Andy's Glasses

ISIS have done some pretty horrible things. In fact virtually everything they do is horrible, that’s why they’re ISIS and not the Red Cross, or the Labour Party. Who also do horrible things, but on a different scale. At the moment, at least.

So apart from the beheadings, the mass exterminations in Syria and Iraq, the destruction of historic sites, the spreading of their death cult into as many other countries as they can. They’ve now, I feel, gone too far.

They’ve stolen the word ‘terrorist’ from our vocabulary. It used to be a general word to describe wanton acts of savagery and death in innocent populations, now its only terrorism if they do it. According to the mayor of New York.

Who, yesterday after the bombing attacks in Chelsea (the Manhattan one, not the John Terry one), said in an early interview that ‘these were terrible attacks but not done by terrorists’. Actually, Bill, they were done by ‘terrorists’ by any definition of terrorism. What de Blassio actually meant was that ISIS, nor any other fundamentalist jihadi group of murderers, had claimed the bombs. Still terrorism, even if the Klan did it. Even if some nutty schoolkid couldn’t get into his dad’s overstocked gun cabinet so took to www.make-a-bomb-easy-peasy.com instead.

I know, its only a word, but words are important.

Particularly the word ‘Loser’. And especially when applied to Jose Morinho. Because really you don’t often get the opportunity to use those words in one sentence. But the Jose ‘new broom’ effect is not currently doing its stuff for the red Mancs. And this is not a cheap, Robert Dyas type broom. This is the Bugatti Veyron of brooms. Gold-plated, diamond encrusted and hand-finished by Croydon virgins. (Virgins are rarer in Croydon than anywhere else… probably). This is the most expensive new broom anyone has ever bought, other than perhaps their neighbours Man City who purchased their version from Bayern Munich but who is at least proving its worth.

Man United went to Watford. A team I’m fond of because I know lots of Watford fans, one of whom is quite nice. And because they’re a lovely, little, humble football club with no delusions or pretences and I like that. And they beat United 3-1. Which, considering the differences in financial clout and history between these 2 clubs, is fucking awesome.

Spurs beat Sunderland. Didn’t see it; went to a wedding. In deepest, darkest Essex. But apparently we were pretty good, even though it only ended 1-0. And cost us Harry Kane, which is tragic. And Eric Dier AND Mousa Dembele. So possibly a very expensive match. Which is fine, it was a pretty expensive wedding.

We’re third in the league; we’re third in the lea–eague, happy monday, we’re third in the league (sing and sing and sing til… til… til something horrid happens)

A xxxx

Went to the theatre last night. We rarely go. Too much rubbish on, for which you have to pay rather large amounts of money. I’d rather go to Spurs for the money. So would… errrr… Mel…

So we’ll only see stuff that’s been really well reviewed, recommended by the Queen herself and are guaranteed to be worth all the fuss and expense. Like Yerma that we saw last month. Totally brilliant experience. As per everyone who saw it.

So everyone who has seen Deep Blue Sea has also raved. About the play (not a new one; if you want a NEW play, costs you more, that’s why Shakespeare’s so cheap?), and particularly raved about Helen McCrory, the undoubted star of the play. Where could you go wrong with all that?

The play starts with Mcrory on the floor (supposedly; cos she’s acting) unconscious in front of a gas fire. And its set when gas fires used real gas, poisonous, toxic, lethal fucking suicide-friendly gas. Not like the rubbish we get now. So we can assume that she’s attempted to top herself. And yes, she does ‘unconscious’ totally brilliantly. As only a true thesp-luvvie can do.

About 7 hours later she’s eating a fried egg, crying and the curtain comes down.

Wow; brilliant!!!!

The bit in the middle I’m not so sure about. Ok, I am sure. It was dull. Fantastically acted, undoubtedly, but dull nonetheless. It kind’a went round and round in circles with a bunch of stereotyped post-war caricatures, spoke of unrequited love quite a bit, then I dozed off for a while, but didn’t appear to miss much cos they were still loving unrequitedly when I woke up.

Save your money. Helen McCrory is brilliant but its just not enough.

