Andy's Glasses

Its all a load of bollocks. All of it. Everything. Every word spouted by ‘the scientific community’ and/or ‘government agencies’ is total rubbish, lies, never to be believed. Statistically speaking.

I went to the doctor a few years ago and they checked my cholesterol. “OH MY GO-O-O-OD!!!! FUCK MEEEEE!!!! ITS 6.2!!!!!!” They called an ambulance immediately, performed open-heart surgery, sucked out my veins with a vacuum cleaner put me on a kale and lemongrass diet…

Ok, they didn’t. But they did gasp and advise me strongly that ‘normal acceptable limits’ were up to 5.8 and I was ‘high’. Not in a good way, like stoned, but in a bad way like clogged arteries. My cholesterol. Dangerous. Killer shit. Gotta be reduced.

So I embarked upon a (relatively) healthy eating programme. Basically I reduced my coffee input by about 95% to just 9 cups a day, cut out McDonalds (3 x a week) and just carried on as normal.

And today I learn that those ignorant bastards were actually killing me. I learn that cholesterol is an essential and health-giving, life-lengthening thing and that high blood cholesterol actually MAKES YOU LIVE LONGER.

All those uneaten eggs, all that fat discarded, all those meals made ‘healthy’, all from a fatally flawed con. Perpetrated in the 1950s in (where else?) America. A dude called Ancel Keys found an upsurge in heart disease in America, which was probably due to everyone smoking 50 untipped Chesterfields a day, and blamed ‘cholesterol’. Which does in fact exist in high quantities in those with heart problems BECAUSE ITS THE BODY’S REPAIR AGENT. So its the effect of the problems, not the cause. What a tosser Ancel Keys turned out to be. Particularly as his initial studies, way less regulated than today’s (which are still in the most part jokeworthy) were ‘flawed’. Only in that he discarded massive amounts of data that didn’t fit with his hypotheses. Just cut out all of Greece, for example, and a bit of Bulgaria, two thirds of Esher…

Which is why ‘Atkins’ type diets work and the slimmed down down immediately drop down dead as soon as their 50th pound is lost. Because fat, however saturated, unsaturated, poly-ed or not, does not harm the body.

Whereas sugars and carbs??? Oh no. Don’t eat them. Nor fruit. They’ll kill you. Make you fat. Ruin your lungs, limbs, hair, toe-nails, liver, spleen and testicles.

So yes; its all a load of tosh. Eat what you like, drink like a lush, load up on fats, it just comes down to luck, genes and personal metabolism.

Spurs finished 5th in the league?? How could that possibly happen? Oh, because Liverpool got thrashed by Stoke. A team long regarded as ‘the Barcelona of…’ of nowhere. It took them 10 games to score 6 goals at the start of the season and Liverpool let them in 5 times in the first 45 minutes. Sam Allardyce will be at Anfield before the day’s done. Or Carlo Ancelotti.

Happy Bank Holiday Monday

A xxxx

There’s a rule now, to win the Eurovision Song Contest you have to have a beard. Or stubble, at least. Last year’s winner had a beard, even though he wears dresses too, and this year’s worthy(?) winner was fashionably stubbled as well. Fashionable for Stockholm that is. In Shoreditch they’d laugh at him.

When we arrived home last night after dinner the end of the Eurovis was still on. It runs for 18 hours. And the scores were coming in and, according to the endlessly repetitive commentators, ‘it was very exciting’. Like watching paint dry. But there’s a flaw in the evolution of the human psyche in that if you quantify anything with enough numbers, it becomes compelling. As a species we’re obsessed with numbers. Which is why people find darts amazing. Even something as dull as golf. Numbers, scores, results, lotteries, bring ’em on. I don’t know if birds feel the same way. Slugs. Whales. Needs some research.

I haven’t watched a Eurovision Song Contest since I was 6. When I found the nauseating brand of plink-plonk Germano-French crappest-of-crap-pop, frankly too childish for me. I wasn’t precocious, nor musically gifted. But by then I’d heard the Beatles and my parents were big fans of musicals and big bands and this televised garbage grated even then.

Ok, I lapsed when Abba won with Waterloo. But that was more to do with skin-tight blue satin pants suits than music. Abba would have won it with the sound off. And in fact it would have been better that way.

But I sat there, riveted wondering whether Estonia would give their 12-points to Russia (boooooo) or Sweden (yaaaaaaay). Or if Italy might sneak in if they’d done a bit of a Qatar and bribed Georgia to give them 8 points in exchange for nuclear arms. Because you can’t help thinking its a bit political. Neighbours vote for each other, regardless of the direness of the song. You have to keep your borders safe first, musical humiliation comes second.

Britain came 36th out of 40. Notice, that’s ‘Britain’ not ‘England’. When its something shitty and we’re losing its always Britain.

Yet I learned something last night, watching the inane Euros and finally understanding why Nigel Farage may be right to want us away from those imbeciles. I learned that Australia is now part of Europe. Well, they were in it, so they must be. Of course, Australia is just west of Spain. 12,000 miles west of Spain but that’s not the point.

