Andy's Glasses

I mean, its a bit ironic, innit? One minute we’re all Charlie Hebdo and defending the right of free speech with (literally) the dying breath in their bodies, and the next we’re sacking a Nobel-winning professor for some slightly misplaced jokey comments.

Sir Tim Cole said, in a speech, that ‘women in science labs only produce 2 outcomes; they fall in love with the males, or vice versa, and they cry when criticised.’ Ha, ha. Ok, not very funny but in the right context I’d giggle. There again I’m a simpleton and spend most of my days giggling at inappropriate times. Or I’d have giggled because the comments went down like a dead weight in the company of hypersensitive women scientists, no doubt frustrated by their inability to ‘bag’ their professors in romance and still crying over his last critical criticism. And as we all know, political correctness has no sense of humour whatsoever. It is in fact the diametric opposite of humour and takes offence at every innocent comment. That’s its job. To find insult in every word spoken and elevate the most innocent statement into never-intended abuse or discrimination.

The other problem was that this speech was made in Korea. And I’m not sure how ‘subtlety’ translates into that language. I know they have many words for ‘silly haircut’ and ‘death penalty without a trial’ but dry humour would cause problems.

Leave the man alone. Give him his job back. Because by kow-towing to this kind of righteous indignation, University College London is making itself look stupid and sycophantic. They should listen to Tammy Wynette and stand by their man.

Today’s my wedding anniversary. They tell me its 29 years. Which is impossible because I’m only 27 years old. And I’m not sure that ‘the perfect marriage’ is ever a total reality, but if it is, then Mel has one. She’s a very lucky woman. Mainly because I’m so forgiving. I forgive all the times she’s cleared up my mess after me, the countless meals I’ve let her cook for me, the endless washing that magically appears in a neat, clean pile the day after I’ve dumped it in the hallway, bathroom, lounge, kitchen, garage. The balance, the quid pro quo, is that I’m the technical department. Which means I can diagnose problems with her phone (it needs charging, darling), with her computer (you need to plug that in, sweetness), with her car (the key goes in ‘this’ way round, petal). And thus we have balance, we have accord, we have love. As I said, she’s a lucky woman.

Happy Anniversary

A xxxx

The Affordable Art Fair is on again in Hampstead. On the heath. They erect this absolutely massive ‘building’ that isn’t a real one, just an illusion of buildingness. Its basically a marquee, loads of scaffolding and smoke’n’mirrors, yet it feels from the inside like a proper structure of substance and permanence. Yet if it was permanent the National Trust would probably have quite a bit to say about building on London’s finest green space. Yes, there are bigger areas (Richmond Park), there are prettier places, but Hampstead Heath is special. And also the home to thousands of rare species of flora, fauna and gay men. So buildings are banned from the Heath, other than those of old, and you’re free to do anything you like there (especially after dark, apparently) except ride your bike. Which is rather annoying for those of us who like riding bikes in such places. Its hilly, naturally undulating and just fantastic for mountain biking. So they ban them. Though its not enforced. They don’t employ bike police. Just crusty old locals who wave their walking sticks angrily at you and tell you ‘that’s not allowed!!!!’ The tourists don’t care, the young don’t know and the Russians are just happy that they’re not being arrested, tortured by the police and sent to Siberia.

The most affordable thing about the Affordable Art Fair is the entry price. Though many of us don’t pay. There are ways round it as virtually every art gallery in London has piles of free entry tickets for about three months before the Fair starts. Take a pile and pass ’em round. Its only the northerners who’ve made the trip down to’t Luundun that have to pay. As they should.

So then it becomes a simple matter of the definition of ‘affordable’. What do you understand by that? Cheap? Bargain?? Under-a-fiver???