Bit like Bournemouth. Not enough to even compete with Manchester City Nouveau, who look scarily awesome. Bit like they did a the start of last season but under Pep you kind’a think (or kind’a fear) that this is the real thing.

The Arse had a lucky win at Hull. Ok, 4-1 doesn’t sound lucky but trust me, it was.

Chelsea had already lost at home to Liverpool on Friday night, which would be funny but I’m not happy with Liverpool looking really really good at the moment.

Whereas the nightmare continues for West Ham. Another big loss to another not-too-brilliant football team. Can you imagine if the Hammers move to their new stadium and get rele-

No, surely, not worth considering. Too sad. Too tragic. Too… impossible?

Happy Sunday, Come on You Spurs

A xxxx

Ok, I went to Israel, I loved it, I always do, its fab, its sunny, the beaches, the restaurants, the sea, blah, blah, blah… wonderful! Fabulous! Divine! Perfect!!!

But its not.

Its the most contentious country in the world, and the most divisive and it has been virtually from the word ‘go’. Which was in 1948 when the British Mandate in Palestine simply upped sticks and went home, leaving the inhabitants to fight it out for themselves. Although the “Jewish State” had always been promised, since the Balfour Declaration in 1917. And the newly formed UN had approved it in principle.

And its not like ‘there was Syria, and there was Lebanon and there was Jordan and there was Palestine’, like they’d been there for millennia and since the first dinosaur spoke in Arabic. These were new countries. Ill-defined. Recent borders showing basically nomadic populations who wandered around.

Everyone wanted a piece of that tiny strip of land that lies between the Med and the Red Sea. Because they’d ‘always’ been there. The nomadic Arabs and Beduins, the Christians, the Druze and the Jews. Who had in fact been there for thousands of years before any other religion came about. Then they left, went into slavery, came back, left, got killed, came back, built the Temple, got thrown out…

Would the UN have approved the Jewish State, right there, where it was always going to be problematic, if the holocaust hadn’t happened? Who knows. Tragically the holocaust did happen and the secondary result was millions of Europe’s surviving Jews riding round in boats homeless and stateless and impoverished. The lucky ones.

So they went to Palestine, mainly because no-where else was prepared to accept them, and the Zionists invited them. Even though in 1945 the Brits, who were still there, thought it better to lock these people up in camps. The people who’d just been liberated from camps. Sensitive.

Thus was born the State of Israel. The Jewish State. Home to Jews, Arabs and Christians. Who, after some initial and inevitable warring, settled down.

And the place was turned from a barren desert into a thriving, viable, amazing place where suddenly things grew where before there was just sand. And cities sprang up, and schools and hospitals and communities. Ahhhhh, nice.

But all was not well in the Land of Milk and Honey. So in 1967 the Arab nations decided to get together and get rid of Israel. And the 7-day war took place, after which Israel had become bigger, better, stronger. Exactly how a tiny and underpopulated nation could do such a thing against the full might of massive countries and their populations, like Egypt, Syria, Lebanon and many others, is another question. But survive Israel did.

In Israel, 20% of the population are Arabs. Who work there, live there, many join the army there, they vote there, they are citizens. You see them all over, in the shops and restaurants, on the beaches, many in burkinis which are allowed there (as in all civilized countries).

And its a proper democracy, the only one in the entire Middle East, with gay rights, and human rights, sexual equality, total religious freedom and all those wooly European constructs that we so love… except when Israel claims them. Instead they’re ‘boycotted’ and accused of apartheitism and all manner of atrocities.

Because the bit that is a problem is Gaza. The West Bank is fine. But Gaza, under Hamas is a problem. And because its treated as a problem, Israel is lambasted and pilloried by the international press.

Gaza was once fine. Its residents would work in Israel, would play there, whatever they so pleased without any issues from anyone. Then Hamas swore its destruction of Israel in its charter and laid claims to land that at best was ‘disputed’ and all went to shit.

The suicide vest was invented. A game changer. No longer did you need to ‘leave a bomb’ somewhere; you became the bomb. Its also instructive in the relative values of ‘a life’. Ok, you’ll be martyred, blah, blah, blah, 65 unwashed virgins with facial hair, blah, blah, blah. But its not the western, wooly way. We value life. The suicide vest showed us that extremists don’t value life. And they were deployed across Israel, always from Gaza/Hamas, and always in civilian areas. Never in military bases. Even walking suicides aren’t totally stupid.

