Andy's Glasses

So today’s the day. Canadian Delivery Day. Young Justin Trudeau, pinup boy for the French speaking prime ministers of the world, is being delivered to Brussels. To finalise the ‘trade deal’ between the fine nations of Canada and… er… and Europe, that’s been about 27 years in the making. So in jets Justin, pen in hand, and…

…and they’re not quite ready for him. Some far flung corner of Belgium has decided its not happy with the terms. And because its Belgium and therefore really boring, they have a rule that Euro delegates can’t make decisions for the country, each region gets a vote. Like there aren’t enough fucking votes already in the fiasco that is Europe Central. And the Belges, because there is simply nothing else to do in that country, have found fault with the plan. More deliberation needed. How easy is Brexit gonna be?? 7 years for Canada, and they don’t absolutely hate Canada, like they do Britain.

We are having Canadians delivered too. Its an epidemic. Our lovely friends (for Candians) are in the country, free-loading off our British (and thus almost-non-European) hospitality. We haven’t seen them in years. Which is the way God intended it. But they’re only here for 2 days and quite frankly ITS NOT ENOUGH.

So we missed the bake-off final DON’T TELL ME, DON’T TELL ME, DON’T TELL ME!!! Its recorded and will be the ‘surprise’ that we all need.

Meanwhile, Carlos Alberto died. He too was delivered, unto the Lord. The scorer of the best goal ever scored, ever, anywhere, EVERRRRRR, died of a heart attack. The captain of the best football team ever to play the game, the 1970 Brazil World Cup winning side, and scorer of ‘that goal’ is no more. Such a great and lovely guy. I think I’ll just watch the goal 600 times in mourning for him.

Happy brief Thursday

A xxx

The winner in the ‘New Runway’ competition (part 724) is… (pause for effect, like they do in bake-off)… is… HEATHROW!!!!! Oh, that’s brilliant!!! Isn’t it?

Well I’m first going to put on my ‘person living in London, thankfully nowhere near fucking Heathrow’ hat. Its a Spurs hat. I only have Spurs hats. And in that hat I’m very happy. I ‘love’ Heathrow (as much as you can love any sodding airport). Its near enough to be very accessible to all of London but far enough away that I can’t smell it or hear it. Oh, and its busy. Amazingly, alarmingly busy. The runways they have there work to total capacity. A plane takes off every 45 seconds (guessing here) from Heathrow. But not the same plane, obviously. Lots of different planes. So to create more capacity there simply has to be another runway.

Gatwick wanted the new runway too. Because then it could possibly increase its status from ‘that fucking awful hell-hole a zillion miles away that you sometimes just have no choice but to fly from’ to, ‘that fucking awful hell-hole… with an extra runway’. It doesn’t matter how many times you choose to call it ‘London Gatwick’, it ain’t in London, nor nowhere near. Might as well have ‘London-Manchester’.

Boris Johnson, when mayor, suggested building an island in the Thames and using that as our main airport. I rather liked that idea. Again because it was far enough away from me to be viable but near enough to be easily accessible. Unlike Gatwick. But because Boris is a tosser who spends most of his time in dreamland, it was never taken too seriously.

Then I change into my ‘eco-warrior, tree-hugging pragmatist’ hat. Its also a Spurs hat, but a different one. More pragmatic.

Heathrow is by miles the most expensive option. The runway will have to be built ‘uphill’ to lift it above the M25 at one end. And with the houses they need to demolish (only 800 of them… 800!!!) and families relocated, possibly to nice, quiet Gatwick area, the total cost could be 17 billion quid. For a runway. Couple miles of tarmac… some lamp-posts, rubble, foundation… yeah, 17 bil should cover it, Gov, you wanna proper invoice or ya payin’ cash?

If they sort out vertical take-off it would be so much easier. They could have a runway in my garden. The kitchen could be ‘terminal 1’ and Mel could do passport control before she goes swimming.

Ok, I lied about the ‘eco-warrior’ bit. If you’re talking about a runway, saving the planet from carbon emissions is a bit King Canute-ish, so I’ll leave that for now.

I personally reckon that if they get away with legal fees over the next decade of 17 billion they’ll be doing well. Just fighting for this monumental decision (that took just sooooooo fucking long to reach). Before the first brick is… errr… do you build a runway with bricks? No idea, never built one.

This ‘decision’ is not the end. Its just the beginning. Like so many before it.

Happy take-off

A xxxx

So two poofs walk into a bakery…

Sounds like the start of a joke. But is in fact the start of a really long and protracted court case, decided, finally, yesterday in Belfast. Wedding-cake-gate. Or Wedding-cake-gay, as it may be here.

A man, let’s suppose he’s Northern Ireland’s leading gay rights activist, because he is, enters a bakery to order his wedding cake. He wants two little men characters on it, obvs., and the words: ‘support gay marriage’, iced onto it, in pink icing. I made that up about the pink but would be prepared to wager a significant amount upon it.

The bakers, ‘fundamentalist protestants’, took the order then called 2 days later to cancel it. Because they don’t support gay marriage because they’re Christians. Fundamentalist ones apparently. Ok, bring on the law suit. Discrimination against gays. Because if the message had been ‘support heterosexual marriage’ they’d have iced it. Hence they lost the case, and it cost the bakers 500 quid in damages. But it was a show trial anyway, never about any ‘crime’, just about rights.

You don’t have the right to discriminate. But you can uphold your views. How not icing words onto a cake is some kind of statement I don’t know. To me, its bad business. They lost the sale. Lost money. But being ‘fundamentalist’ they’re probably into a bit of ‘poverty’ and ‘sacrifice’, like wot Jesus done.

The words on a wedding cake should surely be viewed as mere shapes. Like when you scan a letter into j-peg format, the computer doesn’t recognise it as text, just as single photo image and won’t let you edit it. Its just a ‘meaningless’ pattern.

And yet…

What if I was a baker and someone wanted me to make them an Arsenal cake? Would I bake it? Of course I would, I’m a whore with no principles. I’d spit in it, obviously, but I’d make their cake. Or what if they wanted a swastika on it? Ok, that’s illegal, how about an IS flag? A KKK-cake with a little grand wizard figurine. Or a picture of Donald Trump? With his hand up the bride’s dress? Something really offensive and nasty.

If I knew at what point Christians become ‘fundamentalist’ I might have a better understanding. But really, once you write Christian with a capital ‘c’, you’ve already lost me. And, apparently, the appeal court in Belfast too.

Why didn’t they just go to another baker? Probably because they’re fundamentalist gays.

Glad they sorted it out before tomorrow’s bake-off final anyway. In which, apparently, Candace has to bake a cake with ‘lipstick is for sluts and whores’ on it, Andrew will bake and ‘I fucking hate Scotland’ sponge and Jane… errr… hmmmm…

Happy Tuesday

A xxxx

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