Andy's Glasses

Oh no! My team appear to be suffering from abject humiliation, in no small part due to my poor team selection and all is grim. I NEED A DOCTOR!!!! Well, I need someone to blame. What??? There’s no team doctor or physio here within 20 yards?? Shit! I shall just have find a scapegoat elsewhere. Now where’s Antonio Conte? He’ll do.

I had no idea what Morinho said to Conte at the end of the game. The ‘quiet word in his ear’. But you could see it was not a happy quiet word. I don’t even know what language they were speaking. Didn’t look like English, but when Jose speaks English it doesn’t really sound like English either. Could have been Portuguese, his native tongue and the one he’d possibly resort to for some serious swearing and temper-tantrumming. But we found later that it was Italian. Jose is a good linguist and his time at Inter Milan we can now say was not totally wasted. So as the lip-readers of Europe were called out by the press, like sending up the Bat-signal for an emergency, it was the Italians who identified both the language and the content. Jose wasn’t saying just a very long, protracted and angry ‘well done’, nor asking Antonio to share a bottle of vino, as managers are wont to do. Instead he picked, as his scapegoating moment, his someone-to-blame incident as Conte geeing up the crowd to sing and celebrate after Chelsea’s 4th goal. Why not? It was as glorious a victory as any Chelsea win can begrudgingly be. But no, according to the ‘hanging-on-to-sanity-by-a-whisker’ Portugezer, that was rude and inappropriate. You can do that at 1-0, but not 4-0.

It was in fact a great match. Bit one-sided, as the score would suggest. But basically Conte got his game plan spot on and Morinho didn’t. More importantly, Chelsea stuck to the plan and executed it perfectly. Making them look, sadly, like they’re going to be a very hard team to beat this year.

Which I find a bit depressing. Arsenal can’t stop winning, even though they did on Saturday, Liverpool are looking very strong, Chelsea now resurgent, and that’s with poor Willian only just returning after the death of his mother, poor fella. And Manchester City…

The ‘team to beat’. Or; the unbeatable-looking. As they were for their first games this season. Now looking nothing like as happy. 5 in a row without a win. Only the second time that’s happened in Pep Guardiola’s managerial career.

We’re 5th now. I liked being 3rd, preferred second, but we’re (fucking) 5th. With Manchester United below us. Can you write them off? Can’t do that really. Too much talent. Too much money. Even though Zlatan, from looking like the best bit of business this year, has just turned into an old Swede with a funny name.

Early days still (I’ll tell you when to panic) but WE NEED TO WIN GAMES!!!!!

Happy Monday

A xxxx

Its Sunday morning, its clear, bright and sunny. Its cool, but we’re happy with that. Us tennis players. Much nicer playing in cool than stinking, simmering, humidifying heat. The perfect day. The perfect morning. Tennis morning.

But I can’t play tennis. Banned. Grounded. Prevented. Not allowed.

Because although the surgeon who performed ‘the world’s biggest fucking injection ever given’ on the shoulder said that after a week I could play again, this was an opinion somewhat contradicted by the physiotherapist to whom said surgeon sent me. To be mended. And this bitch (can I say that? especially as she’s really lovely and amazingly good?? yeah, can and will), this bitch told me ‘NO’. No tennis. Which I can sort of understand. In the hierarchy of ‘things that really agitate shoulders’, very little compares to tennis. So I have to consider ‘the future’ and ‘the big picture’ and all the things I’ve so studiously ignored my whole life, I shall make this massive sacrifice and desist from the game I love to play. So that in a few weeks time (when its dull and rainy and grey and cold) I’ll be able to get out there again.

When I was young I didn’t think of the future. Nor how that present would be viewed in this future time. And I found the perfect picture to demonstrate that very fact. Whilst clearing out the study for the decorations imminently due (see; there’s lots of ‘fun things’ to do whilst not playing tennis).

I have no idea when this was taken. Nor where. But I was smoking a cigarette (remember those?) so that limits it to sometime between 1970 and 2012. I don’t think I was married then (so pre-1986) but Mel recognised one of the towels. And they say men and women are the same? What man would recognise a towel from 1985??? Or even from this morning when he put it down after his shower?