Then think again. There is ‘art’ there for 45 quid. If you want the world’s most expensive postcard. Or posters for 85. Anything hangable or sculpted (that doesn’t look like your 3 year-old did it at playgroup) starts at about £2500. Anything really nice or unusual, original, outstanding, starts at about 5-6 grand. Which is affordable, if you sell the car/cancel the holiday/take a loan/cancel your kids orthodontistry. But its still a bit of a misnomer, this ‘affordable art’ thing.

After that we continued our art theme by going to the Finchley Arts Depot last night for a comedy night. It was a fundraiser for the charity ‘Grief Encounter’, the most worthy and wonderful charity which helps mainly kids cope with bereavement. A brilliant cause but more importantly, a charity whose sole aim is based on helping the intended beneficiaries, rather than providing handsome lifestyles for boards of directors and upper level management. Nothing cynical about me then. And Grief Encounter have never harassed pensioners to suicide with incessant phone demands.
Check out their website. But before you go to the Affordable Art Fair and empty the family coffers.

Happy Sunday

A xxxx

Its illegal to beat children in Britain. I know, its a silly law that removes ‘the stick’ and leaves just ‘the carrot’. And you can’t do much damage to anyone with a fucking carrot. We all remember the days when we could just thump the kids because they were small and defenceless and it was a fun thing to do. I still like to beat my kids, even though they’re adults and sometimes hit back.
But the law’s the law and must be obeyed.

Unless…

A judge found this week that a father, in fact a known wife-beater, who hit his son with a belt, should be shown leniency because he’s from India and ‘cultural considerations must be taken into account’. No-one said all judges were bright. But they should apply the law, that’s kind’a their job. As far as I’ve always been aware, ignorance of the law is never a plea. “I didn’t realise what those ’40mph’ signs meant, which is why I was driving at 90”. Yeah, well don’t do it again, now you know.

But its much worse than that. Firstly its discriminatory. Recent immigrants can beat wives/children and anyone they fancy hitting whilst us poor indigenous Brits will incur the full force of the law if we do similar. And secondly, its plain fucking stupid. You cannot allow people to break laws because ‘that’s what they do at home’. Oh, we’re allowed to murder people in Zimbabwe, we do it all the time, didn’t realise you couldn’t do it here. Honour killing would be rife.

Without wishing to sound in any way ‘Farage’ about this; if you live in Britain you are bound by British laws. Full fucking stop. From the moment you jump off the lorry that smuggled you over from Calais.

And that’s why we’re all dead impressed with the Malaysian authorities for titty-earthquake-gate. They handled what could have been a nasty incident brilliantly after the group of students stood naked around a holy site. They punished them, but delicately. 3 days in jail, which they’d already served, a small fine and deportation. Enough to teach a lesson that they’d probably already learned, but not enough to have half the world shouting about human rights abuse.

No-one in Malaysia claimed leniency for those kids on the grounds that ‘they can do it at home’. Because its irrelevant. They were in Malaysia, they adhere to Malaysian laws.

Only in fucking Britain is this not so.

When in Rome, do as the Serbians.

Happy lenient Saturday

A xxxx

There’s a rally planned for July 4th. American Independence Day. Though its nothing to do with America. Nor independence. Its about Jews. Specifically its about “The Jewification of Britain” according to the far-right dickheads who are arranging it in their semi-literate way. And even more specifically its in opposition to the ‘Shomrim’, the volunteer security group who guard Jewish areas. Because why are the Jews allowed to have their own ‘private army’? Good question. The answer to which is probably because such dickheads who ask it are the ones who attack Jews, desecrate synagogues, smash up cemeteries and persecute and pester overtly religious Jewish people. Who dress in a way that ‘differentiates’ them from the rest of the population. God never actually instructed His chosen people to dress like they live in Warsaw in 1863, but its what happens. Its just a uniform. Punks dress like punks, skinheads dress like skinheads and Chassidic Jews dress like they do. They’re allowed. Unlike other types of uniform, its not exactly ‘threatening’ in any way. You wouldn’t cross the street in fear of an 80 year-old rabbi wearing a black hat.

