Andy's Glasses

A phobia is an irrational fear of something. If you’re arachnophobic and you see a little spider dangling from its itty-bitty thread, you leap around screaming and breaking things until someone disposes of the animal. That’s a phobia. Its irrational. Makes no sense. An itty-bitty mider can’t hurt you, you know that. Ooooh, but its got legs and things and… eeeeuuuw. Whereas finding a 6 inch tarantula in your bed, with fucking great fangs and dripping venom and looking right at you with its 73 eyes, seeming to say: ‘come on then; you want some??? Muthafucka!!!’, that’s not a ‘phobia’. That’s real, genuine, rational fear.

I suffer from Wengerphobia; the irrational fear of Arsenal. Also Tosserphobia, the irrational fear of every other driver on the roads. Because they’re morons. And I am genuinely Claustrophobic which is the irrational fear of Father Christmas.

So up steps Ed (fucking!!) Miliband, once more, having identified a million or so extra voters he hasn’t yet tried to bribe, blackmail or coerce with stupid and unsustainable offers of riches beyond their dreams, and states that ‘when’ he is Prime Minister he intends to make Islamophobia a crime.

Because Ed too is a tosser. And fails to understand the basics of the English language and its implications. You can’t outlaw a fear. Rational or otherwise. Ed probably realises that. Even Ed. But the word Islamophobia has become a catch-all phrase to imply some kind of race hatred motivation on the part of the alleged ‘Islamophobe’. As recently so used and abused by Lutfar Rahman, the ex mayor of Tower Hamlets. He called everyone an Islamophobe. As if accusing the cheating, stealing, pocket-lining, lying, scumbag of any of his very evident crimes was merely race hatred. It was used as an umbrella of defence. Fortunately it was a very transparent umbrella and they got rid of the evil bastard. But obviously not transparent enough for Ed, who has identified a lot of Muslim voters, so has ‘thrown them a bone’. A rather pathetic one. Everything that man does is pathetic.

Bournemouth AFC. Football club. Based in… er… Bournemouth, probably. They won promotion last night to the Premiership (in all but a statistical implausibility) and I’m happy for them.

In 2008 they were bankrupt, ‘fined’ 10 points and on the verge of going out of both the league and of existence. Without an Abramovich to save them (one of them came a bit later) the fans bought the club, they survived relegation and six years later they have found the holy grail. Well done them Cherries.

Happy Milibandophobic Tuesday

A xxxx

I met my mp last Sunday. He’s a Tory. Nice little fella. Mike Freer. All round good guy, nice guy and decent bloke. I was walking down the road with Mel and the elder daughter (a ‘football widow for the day as hubby was at Newcastle watching glorious Spurs) when I saw a ‘threatening group’ amble into the street. Threatening because all groups of 8/9 people are threatening because its unusual. Ooooh, I don’t like the look’a them, I thought. Then I saw a bunch of blue rosettes and a familiar face (my mate Adam, who I’d never known was a political activist) and realised it was a canvassing party. Or canvassing Party. Either works. So I shouted out some abuse along the lines of ‘GEDDOUT’A OUR STREET; DIS IS A LAYBOUOUOUR STREET, NAR CLEAR OWFFFFF!!’ Elder daughter, a staunch Conservative, hid in a nearby hedge. So then, as Adam smiled, the rest all looked worried by their perception of ‘threatening’. We met, we hugged, we made up. Ahhhh, nice.

So why have I not met my mp before? In the last 5 years of his tenure? We have had emails, that’s true, about high speed broadband (don’t ask; a long and sorry tale, though to his credit, our mp is trying to mediate) but never a face to face.

Because there’s an election in 10 days time. That’s why. And so its time to show your face. If you’re a normal, hard-working mp.

Its also a time to make rash promises to the electorate. Sweeteners.

We’ll help with your gas bills.
We’ll reduce your cholesterol.
We’ll improve the NHS.
We’ll protect your rent.
We’ll help you buy your first home.
We’ll extend your penis.

And the promises are hollow and vacant. And all have a flip side. Yes, they can give you a stamp duty free first home purchase, but that leaves a hole in the budget. Which Miliband will fill with ‘a tax crackdown on rogue landlords’. Whatever the fuck that means. But it sounds great. All the messages sound great. Its election run-up, that’s no time for bad news. So make a gesture; no stamp duty, better hospitals, higher wages, and then fund it by taxing some baddies. Be they ‘rogue landlords’ or ‘bankers bonuses’ or tax avoiders. Because we all love to punish the bad guys and if we can win something at the same time, so much the better.

And the promises get bigger and bolder. And less thought out and credible. They wreak of desperation.