And a wife-beater. I love that. The item of clothing that, prior to finding this pic, I’d have sworn never to have worn, ever. Yet the evidence is plain for all to see. Me in a wife-beater. Not to mention the bandana. Please don’t mention the bandana. Nor the gerbil-hiding swimmers.

Je regret rien. Everyone should look like a gay icon at least once in their lives.

Spurs 0, Bournemouth 0, Arsenal 0, Middlesboro’ 0. What’s that all about? That’s real frustration. Grrrrrrrrrr.

Happy shoulder-resting Sunday

A xxxx

Now that’s clever. Daniel’s bakery have ‘invented’ the best of all possible worlds. They’ve combined two of the possible three best things there are and come up with a Spurs Cookie. A big one. (The third best thing can indeed be combined with the other two, but only in private, preferably in a room with plastic sheeting on the floor). They were going to make an Arsenal cookie but it made people sick. Made me sick. And yes, they could have put the logo on a lettuce leaf, put it in a juicer with kale and gluten-free-wheatgerm (??) and other green shit, but it wouldn’t have the same effect. No. Spurs, cookie, perfect.

I’ll buy one for Philip Green. Or Sir (for the time-being) Philip Green. Because they want to take away his knighthood. To ‘de-Sir’ him. Un-knighted. Like… like… well, I can’t think of anyone else who’s ever been humbled in such a way. Mainly because the only official grounds for removal of an honour is by committing a criminal offence. Except (Lord) Jeffrey Archer. Who did commit a crime (against literature), and then went to prison, but managed somehow to hang on to his lordiness. Anyway, Philip Green has committed no crime.

I would like to state though that I don’t like Philip Green. I think he’s vile. I think he IS the ‘spiv’ that they kept banging on about in parliament, I think he’s an immoral asset-stripper who gives no consideration to his employees whatsoever, who is only concerned about how much money he can make for himself, which is then shipped over to Lady Green in Monaco so the fat fuck doesn’t even have to pay tax on it. There is no decency in Philip Green whatsoever, on any level. Judging books by covers is, in his case, bang on the money. His money, loads of it.

But he hasn’t committed a crime. Therefore until he is even accused of such, and he won’t be, because nothing he’s done is ‘criminal’ in the literal sense, parliament voting that his knighthood be ‘removed’ is either so much hot air (they’re good at that in Westminster) or just a way of showing how much they all hate the man.

With good reason. But should parliament have the power to de-noble this man just because they don’t like him? Don’t approve of his apparent lack of morality? Envy his billions?

I think it would be more appropriate to put Sir Philip in the stocks and let all the former employees of BHS pillory him with rotten tomatoes and sharp objects. Who really gives a shit if he’s ‘Scumbag’ or ‘Sir Scumbag’?

Happy Saturday

A xxxx

I don’t gamble. Its not a religious thing, nor set in stone. I just don’t really enjoy it. So I don’t. Some do. Lots do. A few years ago on a ski trip we were having lunch discussing the forthcoming FA cup match between Manchester United and Spurs, being screened in a bar in Courchevel that very afternoon. There were 8 of us, all boys, all football fans, except one. He was a gambler. And piped up, excitedly: “Wow, Spurs, Man United, I wonder how many multi-corners there’ll be in that one!!!!”

Stunned looks. Confusion. Had we missed something? Was there possibly a facet of the beautiful game that in 7 lifetimes of intense study, we’d somehow missed?? What the f*** is a ‘multi-corner’????

Oh, he explained, its the number of corners won by one team multiplied by the number won by the other. Multi-corners.

Ahhhh, multi-corners. Like betting on raindrops sliding down a window pane. Multi-corners. I couldn’t understand (still don’t in fact) why Spurs/Man U. would, in such a context, produce more, or indeed less, ‘multi-corners’ than Orient vs Wrexham? Gedafe vs Villareal? The Dagenham girls choir 11 vs The All Girl Mud Wrestlers First Team?

Its just a vehicle for gambling. Like raindrops. Not relevant to anything, just a random event, hence worth a punt. WHAT’S THE POINT??? You might as well just go to the local bookies and hand them 300 quid and walk out again.