So they’re having what is basically an anti-Jewish rally. In Golders Green. The home to more Jews, percentage-wise, than anywhere else in Britain. They had a rally in Stamford Hill last year and it fell completely flat as everyone ignored it. Good job.

But in fact its not a good job. Because the rally, whatever its called, whatever its proclaimed ‘aims’ or ‘points’ is actually of rally for anti-semitism. And it makes very little sense.

The population of Britain has 0.5% jews. There are more Muslims, Sikhs and Hindus than there are Jews. There are as many Bhuddists. There are, collectively, more ‘other religions’ not mentioned above, (try to think of an ‘other religion’ that isn’t just a part of a mainstream one, just one), than there are Jews in a Britain which has 60 Christianity and 30% who don’t claim any religious affiliation at all.

So numerically the Jews aren’t much of a threat. And Jews don’t evangelise. We don’t convert (or subvert, even) others, other than introducing them to bagels and chicken soup. We don’t attack others. We don’t form gangs, perform acts of terrorism, declare wars or do anything that would make us late for Friday Night Dinner. Most of us don’t even pray. And those who do don’t do it very often.

And yet if you’re born a Jew you are a Jew. And you’re always conscious of that fact. Even if you live a life completely at odds with that. Hitler showed that to the world. That you can assimilate all you like, but when the trains are waiting in the stations bound for Poland, if you had just one Jewish grandparent then you were given a little yellow badge to wear and membership to a club no-one wanted to join.

I’m not a big ‘holocauster’ generally. But it started from rallies by far-right anti-semites and thus ignoring such things really can’t be that ‘good job’. And it lead to the motto ‘never again’, which is powerful. In this instance, ‘semi-literate’ is an anagram of ‘anti-semite’. Metaphorically if not actually. Unless you’re dyslexic.

Happy Friday

A xxxx

I love a bit of science. And especially when it justifies and encourages something I love. I’ve always been waiting for ‘tests have shown that watching football makes you incredibly fit and strong and will lengthen your life as well as your penis’.

I’m still waiting for that one. It’ll have its day in the sunshine at some point. Everything does.

And today its the turn of the humble peanut. That most wonderful of foods. Packaged by the gods into neat little individual twin pods, they’ve always been my nut of choice. Roasted with heaps of salt preferably, then adorned with honey, caramel, toffee, chocolate, or anything else that makes them really healthy.

And a team at Maastricht University have ‘proved’ that eating ‘a handful’ of peanuts every day will make you live longer. But, like, much longer. By chomping through a few peanuts a day you lower the risk of premature dying by a whopping 26%. So logically, if you double the 10 gram a day recommendation, or quadruple it, you’ll lower that risk above 50%. If you pig out on peanuts all day every day, you’ll fucking live forever. Like a vampire. But without the sun issues. Though maybe some weight problems.

And that’s the difficulty I find with peanuts. Eating a few is relatively easy. Stopping eating them is way more difficult, verging on the totally impossible until the pack/bag/sack is completely finished. The only people who find it easy to moderate their intake are the allergists, who will probably get to 5 grams before their airways start to close up, and just make it to 10 before going into anaphylactic shock.

Poor Eleanor Hawkins. She’s not so much in shock as in jail. The gap yaaaar student was arrested in Malaysia for posting naked photos of herself and some mates on top of a holy mountain. An act not just destined to upset that rather devout Muslim nation, but one which actually really pissed off the local gods to the point that it caused an earthquake. She must have SOME tits!!!

Or maybe they’re not very nice ones and the gods were disappointed and smiteth the people from on high as a sign of disappointment.

Whatever the reason (for the naked pics, not for the earthquake) you kind’a have to be aware of local sensitivities when you travel, making a conscious effort not to upset the locals with their strange ideas and folk lore. When we go to Scotland I won’t speak with an English accent because I know it to be inflammatory to those fine folk up there. And I won’t use the words ‘good’ and ‘football’ in the same sentence for fear of arrest or riots.