The actual point is employment. Eurovision seems to employ about 24 million people. What else would so many worthless people (you can’t count ‘good teeth’ as any net worth) do to put food on their tables?

Happy last day of the Football Season. (I don’t count the FA Cup final; its beneath us).

A xxxx

“Never let decent facts get in the way of stupid preconceptions and prejudices”. Who said that? Yeah, I did, but its clever so I must have read it somewhere. And its soooo true. But its not just for the National Front or the Socialist League or UKIP or ISIS, its not just the starting point for well-known extremists; its just as embraced by the politically correct.

An Albanian Muslim comes here and commits a crime. Nothing unusual about that. But you can’t just say that ‘all Albanian Muslims are criminals’ even if, most of the time, you’d be pretty well on the money. Its a stereotypical generalisation and therefore rubbish.

Whereas if you say that Jews suffer from bad hearts, that is not anti-semitic, its just good plain medical sense defining a group who spread chicken fat on bread and generally eat too much Polish type food. Even if it tastes great. Still fucking kill ya.

Because there are cultural differences in our ‘multi-cultural’ land. And may the Lord bless them. Otherwise He’d never have discovered Chicken Tikka Massala.

And so to Sue Berelowitz. She was the deputy children’s commissioner for England and was in charge of protecting vulnerable children.

And I bear no resentment against Ms (always ‘Ms’ for ‘those like her’) Berelowitz because she was paid 100 grand a year and failed fucking miserably in her job. Her terms of employment were not success-based. And I don’t hate her because she received a severance payment of £134,000 to leave her post, nor that she’s coming back as a ‘consultant’ to basically carry on the same job at £1000 a day. (Please don’t ask ‘so why a severance payment? when she ain’t goin’ nowhere??).

No, my grudge against Sue Berelowitz is that she failed to see the wood for the trees. That her political correctness blinded her to any form of fact-based information. In short: she’s a tosser. And I use that almost exclusively male term because she’d approve of the equality of the sentiment.

When faced with over 1500 vulnerable kids systematically groomed and horrendously abused in northern towns, all by gangs of horrible Pakistani men, her over-evolved sense of PC made her simply refuse to understand that there may be some kind of cultural problem with Pakistani men. She called it ‘racism’ to even make such a suggestion. Because she was so wrapped up in her world of ‘fairness’. Well what about fairness to the kids, ya bitch??? By refusing to acknowledge the extent and the cause of the problem, that problem will never be resolved, or even reduced.

And still she maintains that ‘the problem is not with Pakistanis, but just with men, always men’. As if her sense of prejudice doesn’t extend to the majority of men who aren’t rapists and abusers.

Good that we’re still employing her though. I think she’s underpaid.

Happy Saturday

A xxxx

In 2006 two lovely little kids, Christi and Bobby Shepherd, died in a tragic accident in Corfu. The boiler in their holiday apartment was built to such exacting Greek standards that they died of carbon monoxide poisoning. A tragedy. Which resulted in compensation being awarded to the parents of £320,000 each. I have no idea how such a thing is calculated because its such a horrendous situation that the money is not really significant.

And yet it is. Just as a yardstick. Just as a guide of relative importance. You can’t quantify ‘tragedy’ or ‘life-ruining horror’, but you can look at the numbers.

Thomas Cook, the travel agency, received £3.5 million for ‘damages’ for the same event from the hotel chain involved. Ten times what each parent received for the loss of their children.

A really big deal has been made about this, mainly in the red-top press, comparing the two payouts. But really they’re totally different things. Thomas Cook’s losses can be added up by bean counters. There’s the loss of bookings, the PR disaster and the cost of countering it, there’s cancellations, breaches of contract, failure of standards, blah, blah, blah, that’s three and a half mil, per-lease.

And its not enough. Because Thomas Cook’s shares have plummeted, their credibility shot to shit and 9 years later, they’ve just brought their mighty corporate selves to actually offer a kind of apology to the parents. Kind of.

Yet Thomas Cook’s losses are real. And, charitable gestures aside, the 3.5 million quid may prove much more harmful than good.

So the parents get 320 grand for the loss of a child. The single most awful thing that can ever happen to anyone, ever.

Yet an Eastenders star gets 200,000 from the Daily Mirror for having their phone hacked. Some worthless wanker (a lot like Piers Morgan, the then editor, still in denial) was listening to dinner cancellations and ‘giyus a call back when you gerra chance; laters’ and that’s worth hundreds of thousands of pounds in compensation.

Now that doesn’t add up.

And whilst we’re on ridiculous payments, I feel tis time to mention Raheem Sterling. Soon to be ex-Liverpool superstar. His agent famously turned down £100,000 a week for the 20 year old winger for a new contract as risible.

Ok, we had ‘Rooneygate’ when ugly Wayne threatened to go to Manchester City just so his own club, Manchester United, would increase their offer significantly. And we’ve had countless other demonstrations of the dark arts by Lord Voldemort’s representatives in the Muggle World, football agents. But this time its gone really nasty.