Which sort of defines all gambling.

But now a scandal. Online gambling is ripping off its punters. It is an industry worth £3.5 billion a year. That means that punters are losing 3.5 billion quid a year between them. Unless one very rich one is losing it all, I don’t know the statistical breakdown. And yet the bookies change the odds. After the race is run. You think your horse has come in at 7 to 1, but they only pay you at 4 to 1. Ahhhhh, its in the small print; we can do that. And the algorithms are so great now that successful online punters are only allowed tiny bets, like 10 pence at a time, in case they eat too much into that £3,500,000,000 annual windfall. And then they don’t let punters take out their winnings in big lumps. ‘Oh no, can’t do that; its against money-laundering regulations’. The same ones that they easily manage to circumvent when punters are paying in.

I’m not anti-gambling, if people wanna be stupid, its their right. Fine by me. But I hate the constant advertising of it during football matches, tennis games, rugby, cricket, encouraging and enticing mainly kids to start on a very slippery slope. One minute you’re using mum’s credit card to put a fiver on Liverpool, the next thing she owes BetFair 3.5 billion quid. Poor woman.

Happy Friday

A xxxx

When the going gets tough, the stupid plummet to new depths of stupidity. Don’t they say that? Ok, they don’t but they will following Donald Trump’s riveting words last night as he showed the world that just when you thought no man could ever make himself look any more ridiculous, he pushed that limit even further. Went the extra mile. Downwards.

Not like I stayed up and watched the debate, I’m not daft. No, I went to bed dreaming of Lionel Messi. And in my dreams he was wearing a Spurs shirt. And I was wearing Oscar de La Renta… in coral…

I didn’t even get to see the whole of the bake-off semi-final!!! (don’t tell me, don’t tell me, don’t tell me) as Mel fell asleep and I couldn’t take the strain and pressure all by myself. Puff pastry is never easy.

Anyway, Trump. All the usual stuff, all the expected garbage, shoring up the coastline, building walls, grabbing tits, more guns, abortion is the devil’s work (“so ya might as well take a mother 9-months pregnant and kill her baby!!!!” Tosser-missing-the-point-by-a-mile) and how Hillary is unfit to govern. Which is a view shared by many.

Then he said that if he lost the election he wouldn’t accept the defeat. Think about that. And how that might work. Would he still pitch up at the White House 6 months later with his suitcase and a few assorted blondes? Demanding the keys? Or would he have a military coup to oust Hillary (assuming she’d won at this point)?

He might not accept the legitimacy of the result because its ‘rigged’. But, obviously, only if he loses. If he (God forbid a thousand times) should win, then ‘AAAHHH LUURVE AMERICAN DEMOCRACY; FARNEST IN THE WORLD”.

This is the grown up version of ‘its my ball and if we lose I’m taking it away’.

The Trumpster also spoke of his ‘friendship’ with Putin. Or his admiration at least. Why wouldn’t he admire the Russian leader? He’s another misogynistic thug who doesn’t believe in democracy. And he’s done alright for himself too. “Wouldn’t it be great to have a president on friendly terms with Russia??” “So we could fight ISIS together!!!!”

Russia have no interest in ISIS whatsoever. Never have. They’ve dropped 42,759 bombs in Syria, not one aimed at ISIS.

“Wouldn’t it be great to have a president on friendly terms with the nation who’ve murdered every last civilian in half of Western Syria, mercilessly and without thought nor care???”

Go Donald! No, but really, just fucking GO!

Happy Thursday

A xxxx

The problem with Russia is that its a problem. On virtually every level. Vladimir Putin took a country that everyone hated because of human rights abuse, international invasions, political repression and murder, secret police and all manner of evil; and managed to make it worse. That really took some endeavour. His predecessors had seen to the invasion of all neighbouring countries, chaining them behind the ‘iron curtain’, enforced by nuclear power, military might, secret police and a manner of ‘enforcing’ their will that relied on the KGB, gulags, expulsion to Siberia, killing opponents to the regime, whatever it took.