So Israel built a wall. The shouts of ‘Apartheit’ went up but Israel didn’t give a shit because that wall stopped 90% of bombing attacks. 90 percent. Would you build a wall? I would.

And during the last Gaza ‘war’ the ceaseless bombing, again into strictly civilian areas of Israel, hundreds every day, were deemed sufficient a problem for Israel to try to destroy the missile sites.

And again, this was something of a game-changer for the west. Who once again fail to understand the passionate insanity of the jihadi mindset.

As happened just weeks ago, two 9-year-olds were caught in Turkey wearing suicide vests. Who would send their children, the most precious thing any westerner can imagine, to die in a political statement? Who could do such a thing??? ISIS for one, Hamas for another. But what Hamas did was a little more subtle and much more clever from a PR perspective. They moved their missile launchers into schools and hospitals and densely populated civilian areas. Knowing that the Israelis would try to destroy them. Because there is no value given to a life over and above ‘the cause’.

The world has kind of woken up to the extent of what extremists will do. ISIS has shown us that. There are no limits at all. The western mind has limits, the jihadi has none whatsoever.

Hamas are ISIS. They are the same. And Israel has lived with them for decades. Yet the world condemns them for acting in the only way it can.

I love Israel. And not just the food.

Happy Saturday; that was a long one.

A xxxx

Oh the misery, the sorrow, the sadness. Ignore the blue sky and the gorgeous, clear, warm sea in the background, they’re just a fucking illusion. Any fleeting feeling of residual well-being (ie before last night’s game) from Hertzliya will certainly be gone by the time we leave Luton Airport tonight. Air travel does that; it grinds you down.

But Spurs… last night… Monaco… Wembley!!!!

I saw none of it. Got a photo of Spurs Paul and Baroness Lib-Dem outside the stadium, then one of Dom and his blurry mate. It wasn’t the photo, the guy has an incredibly blurry face. Poor bastard.

And as far as the rest of the evening was concerned, those proved to be indeed the best bits. And quite frankly the photos were anything but pretty.

I was oblivious. Wonderfully, Abraxasy, baked cauliflowery, chicken-liver-tehina-ey, oblivious in Tel Aviv.

Then I found out. Leicester won. Man City won. Spurs didn’t. Our first Wembley match. 85,000 Spurs fans there. No Monaco fans came because the trip over would have affected their tax status in the UK. Gotta be careful. So many records broken. None of which I could give a toss about. Of course, if we’d won the game, that would have been different.

Anyway, I’m done here. Fed up. Enough brilliant food, fabulous people, endless sunshine all day every day, soft beaches, warm seas and happiness. Enough! I’m coming home.

Happy Thursday (though due to wifi issues at Ben Gurion airport, its now Friday. Phah!)

A xxxx

Everton won on Monday night. They fucking won. Bastards. Now they’re ahead of us and we’re 5th. Still; rather be there than, say, 4th from bottom. Where West Ham live. Currently. Or even 2nd to bottom, where Sunderland lie, under ‘new broom’ David Moyes, showing why he was always such a big hit at Old Trafford.

But its early days. West Ham are enjoying their new stadium immensely. The league’s newest home, and certainly most expensive as it cost (the taxpayers) £850million. Ok, West Ham did ‘pay their way’ by contributing £27.49p per week for 6 weeks, so that’s fair. And its big and its beautiful and its magnificent and now part of the Olympic Legacy forevermore, amen.

So what would you call a really beautiful house, f’rinstance, if it was filled with shit? Even if it was, like, some 17million pound mansion in Holland Park? You’d call it a shit house. Because its filled with horrible stuff. So what do you call West Ham’s new stadium? Because its filled with a bunch of rabble who start riots among their fellow fans. Shameful.