Happy peanut frenzied Thursday

A xxxx

There’s big news from Texas. Criminals beware, baddies are quaking, because in the Lone Star State, the big guns are coming out. Literally. Because bizarrely, Texas is one of only four states in the US where carrying a handgun openly is currently illegal, and has been for over a century. And this ‘blatant crime against the second amendment’ is to be righted. Texans can carry guns. Yee-haah.

What’s less ‘yee-haah’ though, when I read this, is that although guns can still be banned in private colleges, State colleges won’t have such a power and will have to establish ‘gun free areas’. Presumably places where kids are encouraged only to stab each other. Possibly use flame-throwers.

Ok, arm kids with guns… hmmmm… that’s worked well in the past, yup. And shooting people generally has been pretty effective recently, even by the police with their seemingly random killing policy against black people which has caused a riot or two. Oddly, its only ‘handguns’ that have been subject to this ban. Its always been fine to pop into Sainsburys in Dallas carrying an M16, a shotgun or a hunting rifle. Obviously. Its only pistols that have not been allowed. Probably deemed ‘too small for Texans’.

Guns are not a deterrent. They are very bad things that kill people. Quite often the wrong people.

Meanwhile back in the real world. Ok, Canada, almost the real world. There’s the answer to my dreams. In theory. There’s the end to the ‘summer of discontent’ in which there’s no World Cup, no European Championships, no nuffink. Because over there in the frozen north bit of the Americas (and Canadas) they’re playing the World Cup for Gels. The Women’s finals. Which should fill me with joy and pleasure and love for all mankind. Or womankind. But it don’t. Even though 2 of my absolute favourite things are women and football, the two don’t go together. A bit like drinking and driving. Wonderful things but not necessarily at the same time. Except in Scotland. Or having sex and going to church. Great events, don’t particularly combine very well. Unless you’re a certain type of priest.

So women and football. But I’m not a sodding dinosaur, like Sepp Blatter, who’s pre-historic (certainly pre-feministic) views were aired that women footballers should have tighter shorts and lower cut tops. What a throw-back that man was. I think they should play in bikinis. Or thongs, like they do on Copacabana beach. Less passing, more jiggling.

Yet the outcome is the same. England lose the first match. 1-0 to the bloody French. At least the French girls had the decency to score with their feet. Unlike cheating French bastard Thierry Henry. Who didn’t.

Oh well, happy Wednesday

A xxxx

Pugnacious Arsenal midfield moron, Jack Wilshere, has complained after the Football Association found him guilty of misconduct at the Arsenal FA Cup celebrations. What he did, or said in this case, is largely unimportant. His justification is far more interesting. In that he feels hard done by for this punishment (a fine, in all likelihood, probably in the region of £9.95 + vat, for someone who earns 100,000 a week) on the grounds that ‘he was just having fun and enjoying himself’.

The old ‘it was just a bit of fun’ plea. As used by gang rapists, bullies the world over, queer-bashers, those who taunt overweight schoolgirls to suicide, and possibly ISIS. Just a bit of fun.

So it all becomes a matter of whether one man’s ‘fun’ can be considered as such when it is at the expense of someone else’s displeasure or misfortune. Jack kind’a misses that point. If its fun for him then the world is a happier place.

Well think again, Jacky-boy. Because what he was chanting was that ‘Tottenham are shit’. And when I heard that I was stunned and shocked. Because Tottenham are lovely. Everyone knows that. They are God’s own team. They play in white, they are filled with fine, upstanding men who perform acts of charity and kindness on a regular basis. Normally by donating the ball back to the other team when they have it, but again, that’s not the point there.

The point is that I was shocked. Maybe Spurs are shit? I pondered this deeply (whilst eating a pizza) and found that because of Jack’s words maybe I need to reassess the longest love of my lifetime (other than my parents). And I’m now in turmoil. Full emotional, psychological and mental melt-down (fortunately it doesn’t affect my appetite) just because of Jack Wilshere having ‘a bit of fun’. What a total bastard.