Michael Gorbachov was different. He was a statesman, a diplomat. He saw the Wall come down in Berlin and the Soviet Union unravel. He smiled while it happened. Happy that Russians would perhaps know something of the ‘freedoms’ that had eluded the previous 4 generations. Or 79 generations if you include the Tzars who also lacked any kind of ‘democratic fairness’.

Then came Vlad. Twice. And this time with a vengeance. Its like ‘Putin 2; The Sequel!!’ And under his watch came good things. Like the murder of Litvinenko. The invasion of Ukraine and now, the bombing of every living civilian in Syria. And all about a definition.

When the Russians sent their bombers to Syria, in accordance with American and UN wishes, it was to ‘fight terrorism’. Which the Americans and British were already doing, out in eastern Syria where ISIS were tucked in. Yet Putin’s planes didn’t bomb there. They were over in the West of that fine nation, bombing Aleppo. Hmmmmm. But you’re supposed to be bombing ‘the terrorists’, Vlad? I am, he cried. I’m bombing the rebels who attack Assad’s power, isn’t that terrorism? Ahhh, well that’s a different kind of ‘terrorism’ altogether and we’re not so concerned about that one because Assad’s a bad man. I know, said Vlad, that’s why I love him and will support him. So now we’re on the verge of World War 3.

On Sunday John Kerry (no less!!!!) came all the way over here to speak with Boris about Russia!!! We must DO SOMETHING. But after 17 hours realised there was nothing they could do. Without starting that war. And although no-one wants that, you had to redefine the term ‘toothless’ in the aftermath of that great ‘summit meeting of the haircuts’.

They don’t have freedom of speech in Russia. They don’t have freedom of anything. Not allowed. State controlled. Like the drugs for athletes and international computer hacking. Instead of free speech they have Russia Today (RT), the Kremlin based international tv station. Which is Putin’s propaganda machine.

So Nat West bank yesterday said they were closing the RT UK bank account. Hah! That’ll show those Russians. Right. As they immediately threatened to close the BBC accounts in Russia and report the UK for breaching freedom of speech issues. Ironic? Clever? No. Just fucking Russian.

They’re not dangerous because of the bombs, they’re dangerous because they are so clever and have not a care for how people view them.

Happy Tuesday

A xxxx

On these very pages, not 2 months ago (I really can’t remember which blog it was, precisely; I can’t even remember where I put my phone 6 minutes ago. My blogs are like children born on Burnley council estates, I pop ’em out and put them into care, never to think about them again), I wrote the words, along the lines: Jeremy Corbyn may not be an anti-semite but he has created a culture in which those who are feel very comfortable. And now some poxy parliamentary committee has basically nicked my words. Even though they didn’t know they existed. Bastards. Thieves. Plagiarists.

But they’re part of government so they’re allowed. They’re obviously a bit slower than the casual observer too, but we don’t expect speed of thought from the people who run our nation.

They reckon that since Corbyn’s tenure, 50 Labour MPs have been either secretly or openly been sanctioned or cautioned over anti-semitic comments. 50. In 14 months. How could anyone dare to imply some kind of institutionalised ‘safe haven’ for Jew haters? Shami Chakrabarti looked into it. During a coffee break, whilst knowing almost nothing about anti-semitism and gave Labour a ‘clean bill of health’ on that score. Ten minutes later Corbyn bestows upon her the one and only peerage he’s ever given or is likely to give. Hmmmmm.

The parliamentary all party committee went much further. They re-defined anti-semitism, something Chakrabarti didn’t deem necessary. So whilst totting up their anti-semitic incidents, they excluded specific comments about Israeli politics. Because you can criticise Israel without being an anti-semite; its allowed. But you have to be careful. Because Israel’s settlement building (which I disagree with) and its manner of coping with Hamas are indeed worthy of comment. But once you extrapolate to all of Israel, and then blur that to merely, ‘all Jews’, it becomes more of a problem.

Sadly, the new response to any accusation, however true, is to claim a conspiracy. The Trump model. Trump blames the media for his knuckle-dragging reputation even though his knuckles do certainly drag along the floor. And Corbyn claims ‘Blairites’ at the root of every claim against him, however factual and however based on fact.