It’ll all be better when we’re Scottish.

Happy Monday

A xxxx

Watford have been promoted. I couldn’t be happier if… if… if I appeared on today’s Rich List. I couldn’t be happier if my neighbour’s dog stopped shitting in my sodding garden. I couldn’t… Actually, although I feel for Watford, many fans of which are personal acquaintances, it doesn’t really make me HAPPY happy. Just, kind of, ‘oh, Watford are coming up, yeah, fine’, kind of happy. And all by virtue of Middlesboro’ losing at Fulham.

So now all eyes (well, mine) are on tomorrow night as Bournemouth play Bolton. If Bournemouth win, they’ll get automatic promotion too and Boro will have to endure the horrendous trial of ‘the play-offs’. Though in theory they could still get automatic promotion if Bournemouth beat Bolton but lose their remaining game by 17 goals. Or more. Never say ‘never’.

And what if Bournemouth only draw with Bolton? Or lose?? Then its all still wide open.

And when I say ‘all eyes are on Bournemouth’, there may be a few, just a couple, with an interest in today’s match at the Emirates. Where the Arse take on Chelsea. Which is the true battle between 1st and 2nd, even though Arsenal are currently 3rd. Because you can’t count Manchester City. Firstly they’ve played 2 games more, secondly they really didn’t deserve to beat Aston Villa yesterday (David Cameron’s team, unless he changes his mind to suit the situation) and thirdly, because I fucking hate them. Can’t get better reasons than that.

So we’ll consider it 1st vs 2nd for convenience. Amazingly, Wenger has never beaten Morinho. Obviously that refers to their teams, although I’d love to see those two slugging in out in a bitch-slapping, handbags-at-dawn, mano-a-mano event, unlikely to happen. (My money would be on Jose because you know he’d fight dirty).

This really is a tantalising prospect. Two top London teams, both vile and hateful in their own unique ways and both with fans you wouldn’t wish on anyone. But for different reasons. Arsenal’s are all smugness and superiority, intellectuals ‘advising’ everyone why their team is so wonderful and how trophies are meaningless symbols, useless metaphors for success but only in an ‘all that glitters’ kind of way that is, quite frankly, beneath their total brilliance. Whereas Chelsea’s fans are just a throwback to a 1970s era of sexism, racism, Stanley knives and knuckle-dragging, gang-raping, moronic criminal classes. And John Major.

And another Argentinian scored with his hand yesterday, in honour of the 29th anniversary of Diego Maradona’s goal against England. Well call Lamela’s the ‘hand of Dog’ goal. He’s certainly unworthy of any other label.

Happy Sunday

A xxxx

A young boy, a teenager really, was arrested yesterday at an airport after being found to have become radicalised by the evil preachings found on his computer. The poisoned ideology, the quest for world domination, the turning of innocent views distorted for wicked aims.

The arrest, at Glasgow airport, was the longest in an increasing number of vulnerable youths who are becoming ‘radicalised Scots’. He was setting off to join IS. Independent Scotland. Having been seduced by the Osama bin Laden of the North of Hadrian’s Wall; Nicola Sturgeon.

Why would this young man, British by birth and upbringing, who just has the misfortune to own Scottish grandparents, why should his mind have been turned to such a bad place? Police are investigating his school, his church, to find where, exactly, this radicalisation may have taken place.

Because Scotland is fast becoming the new Syria. The latest Iraq. The place where evil germinates and spreads.

Having failed to achieve the nationalist separation that so many truly desired, the Scottish nation has been forced into a rethink. And that thinking is specifically targeting England. And how our fine nation can be ruled, robbed and then abandoned, by the marauding scion of William Wallace and Billy McNeill.

And its all so odd, so sudden.

A year ago no-one gave a thought about Scotland. It was just the place where our whisky was produced and goalkeepers were shit. It was an exotic distant land filled with deep-fried Mars bars and southbound geography teachers.

Then came ‘the VOTE!!!’ and suddenly we’d have sacrificed our own children rather than ‘lose Scotland to independence’. And phew, they voted ‘no’. Just. And since then its been nothing but trouble.

Not content with the Scottish mps having an influence down here that ours aren’t allowed up there, they now look set to actually be playing a very large part in our next government (or ‘the doomsday scenario’ as its known in… well… in my house).

And Nicola Sturgeon has made it perfectly clear that she hates London. Not the place, not the people (well, not some of them) but the entire concept of the capital as a financial powerhouse for the entire nation. So she wants to rob it blind, tax it to death, so she can send our money north, whilst at the same time denying any reciprocity by demanding total tax-raising powers for Holyrood.