The Arse managed to salvage a point in Paris last night in the Champions League, whereas Celtic didn’t in Barcelona. They did the extreme opposite of salvaging anything, including pride. 7-nil they lost to Messi’s mob. The little man scored a hat-trick, but Suarez netted a couple, Neymar scored, Iniesta, all our heroes. Brendan Rodgers thought Celtic did ok. What fucking world does he live in? How is that ok? Alright, they’re Barcelona, they’re brilliant. But its never ‘ok’ to lose 7-0. What’s more, what does it say about Scottish football? And they’re the ones desperate to stay in Europe.

And so to ‘why I love Israel, part 972’.

This pic was taken in a place called Ramat HaSharon. Translates to ‘Sharon breaks a heel falling down drunk outside a nightclub in Dagenham’. Ramat Hasharon is a small town, near Tel Aviv, just kind’a residential, nice, suburban, normal. And on the side street we parked there were sculptures all down the central area. Lots of them. Benches, trees, bit of grass. And art. They simply love art here. Its everywhere. And understated. And very cool. Unlike the weather. Which if you’re reading this in London; is just like there, and if you’re reading this in Manchester, I hope you’re indoors wearing a life-vest with your boat ready outside the front door.

You generally get what you deserve in life.

Happy Wednesday

A xxxx

So the day we arrived in Israel we headed straight down to the Ramon Crater, remember? Hot place. Desert. Hole therein. Crater. That’s in the negev, just a bit north of Eilat which is on the Red Sea. Then we came to Hertzliya, just north of Tel Aviv, because its nice here. Still hot but not perhaps sufficient to boil the testicles of a nearby camel. Mainly because there aren’t any here. They’re desert creatures, you don’t generally find them in big cities. Though if you need one…

So today we went the other way. Up norf. Which, trust me, is not like heading up the M1 to Leeds, Bradford, Manchester or anywhere, kind’a ‘northern’ in that fat-bellied, beer-swilling, Liam Gallagher kind’a way. No, this was up north to the Golan Heights. To a kibbutz called Merem Golan. Which, like most kibbutzim (that’s the plural, as ‘kibbutzes’ is an old Polish delicacy involving cow’s feet, chicken’s heads and soured cream. With rice) is massive, spread out and absolutely gorgeous. Up in the mountains, the air’s clean, the car’s are few and they grow apples, grapes, cows, chickens, anything that grows, grows better up there.

Its also 2km from the Syrian border. 50k from Damascus. (The little red pin on the map). In fact the Golan Heights used to be Syria, but Israel borrowed it and hasn’t given it back yet. And apparently we picked ‘the right day to go there’. Because of a Muslim holy week, all the 37 warring factions in that god-forsaken land have actually stopped fighting. Today. Yesterday on the kibbutz they could hear artillery and machine-gun fire all day, today nothing. By tomorrow, someone will have broken the cease-fire and it’ll all kick off again. But today; ahhhhhh, peace.

We didn’t go there for the peace. Nor really for the gunfire. We went because we have a friend there who is a sculptor. A big Dutch guy (originally) who makes amazing things out of scrap metal. But, like, everything from little mantlepiece characters to life-size elephants and one 5 metre long dog. He likes iron and he likes making it into stuff that’s really quirky and funny. And so we bought a little something for the garden. It is relatively little otherwise shipping costs are seriously punitive. Once its installed I’ll show you. Til then, you can fucking wait, like the rest of us.

On the way back we drove round the top end of the Sea of Galilee. Possibly the bit Jesus actually walked on. Possibly not. And that too is a remarkably beautiful place.

And tonight, we shall eat schwarma, as it is written, cos we’re too tired to venture far. And having travelled about 400km already today, I’m not getting back into that poxy car again.

Happy Monday

A xxxx

We have a rule here in Israel. In fact we have many and they all involve food. But the golden rule, and its a really biblically inspired, holy land, Deuteronomy XXIV kind’a thing, is: we have iced coffee every sunset at the Bell Bar. Because what Israel does better than everywhere else, other than the high-tec shit, like the entire Apple operating systems, most silicon chips and three quarters of micro-soft, plus the life-saving drugs that they develop here more than anywhere else, but what they really do better is iced coffee. Its to die for. Probably in a cholesterol-ish way but heh, you can’t have it all.