David Cameron is also going to be fined for saying something stupid in the heat of the moment. He was just ‘having a bit of fun’ when he declared that any minister supporting an exit from Europe would be sacked. Stated clearly and unambiguously. Until the next day when it all became a case of ‘misinterpretation’. Of course he didn’t mean that, no, not possibly, just a ‘misinterpretation’, silly mistake. Here, have a U-turn, with my compliments.

Be careful what you say. And have some fun while saying it.

Happy Tuesday

A xxxx

There’s a great line in the old Country classic, ‘stand by your man’, in which Tammy Wynette shrieks (she always shrieks), that you have to forgive him, ignore his failings, give him a blanket pass, ‘cos, after all, he’s just a ma-an’. He’s just a man. So what can you expect? He’s just a man. A simple sentence loaded with prejudice, preconceptions and stereotype. If a song had the line ‘well, she’s just a woman’ it would be banned. Sexist. Discriminatory. The Sistahood would be up in arms. You can’t say: ‘well, she’s just a woman’ in mitigation; its not allowed. Even if the engine’s just blown up in her car (oh, is that what that little red light saying NO OIL!!!!!!’ meant?) or recorded Celebrity Come Dancing instead of The Greatest Champions League Goals, because she hit the wrong button. Never mind.

Never mind??? Yes, mind!

And now Andy Puddicombe has crossed another line. A very contentious one. Because he’s written a book on coping with pregnancy. By using ‘mindfulness’. Or ‘headspace’ as he has termed his catchphrase in previous books on the merits of sitting cross-legged for an hour to defy everything from anger to cancer, from anxiety to a 17-inch gash on your thigh. He’s one’a them. Which is great, because we need self-help meditatory gurus like we need more sugar in our diets.

And all this whilst the Women’s World Cup is being played. So its relevant really. If women can claim a stake in the last bastion of masculinity, ie football, then men have every right to tell them how to be pregnant.

Why shouldn’t we? We know loads about pregnancy. Particularly the ‘how to get there’ bit. After that, ok, it is a bit blurred for most of us, though there’s lots of throwing up and moaning and requiring sympathy when the cricket’s just entered a critical phase. So its only logical that a man should tell women how to ‘cope’ with the mental, emotional and physical distresses that pregnancy can instil.

Which I have no problem with, in principle. Pregnancy is an understood concept. It can be expressed in flow charts and timelines and thus can be addressed in a scientific manner, by either man or woman. Its not like women can claim exclusive rights to being pregnant. Oh, ok, they can then. But men can still help them. Mainly by giving them small tasks to distract them from their discomfort. Making cups of tea can be very therapeutic; washing up and making beds is gentle exercise as required by mother-to-be and baby. Even cleaning the car can have benefits in the pre-natals.

So don’t tell me that a trumped up little shit of a new age tree hugger can’t tell women exactly what they’re feeling during pregnancy. Sexism works both ways, you know??

Happy non-gender-bias Monday

A xxxx

Went to see a movie last night. Called ‘Listen up, Phil’. Yep, this is no Hollywood blockbuster, which is great, I’m sufficiently smug to prefer art-house over ‘blow-up-the-house’ any day. So we went to our local Indy movie-place and took our seats. There were, I reckon, 40 people in there. About 200 empty seats. And they were the lucky ones. The people who didn’t go and see the film. Sitting at home watching Barcelona, out drinking pale ale, those in other cinemas seeing other movies, those jammy 200 bastards.

It started well, a bit Woody Allen, a bit dark, a bit gloomy, about a writer having published his second book and deciding he was ‘a success’ and ‘followed the dream to glory’ even though that patently wasn’t the case. So he went round to anyone who’d ever doubted his abilities or his choice of life and told them what fucking assholes they were. Not in a very nice way. If there is a nice way to do that, Phil didn’t find it. Nasty.

