear even more stupid in the circumstances), some nice people offering assistance to the old man, someone else handing me my glasses, another asking as to my wellbeing. Oddly, I was fine. And said so. Thanks very much. You’ve all be really wonderful. And I ran off again and still caught the light change. It happened that quickly. Then I took stock.

Trousers a little dirty but not torn. Good thing. Though both knees smarting. Ah, my right knuckles seem to be bleeding. Quite a lot. Never mind, hold a tissue there. Fine. Well, what a lucky feller I woz.

Then I noticed that my left hand, holding the tissue against my bleeding right, looked and felt a bit odd. The little finger, to be precise. It didn’t behave in the way I’d kind’a known it to behave in the previous 61 years. And it felt funny. Not funny ‘ha-ha’, just odd. A bit numb, a bit painful. At the same time. And was at a very slightly odd angle. But I could wiggle it and bend it so diagnosed it probably wasn’t broken.

But as it got more swollen and everyone at work said it needed an x-ray, I relented and spent a wonderful 2 hours at St Thomas’s hospital. Where it was confirmed that it was luckily neither broken nor dislocated, just badly sprained.

The A & E was actually remarkably brilliant. Ok, it takes time but they are wonderful, efficient and consistently charming and helpful. Even funny. Great people doing the most amazing job imaginable. And often unimaginable.

Happy Thursday, try to stay vertical if at all possible. Trust me, the alternatives are not nice.

A xxxx

Another day, another mass(ish) shooting in America. At YouTube’s hq in California this time. Fortunately (relatively) only 3 people were injured and it wasn’t at a school. This was on a different kind of ‘campus’. A Google campus.

But this shooter was different. This shooter was a woman. A gel. A female. Ya get the drift, I’m sure. The shooter was a ‘she’!

Yet in a world of equal opportunity, why shouldn’t it be? Its actually discriminatory to assume that all mass shooters are men. Or should be men. But really, if women do expect equal pay in the market-place, they need to compete on equal terms. Three people injured represents relatively low productivity for a ‘mass shooter’. I mean, 3 people shot is just a spilled beer on a Friday night in Tennessee. Its just a row over a parking space in Downtown Tallahassee.

Would you expect woman shooters to be neater? Clean up afterwards?

2 people were shot here on Monday night. Separate incidents but it made the headlines. In the States it probably wouldn’t even make the news. Done by a man or a woman.

But maybe there is change in the air. Because of the recent marches across America, the youth are protesting loudly and clearly about gun laws. And if for ‘youth’ you read ‘voters soon’ then at some point even the most retarded of NRA-funded Republicans must start to take note. As was noted on the marches, the right to bear (ridiculous, military-grade, automatic) weapons is more important than the right of children to be safe at school.

Some day… and then there’s just the small matter of the 320 million guns already in circulation out there.

More importantly, Liverpool play Man City tonight in the Champions League quarter final, first leg. And that is a mouth-watering prospect. The two most attacking teams in the country, the highest goal-scorers, the biggest… whatever. And whilst City might appear to have the slight advantage that they can often manage to defend at the same time, something slightly lacking in the Scousers (Scousers: Mo Saleh, Manio Sade, Roberto Firmino…), it promises to be wonderful.

Though I’m still drooling over Dele Alli’s first goal on Sunday. Even though Ronaldo scored with a wonderful bicycle kick last night. And I thought… nah, Dele’s better.

Happy Wednesday

A xxxx