Its a minefield. Fortunately, Toby Alderweireld appears only to be suffering from ‘bruised nerves’ in his knee. Praise be.

Happy Monday

A xxxx

Its amazing (and, ok, a bit sad… tragic almost) how much I miss football. Last weekend’s ‘International break’, though tolerable in that JUST GET THROUGH IT!!! way, was awful. When they kicked off yesterday afternoon, I sighed a big, loving, healthy sigh of relief. I missed my children when they moved out from home (kicked out, actually), but nothing like the emotion and upset caused by one week of Premiership missing.

And what a week. For Bournemouth. Fucking Bournemouth!!!! Beating Hull 6-1. Great result for the Bournes. I like that name. Its Jason, its tough, ruthless, its Matt Damon, Robert Ludlum. ‘Cherries’ is a bit limp, I’m afraid. Its ok in Division 1 but not for where they are now.

Spurs went to West Bromwich. Lucky Spurs. And we were great, then we were shit, then Nacer Chadli, of all people, did what all Spurs rejects do and scored against his old masters. Then Dele Alli equalised so we still haven’t lost a game. But we have lost a player. Not just ‘a player’ but probably the most important player in the world.

Toby Alderweireld. Him. Spurs best player since the day he arrived. The most amazing Belgium since Tintin. Ok, you fucking think of famous Belgiums. Not counting Eddie Merx (because most people over 35 won’t know the name) or Jean Claude van Dam who is very silly. Belgium simply doesn’t produce people of interest other than footballers. Yet oddly produces a disproportionately high number of those.

And Toby twisted his knee. And knees are horrible things. As in ‘out for months’ kind of horrible, but we don’t know yet. Need some scans. Oh please let it be just… just… something not very bad.

Arsenal were at times horribly brilliant and at others wonderfully fragile as they pretty much blew away Swansea. Theo Walcott will be 98 years old by the time we actually decide whether he’ll ever reach ‘all that potential’. Having for years failed in his efforts to be a consistent ‘scorer of great goals’, he’s actually now not doing badly as a ‘great scorer of goals’. From Thierry Henry to Gary Linneker in one season. But both only in wild aspiration.

Manchester City. ‘The team to watch’ according to all who ‘know’. Yet they can’t win a game at the moment. Missing one penalty is unfortunate. Missing two… shows that ‘stutter-stepping’ is for absolute tossers. Even if those tossers look remarkably like Sergio Aguero, the best player in England. But you gotta love Pep Guardiola. He’s a mensch. Bet he’s really looking forward to returning to Barcelona on Tuesday after City’s poor run of form.

If you don’t like football, I have no idea why you’re still reading this. But if you don’t, then go and see Hunt for the Wilderpeople instead. Its a truly wonderful, very different and absolutely charming New Zealand film. Totally magical and brilliant.

Happy Sunday, get well Toby, get well

A xxxx

All men are rapists. Except Donald Trump and Ched Evans. The courts have said so.

Well, the court spoke about Ched, Don is just the ‘victim of a vile and sustained campaign by the Democrats and the Liberal press’ against him.

Which creates the bizarre situation in which possibly the two most vile, abusing, misogynistic, neanderthal, objectifying and evil men are emphatically NOT rapists.

Where does that leave the rest of us? Holy shit!!!

Don’s never actually (or rather ‘yet’) been accused of rape. He’s spoken about it, he’s certainly into being a serial gropist without consent, he’d like to, virtually all day every day, but even The Big Tosser apparently has some limits. Not enough, but some.

Ched Evans is a different thing altogether. Acquitted of the rape charge he was found guilty of last year. The Wales and (then) Sheffield United footballer appealed and won yesterday. In part due to his girlfriend’s offer of £50,000 to witnesses leading to his release, and in part due to the virtually unheard of ‘evidence’ about the victim’s sexual history.

So once again the court was led to that fateful night, filled with all the glamour and up-marketness of the world of (not-quite) Premiership football, and the events at the Premiere Inn in Rhyl. And the lovely, caring, tender text message sent by Ched’s mate, whilst he was actually fucking ‘the victim’ saying: “got one”.