And if you can’t sympathise with the central character who is arrogant, vindictive, vengeful and horrible, then you have to look elsewhere. But wherever you look there are only characters you’d get off a bus to avoid. Yeah there were funny bits, but it was 1/10th Woody Allen and 9/10ths Kim Jong Un. Not great numbers.

Highly recommended.

Meanwhile, in Berlin, Barcelona won the European Champions League final, beating Juventus 3-1. And I’m glad. Even though I haven’t watched it yet. Firstly because I love Barca and, but for a capricious quirk of geographical randomness that had me born in the Tottenham end of Hackney, I would definitely have emerged instead right on The Ramblas (probably in one of the brothels, but Barcelona’s Barcelona, right??) And secondly because had Juventus have won, it would have been only by stifling the entire match into total suffocation and kicking the shit out of everyone. Which, as a tactic, has certain merits, but it should actually be a crime to try and inhibit the creative flair of Iniesta and Messi and Xavi et al.

And at a time when FIFA are showing how fucking ugly our sport can become, Barcelona are the constant reminder of how fantastically fabulous that game can actually be. And for that alone they are the most winners of the biggest prize in football.

Happy Sunday

A xxxx

“What was it that first attracted (tall, blond, slim, young) you to that old, short, fat, bald but exceptionally rich ****?” so once asked ‘Mrs Merton’ of Debbie McGee, the wife of Paul Daniels. Fantastic question. And funny because it speaks volumes. It makes judgments.

Ok, so this is Irina Shayk, the ex-bird of Christiano Ronaldo. Who (Irina, not Christiano… that we konw of) ‘allegedly’ once had an affair with Sepp Blatter. This has been denied, but who cares about that. Its too wonderful to ignore because we’re all intrigued by the affairs of others. And we like to make judgments.

She’s only after his money.
She’s a power-whore.
I’m not surprised; he’s so hunky.

Except Ronaldo has loads of money. Millions and millions. Surely, after your first 10 million they all start to look the same? And also surely, other than hidden funds which we’ll doubtless be hearing about pretty soon, Ronalds is much richer than Sepp.

And much hunkier, if you like your men stunningly fit and sculpted with a six pack and bulging muscles and loads of hair gel. Sepp obviously uses far less hair gel.

Ok, Sepp is powerful, in a way. Or rather, he was. But Ronaldo has sufficient that doors will open for him, restaurants find tables, underpants get sold.

So we need to think what it is that Sepp Blatter, at 50 years Irina’s senior, could offer that the preening Portuguese ponce couldn’t. Or didn’t.

Maybe it was romance, cuddles, affection, something simple like that. Sepp held her hand whilst they watched Downton Abbey together, Ronaldo preferred to watch it from his exercise bike whilst peering into a big mirror.

Maybe Sepp serenaded her with his experience as a wedding singer? Maybe she gets off on his slightly accented version of ‘Tie a Yellow Ribbon’ and it makes her feel all warm and wobbly. Just makes me feel like vomiting personally, but I’m not a Russian supermodel.

Or then there’s the more obvious. The top 2 reasons as voted by… er, me. Firstly that Sepp is hung like a fucking donkey whilst Ronaldo had his testicles removed when he was 19 to stop the hairs growing on his chest thus saving 35 Euros a month in waxing and he’s hung like a budgerigar.

Orrrrrr, as I’ve long suspected (of absolutely any man who hangs out with a really beautiful woman) Ronaldo is gay and the relationship merely a sham, a cut-out, a convenient cover for him. And when he put on his clever disguise as a vain, narcissistic tosser to roam the back alleys of Madrid in seach of rent boys, Irina went in search of the type of solace only an ugly, corrupt, septuagenerian tub of lard could provide.

Its so obvious really.

Happy Saturday

A xxxx