And of all the beach bars here in Hertzliya, Bell Bar wins for reasons I can’t tell you. Mainly cos I have no idea. Its just a vibe there. And a view.

But yesterday I learned why that particular rule of ours exists. What its for. Why it is an imperative. Its so important that the Lord God him(or her-)self MAKES us go there along the beach every evening in the searing heat, getting our feet wet in the Eastern Med.

We left our apartment, the score in the Spurs game was nil nil. I was depressed, but nothing could take us from our holy mission. So I slumped down the beach and we ordered. Then I thought I’d just check the score. And the other good thing about the Bell Bar is wifi. So slick and great that you do nothing. No log-in, no password, no nothing, it finds you and sorts itself out.

But it wasn’t working. Not yesterday. Undaunted we sat watching the setting sun over our drinks-from-heaven. And because I’d adhered to the rules set all those years ago by Moses (the original one, not the Chelsea loser), by the time we had returned, Spurs had beaten Stoke. Not just beaten but almost thrashed. 4-0 away. Harry Kane has woken up. We’re back.

You can’t tell me Spurs aren’t God’s team.

City beat United. But its ok, there’s no shame or disgrace at Old Trafford or on Morinho, the ref was shit. So it barely counts as a proper ‘win’ or ‘loss’.

Now I remember why Jose is a tosser, it escaped me for a while, but its all come flooding back.

Happy Sunday

A xxxx

Man cannot live on food alone. Ok, maybe he can, actually. But he also needs other things to obsess about. Often he needs many. But one can suffice. If its football.

And for some reason, far away from England and the Premier League, I feel a little ‘something’ for today’s football. Something that’s been missing since the season started. A new beginning. A reincarnation. A resurrection. A little fluttering deep down. Maybe just last night’s sushi coming back to haunt me, but I think not.

Because today is the first day of the rest of our season. And its a big day. With a very big match. Very big indeed.

Spurs are playing at Stoke.

But otherwise, there is one match that truly captures the imagination. A match so vast in its potential that on my downloaded paper today I noticed that it made it into the main paper as well as dominating the sports pages.

The Manchester derby. Oooohhhhhh.

Normally it would slot into the ‘who gives a shit’ category; the battle for some northern supremacy battle that leaves me cold. Will the Gallaghers be victorious in their light blue tosser hats or will the Reds from Esher, Dorset, Balham and Pnom Penh win the bragging rights for the day?

Yet today this battle is of interest to all. In no small part because it represents the end point of the cynical manipulation of our once noble game, as the 22 players starting are, collectively, the most expensive anywhere ever at £700 million between them. Personally I value each of Harry Kane’s testicles at more than that, but I don’t make the market.

So which bunch of over-priced, over-payed mega-stars will work out how to play sufficiently well as a team to overcome the other? Or, way more interestingly, which massively over-priced, over-payed, over-hyped manager will get his unmanageable bunch of super-egos to coalesce into the Barcelona or Real Madrid of their individual pasts?

Because really, this match isn’t about Pogba and Ibrahimavic, De Bruyne or Sterling, its about Pep Guardiola and Jose Morinho. THE two managers of their day. They hated each other’s teams in Spain and will continue that over here. That’s healthy. But its also a clash of styles. Guardiola’s possession football obsession against the very pragmatic, park-a-bus-if-neccessary style of the Portuguezer.

Its intriguing, its tantalising and, despite my personal desire for both teams to get relegated this year, it’ll be fascinating.

Shabbat Shalom, as we say in Israel

A xxxx

The day they invented ‘sharing plates’ in trendy restaurants was the day I started looking for anorexics to go and eat with. I don’t wanna ‘share’, get’cher own fuckin’ dinner, cos if you touch mine I WILL KILL YOU. Which is really not a Nobu kind of sentiment. Its not cool to contemplate murder where Asian fusion meets South American ceviche. But I do get the point; kind’a.

That you order lots of variety and share them all together. Its more interesting. As long as you remember that stabbing hands with forks is not nice. Stabbing them with chop-sticks even more unpleasant. So don’t do it!! Its not how to behave.