But all with the rather ironic aim of setting Scotland free from Westminster altogether. Or ‘biting the haggis that feeds your’.

And Scotland is becoming this hot-bed of nationalist radicalism. And its not nice and I don’t like it. Not one little bit.

Happy Saturday

A xxxx

Do you remember, as a kid, (I hope), getting a ‘compendium of games’? It was a normal board-game sized box but inside were the slimmed down versions of a dozen different games. Ludo, scrabble, chess, draughts, snakes’n’ladders, loads of games, all kind’a wrapped up together to save space and time and create so many options? Remember that?

Well that’s what we’re going to get at Spurs. A Compendium Stadium. And its a brilliant idea. Money-spinning. Ergonomic. And making the best use of facilities.

On saturdays they’ll play football there. At the new stadium, come 2018, may it please God, pth, pth, pth. Then on Sundays they slide the pitch aside (it can be done, it is done elsewhere) and reveal artificial turf upon which will be played American Football. NFL. We’ll get a franchise as the NFL are (for some unaccountable reason) keen to have a team in London. Probably for the easy commute to New Orleans.

The plans for the new stadium, now all those pesky local businesses have been removed by buy-outs or fires, are moving forward and they’re building special changing rooms, really fucking huge ones, that can accommodate not just the 52 immense and mountainous players on a gridiron team, but the 25 coaches (people, not buses) that have to be with them at all times to stop them taking drugs.

Spurs are in negotiation with the NFL as you read this, because they want promises before making big investments in the structure modifications that are required. You can’t play American Football on a proper football pitch, they churn it up, like they do at Wembley every year. So we’ll have the two pitch scenario.

I think we should take this further. And on Wednesdays, the whole stadium slides neatly underground (like it would in Thunderbirds) and they play golf there. Of course you’d need to be very carful strolling down Tottenham High Street dressed like a pratt, or ‘in golfing attire’ as its known, because muggers love golf clubs.

Thursdays could be cricket day, sliding the stands back by 50 yards or so for the boundaries, and on Friday you could play bridge there.

Which leaves Tuesdays, and I’m thinking Formula One. Big money in F1. Little drivers, but big cash.

The only question that remains: what will we call ‘our’ NFL team? The Tottenham Texans? The Tottenham Rioters?? The Cockney Bastards?? Or The Scottish Braves??? if Nicola Sturgeon becomes prime minister. Though if that happens I’ll be living in Kabul for safety.

Happy Friday

A xxxx

Its the foundation stone of commerce. Pay as little as you can for something, sell it for as much as possible. Nothing new there. And its not just physical objects that you can buy and sell, since the ‘Big Bang’ changed trading of stocks and shares, futures, options and all kinds of bizarre ‘derivatives’ to be traded electronically. And unlike physical objects, which tend to depreciate in value (other than a 1966 Ferrari California) trades can do all sorts of things. But if you know which way a share is going to move, that’s a great thing, from an investment standpoint. Its also very illegal and is called ‘insider dealing’ and can land you in prison.

So that’s out of the question then. But how wonderful if you knew market trends and how they were going to change; that would be wonderful. Like betting on a horse-race that actually happened yesterday. Can’t lose.

The fact is though that share and derivative trading is purely speculative. You make a guess which way markets are probably going to move.

Or, you can actually manipulate them to move where you want them. Is that a crime?

According to the Americans, yeah, it kind’a is a crime. A pretty big one. Which is why they want to send Navinder Sarao, a reclusive wierdo from Hounslow, to prison for just 380 years.

Navinder traded from his own home. In fact, from his parents’ home. A modest little semi in West London. And he was rather clever. He traded American derivatives and made some money. Shit loads of money.

He used software which simulated multiple trades. So he’d pick a ‘future’. And when he hit the ‘sell’ button it would appear as if hundreds of traders were selling the stock. So the price would plummet. Being electronic, this happened instantly. And when the price hit a very low price, Navinder would then cancel the sales, as his system allowed him to do, and instantly buy all of them back at the new, very low, manipulated price. Sell high, buy low. Just like all commerce but the wrong way round.

Unfortunately, his manipulations caused billions of dollars of devaluation on share prices on American markets on one day. Which is the post-millennial version of ‘cattle rustling’ so the posse is out to hang him high.

So this geezer, who only and always wears tracksuits from Sport Direct and eats sandwiches only after they’ve been reduced late in the day, paid his own bail of £5million.

I think he’s a hero. I don’t think he should be extradited to a lynch mob. As far as I can ascertain the man’s a bit of a genius. His only real crime is wearing clothes from Sports Direct.