At which point Ched headed for the hills. Or the Premiere Inn, as its called in Welsh.

He never denied having sex with the drunk, unconscious?, girl, but it all came down to consent. Maybe, just before she blacked out from the alcohol his friend had been plying her with, she did consent. She may have said: ‘once I pass out, get yer mate here to fuck me senseless. Even though I’m already senseless and soon to be in a coma. I love a threesome, even when I’m not awake to actually be aware its happening’. She may have done. You just don’t know. Reasonable doubt. Which was certainly present when the girl’s ‘history’ of just such an act was told the court by ‘witnesses’ who were in no way moved by the potential 50k on the table.

Rapist or not, Ched Evans would be the biggest scumbag in the whole world, if it wasn’t for the existence of Donald Trump. Who’s had a 40 year head start on the Welshman.

If, like me, you go to the cafe and think: hmmmmm, pain au chocolate or almond croissant? The eternal dilemma. Love chocolate, adore almond. Well here’s the solution, provided this morning by our new local ‘artisan’ baker. I only went in for a loaf of bread but something about this just… just… just CALLED ME. BY NAME. REPEATEDLY. An almond pain au chocolate. Hardly any calories. And possibly the most obscenely wonderful thing I’ve eaten since… the last thing I ate. A snip at £2.60. TWO POUND SIXTY!!!! FOR THAT!!!!! I too was amazed by the price. Until the first mouthful melted. And it suddenly seemed a bargain. O.M.G.

Happy FAT Saturday

A xxxx

Ok, so we all accept that electric cars are ‘the future’. Not a nice future, not a very fast, noisy, V8-rumbly future, but ‘a’ future. And if they’re going to be electric, they might as well be driverless because the whole point of driving is for fun and electric cars are as much fun to drive as spending a night at the opera, so its going to be dull. Therefore: driverless.

And if they’re driverless, you won’t actually need to own one. There’s no point. We’ll all belong to ‘schemes’ and ‘clubs’ and stuff and when we need a car we’ll just ‘app’ one and it’ll arrive in 3 minutes. Unlike Uber, it won’t have Mo in it, it’ll be empty. Take you where you need to get and then sit there waiting for its next call. When you want to go home you just call another.

You won’t need taxis either, at such a time. So expect more demonstrations and road-blocks from Hackney Carriages some time soon. No-one will ever say ‘ere, guess who I had in my driverless car today; you won’t believe it…’ because there’ll be no-one to say it.

The future. Not too distant either as everyone is working on driverless, electric cars, and they are among us already. In some form. Samsung will probably make one too. It’ll come with a very large fire extinguisher on the roof.

So; you’re driving your (proper, driven, peopled) car down the road, 40mph, listening to Bob Dylan because he’s a nobel laureate, and suddenly a woman pushes her baby buggy into the road 20 yards ahead. In that way some do, just, kind’a, push the baby out, as a tester, so he can see if there’s a 40 ton truck bearing down, or whether its safe for her to cross.

And you slam on the breaks and have about 1.3 seconds before inevitable impact with the buggy. Or, you can veer onto the other side of the road where a school bus is heading towards you at 35mph.

You do a calculation; pretty quick one, obviously, and your maths is really not that great. Yet doesn’t need to be. We’re hard-wired with a sense of preservation and a sense of morality. Well, I am. But to kill a baby? Or kill lots of other kids, and probably yourself too?? What if that bus was filled with Arsenal fans??

There’s no answer, no ‘right and wrong’, you’d do what you would do, same as I would. Who fucking knows; we just hope we never have to.

But driverless cars don’t have fretting, panicking, morality-cursed humans at the wheel. They have no wheel. They have… Google! Which is not ‘AI’, nothing like. It can’t think. Nor react, it is pre-programmed.

So some motherfucker has to create a program which will tell the driverless car how to cope with such dilemmas. Whether to always save the passenger first, as Mercedes claim for theirs, or whether to use a ‘least number of deaths/injured’ option. Kill the one to save the 5, kind’a thing. And computers calculate much much MUCH quicker than you do so they can work it out.

That’s cold. Very cold.

Happy driverless, murdering Friday

A xxxx