The first time I encountered this concept formally was here in Tel Aviv. In what has become my favourite restaurant of all. Abraxis North. And the waitress (think: Bar Rafaella meets Giselle but with undertones of Woody Allen) knelt on the pavement next to our table and spent 10 minutes explaining the concept to the accompaniment of me salivating. Nothing to do with the food at that point.

The food, however, is beyond good. Its different. And amazing. Everything you share you never want to end. Until you try the next thing. And the place is self-consciously unpretentious. They’re into brown paper. Instead of table cloths. And brown paper bags, in which a lot of the food comes to table. Often slammed down, so the bread opens up like petals on a flower, or the (most incredible) roast cauliflower (in the world) separates into florettes. Or the Eton Mess just splatters for all to dip in. Its as brilliant a concept as it is amazing to eat.

Abraxis is not cheap but its not expensive either.

But last night we went somewhere different. Because the geezer (or ‘chef’ if you must) who runs Abraxis, and a few others, has opened a new place up the road. A different concept. Its called Ha Miznon, which means ‘the counter’ and it offers street food. Basically, they take all the fantastic combinations of foods from Abraxis, stuff ’em into wonderful fresh, fluffy, light pitta bread and charge you a quarter the price. You have to find a table, plastic, cheap, help yourself to everything, and all orders are shouted over the near-deafening music when ready. It is nearly-organised chaos. By design.

A fine-dining experience it ain’t. And all the better for it. If, like me, your favourite place to eat is anywhere where food can drip down your forearms, then you should go there. If you’re a pretentious tosser who doesn’t do dirty fingers, give it a miss. Life is about variety, ya know?

Happy Friday

A xxxx

The drive back from the Ramon took precisely the expected 2 hours of easy-peasy freeway, straight road experience. And the rental-car-panic was resolved when I realised that the exhaust/sump/axle was not overheating to the point of explosion but that I’d inadvertently pressed the ‘heated seat’ thing. And the last thing you need in 35 degrees is a burning bum. Well, the last thing I need. Can’t speak for you. Who’d’a thought a base model Nissan Micra would have such an option?

So we effectively followed the path of Moses. He didn’t use the freeway, was too mean to pay the toll, so he took the desert path and walked. Exodus. From Egypt. Across the Sanai and then just when he’d probably had enough sand to last 3 fucking lifetimes, he reached the Negev. Ok, Moses, just a few more years of trudging through more endless fucking sand dunes eating dust, schlepping your ten commandments in stone, and you’ll arrive in Jerusalem!!! Which hasn’t been built yet, but when it is? Oy; when it is???? Such a city that will be. (I’m figuring God to be some old Polish Jewish guy from Brooklyn here, just for effect; all heart, no grammatical structure.)

But where Moses went to Jerusalem (I’m guessing) or up to Tiberias, we took a left to Tel Aviv. Because its the most fab city in the world. Ok, it has a few traffic issues, and you can’t park anywhere, but once you’ve dumped the car, or had those nice people tow it away, you can enjoy the wonders.

The saying goes: Jerusalem prays; Tel Aviv plays. But it also eats. And not just eats well but has the most fantastic variety of amazing places and things to eat. From the street food to the seriously upmarket eateries, with loads of Otalenghi in the middle, its all a wonder.

So we went to see my mate’s ‘little boy’ who lives in a suburb of TA, with new wife (his only wife, just not of very long) and very new baby. All was great so we left them and stopped to eat at a cafe we saw along the way. This is a fairly downmarket area, but its still Tel Aviv. So the place was buzzing in that totally relaxed way that only exists here. And the food was amazing. Cheap but amazing. This was so off the tourist zone that they had no English menus. Only hebrew. And although I can read the hebrew for ‘blessed is the lord our God’ and ‘who gave us the fruit of the vine’, you know, the really useful, conversational stuff, I can’t read ‘haloumi salad’ or ‘garlic bread to fucking die for’, so someone had to translate.

The picture is Mel on a lilo that about to fall into the Ramon Crater!!!! Ok, its an infinity-pool illusion. I would never put that saintly woman in jeopardy unless it was really funny do do so.

Happy felafel

A xxxx