Happy Thursday

A xxxx

There’s all this fuss and excitement made about the Champions League. Players move clubs just to play in it, clubs ransom their fortunes to appear in it, owners want to win it beyond any other prize. Though most can afford all the other prizes currently available to billionaires. And although you can’t buy that esteemed trophy like you can buy yachts, planes, palaces or strings of blondes, many do try.

So in the blue corner there was Roman Abramovich, Russian oligarch, money-launderer and all round person of extremely dubious character who bought an impoverished Chelsea, pumped in a few bil and they did in fact win the Champions League. A shame for old values.

But more have tried and are still failing. The Abu Dhabis bought Manchester City who, rather amusingly, crash and burn in that competition every year.

Another bunch of Emirates have bought Paris St Germain who left the stage last night at the almost eternal graveyard for away team aspirations; the Nou Camp in Barcelona.

Already 3-1 down from the home leg, Lauren Blanc’s Qatari-Parisians had hopes in Catalonia. And hopes, as any Spurs fan will tell you, approximately 39 times a season, will kill ya every time. I watched a little bit of the game before bridge last night, just 15 minutes or so, and it was enough to know everything about Barcelona and the Champions League. Because they virtually define what makes it so brilliant. And it was all about Andres Iniesta. Who is now about 73 years old and has always been the least extravagant of world superstars but probably the most effective for it. He picked up the ball outside his own box, turned and ran. About 70 yards he ran, leaving in his wake half the PSG team swinging their legs at thin air or falling on their asses. Then he threaded the ball to the feet of Neymar. Who ‘did the rest’. Which sounds easy and in fact looked easy, a testament to the troubled Brazilian’s amazing ability. And the legacy of the brand of football inspired by Pep Guardiola.

Whilst over in Bavaria, the other Guardiola team, the current one, were starting against a Porto team who amazingly were 3-1 up from the first leg. And Bayern Munich simply annihilated them in that brutal German way that (much of the same players) beat Brazil 7-2 in the World Cup. Bayern were 5-0 up by half time, 6-1 the final score. You could almost feel sorry for Porto who, unlike most of the quarter-finalists, are not a rich team. Yet you simply had to admire the style and quality of the German team, even without their two most lethal players, Robben and Ribery.

It is often said: ‘you can’t buy class’. Well, in football you can. But it doesn’t always work.

Happy Wednesday

A xxxx

Since the internet came along (that computer thing where you buy stuff, get free porn and learn lots of interesting things) the world has changed. That’s not news to anyone. You can google it and see for yourself. But I always saw such changes as a way to provide minor enhancement to our lives, rather than the reality which is total domination.

So as well as buying books, music and clothes online, as we all do pretty much without a second thought, the ability to be in contact with ‘everyone in the entire fucking world at all times’ has led to more subtle changes too.

Because if you need to buy, sell or rent anything at all, you no longer have to put up a little postcard in the newsagent’s window or take an ad. in Thursday’s edition of the local paper. You do it NOW, you can have photos, descriptions, videos and within 20 seconds a nomadic tribesman from Papua New Guinea can buy your almost new garage door motor. Just what he needs. Good old ebay.

But as we can now have almost instant access to almost anything, it means planning is not so essential. You can arrange things on a day-to-day basis. So instead of buying or renting a home, people ‘couch surf’, or use airB&B, to live all over the place, as they please.

Where would you store your ‘stuff’??? Ahhhh, that’s the good bit. You don’t have any ‘stuff’ any longer, you just ‘share’ it. Although this is not ‘sharing’ in the old understanding of joint ownership or quid pro quo (you lend me yours and I’ll lend you mine). No, this is ‘sharing’ for a price.

So you can ‘car-share’ by renting cars by the hour, and you can even rent a pet for a few hours. To impress… errr… well to have the opportunity to go round with a latex glove picking up dogshit. Then Fido goes back to his/her rightful owner and the world is right once more.

If you need that ‘special frock’ for a party or a wedding or the transvestite ball, you just rent one for a few hours (ball gown in size 44 chest, 38 inside leg, per-lease) and then return it, staying once again unencumbered and free to move possessionlessly around town/country/wherever.

The market for ‘sharing’ stuff, but including Uber and other rental services is reckoned to be worth £225 billion over the next 10 years. And that’s a lotta tax that isn’t going to be paid. In which case, I heartily approve.

Its almost Marxist in its simplicity. All possession is theft, said Carl. Now its more that all possession is impractical and unnecessary. Holds you back, ties you down.

Where would I keep all my football programs?

Happy Tuesday

A xxxx

There’s an almost unwritten law that as soon as any player leaves Spurs, normally because they’re just shit and rubbish don’t do nuffink for years other than cause anger and frustration among fans, once at their new clubs they immediately turn into Pele. We create latent superstars, just waiting to put on a different shirt before exploding into almost unlimited potential.

And now we’ve done it with a manager too. Though Tim Sherwood wasn’t shit whilst at Spurs as ‘caretaker’ after Andre Villas Boas was shown the door. In fact he performed rather well. Though not well enough that Daniel Levy was prepared to take him on permanently. So he was offloaded and eventually found his way to Aston Villa. Who were in a very bad place, staring at relegation and entering a black hole from which there is no return. Enter Tim, they start to win, start to believe, and now they’re in the FA Cup Final after seeing off Liverpool yesterday.

I don’t rue the loss of Sherwood at Spurs. I could never stand him. Such is my judgment of character and football that the only manager in the last decade and a half that I haven’t wanted to keep would probably have been the best. Such is life. And it would be nice if Villa went on to win the cup. Give their sad, unemployed, almost-worthless fans some good cheer in otherwise pretty useless lives. Restore once big Villa to former glory.

No such restorations happening any time soon at Newcastle, one must fear. They’re in total disarray, from the team down to the fans, the owner, everyone involved.

The fans boycotted the match yesterday, instead choosing to protest outside the ground against Mike Ashley, their fat cockney billionaire owner. And against Wonga, the sponsors. So, both hands that feed them, pretty much.

The boycotting fans actually made a wise choice staying outside and missing the agony their team was enduring inside the ground. Newcastle were so bad they made Spurs look positively classy by comparison. Not an easy feat.

I don’t want a new manager, we’ve had enough of them. I want continuity and now we have Paul Mitchell (another theft from Southampton, who just get stronger every time important figures leave their club) in charge of recruitment and hopefully Baldini out, we can ‘re-build’. Again.

Although Newcastle allowed us masses of possession, we didn’t appear to know precisely what to do with it. As if our team sat-nav couldn’t pinpoint exactly which direction was ‘goalwards’. We dithered, we slowed things down, we looked lost most of the time. But Newcastle were so bad they gifted us 2 goals and Harry Kane scored a wonderful third. The only bright light we have in a sea of darkness.

But heh, no time for gloom, 3 points in the bag. We can still get forth place if…

Yeah, right.

Happy Monday

A xxxx

You know when sometimes, after fretting about something for ages, and worrying and seeking understanding and enlightenment, suddenly, the mist lifts, the clouds part, the curtains are opened and suddenly JESUS CHRIST OUR LORD STANDS BEFORE ME…

Ok, well its not quite like that; I don’t do much of that religious thing. But I can still experience an epiphany. And it happened this morning. In the bath (I always soak the troublesome back before tennis) with the Mail on Sunday. And a little quarter column article on an insignificant page about the pre-election.

The Association for the Independent Professional and Self Employed people, IPSE, which is very well respected, asked all the political parties for their plans that specifically affect the self-employed, so they could publish them in an ‘election special’ edition of their journal.

All the parties sent in their lies, sorry, their statements, because this is 5.4 million voters here and any sensible politician wants them on board. Or some of them.

Which makes Ed Miliband, in case there were any doubts, not a very sensible politician. As Labour didn’t reply. So in a counter-snub, IPSE published a blank page under the Labour banner. Which, as snubs go, is pretty damned good.

And as I read this a light suddenly came on, a bell rang and the angels sang ‘halleluyah’.

Ed couldn’t write anything supportive of the self-employed because they are generally not affiliated to trade unions. In fact they compete with the trade unions and their members for work, for contracts and thus are ‘the enemy’. And Ed is funded by the trade unions, thus can’t support the hand that bites the other hand that feeds a third hand…

You know what I mean. (then please call and explain it to me).

And then the moment of clarity. My recent inability to understand why Miliband has been banging on about ‘the (fucking) workers’ at every opportunity, as opposed to ‘the rich’, and all that repetitive, ad nauseum bollocks he spouts. Because by ‘workers’ he doesn’t mean you and me. He doesn’t mean the self-employed builders and contractors and market-stall-holders. He just means Trade Union members. The Workers = The Unions in the mind of Ed. And why? Because when he had his famously biblical moment of stealing the birthright from his older brother, he only achieved it by having union backing. Otherwise brother David would now be Labour leader.

And supporting ‘the workers’ and only ‘the workers’ and despising ‘the rich’ is union-speak. And represents the quid pro quo for getting the weasly little shit into power in the first place.

This is pay back time for Ed. He is a puppet of the unions. Or a plasteceine model of the unions anyway.

Vote for Ed. And you get the ghost of Bob Crowe running the country.

God help us all.

Happy Sunday of Clarity

A xxxx