Raheem’s agent, the worthless, parasitical Aidy Ward, has claimed that his client wouldn’t stay at Liverpool for 900,000 a week!!! Just as well, cos he ain’t gonna get it. Furthermore he called Jamie Carragher, ex-Liverpool star turned unintelligible pundit, ‘a knob!!!’ for his criticism of Sterling and Ward’s behaviour. Well, he may be a knob, but he’s not wrong.

I think balance needs to be redressed in the world of compensation and payments. Christi and Bobby’s parents should get 100,000 a week and Raheem Sterling and his obnoxious agent should be poisoned with carbon monoxide. And Piers Morgan. Just because.

Happy Friday

A xxxx

Went out last night, round to some friends; he’s a Newcastle fan in fact, so we didn’t speak about football. Its too sore for him, too depressing for me. But before we left, I caught just a little of the Arsenal match. Sunderland at the Emirates, fighting for their very existence. And doing it pretty well. Actually doing it not-very-pretty well. Parking buses, defending in numbers, and it worked. A nil-all draw. Perfect for Sunderland. A continuing malaise for the Arse who, having gone from their loss at Spurs in January to winning every game for 3 months, have now gone into something of a slump. They haven’t scored a goal in their last 3 home games. And yet at times, they can be spectacular. After a rare Sunderland attack Arsenal went on the break. They moved the ball fast, very fast, up the pitch, one-touch football quite superb to watch. Four passes and the ball was sweetly struck across the box into the path of Jack Wilshere, moving in from the right, unmarked.

It was a Messi moment. He too always attacks down the right hand side, so he can cut in onto his favoured left foot. Like Jack Wilshire. The difference being that Messi would have scored last night and Wilshire didn’t. Ok, perhaps its not a fair comparison. Messi is the best in the world and possibly the best ever. And Wilshere was delayed for a moment whilst he put out his cigarette. But his touch let him down and the keeper beat him to the ball, and got injured doing it. And I thought: ‘what a shame’. That was the goal of the season right there if that fantastic move had ended with a bulging net.

Wasn’t to be. He failed. Arsenal, for all their pretty play, didn’t score, Sunderland dodged the bullet, avoiding relegation and all was good in the land. Unless you’re a Newcastle or Hull fan. Do Hull even have any fans?

In the slot in today’s Times normally reserved for kale, alfalfa, beansprouts, seaweed and other ingredients of the dreaded green slime and other inedible fucking ‘wonderfoods’, there is instead, for today only, a feature on hamburgers. Therefore hamburgers must be healthy. And you don’t even need a blender before you eat them.

I’ve been banging on about hamburgers for years. They are the perfect food. Knives and forks are just soooooo pretentious. And there’s pictures of Prince Harry and Helena Bonham Carter and even President Obama, as part of the ‘burger tribes’. As if you need celebrity endorsement to eat MY favourite food. As if the hamburger is a new creation, designed by Byron, enhanced by ShakeShack, ‘taken to a new level’ by Hache. Bollox. Hamburgers are the true food of the Gods, with Ambrosia being seriously overrated and slimy. Eat one today. And then another.

Happy Burger Day

A xxxx

Its the Cannes film festival. Over in… errr… well, Cannes, probably. They didn’t invite me. But its great to see what movies are soon to be coming to cinemas here. In a few years time, no doubt, when everyone else in the world has already bought the dvd off Amazon in a $2 sale. But its always worth seeing what will be arriving at these shores sometime in my later life.

And there’s some great films too. Sicario looks good, Mad Max looks stupid, even though its received rave reviews, and then there’s ‘Carol’. Which really is the zeitgeist movie. Because its about lesbians.

And lesbianism is very of the moment. Not in a butch way, not (thankfully) in a cropped hair, Doctor Martens way, not even in a ‘Blue is the warmest colour’, totally pornographic French way. Not even in a ‘coming out as a lesbian’ way. This is more about sexual ‘flexibility’ for women. Kind of ‘bisexuality lite’. In which women ‘experiment’ with lesbianism, not as a lifestyle but just for a bit. Sorry, for a while.

Carol is apparently just such a tale. Cate Blanchett (who is now speaking out for women to have relationships with whoever the hell they want and keeping it wonderfully vague on personal tastes) has an affair with Rooney Mara. In Clouds of Sils Maria Juliette Binoche seduces Kristen Stewart who this time doesn’t get saved by a vampire.

Men generally don’t ‘dabble’ sexually. They’re either gay or they’re not. Or they can be hermaphrodites or even Management Consultants, but they stick with the plan.

However, women are a different kettle of… whatever. They dabble. Apparently 1 in 5 of 18 to 25 year-olds has ‘done a Cara’ (Delevene) or a Miley. And created sexual ambiguity which must really confuse their parents. So they have a fling with a girl, then take another boyfriend. Or another girl. Or whatever.

And I approve. Because I’m a bit of a libertarian at heart. Which is a cross between a liberal and a librarian, or maybe just someone who doesn’t eat social democrats, but whatever it is, that’s what I am. Because I done my growing up in the 60s and 70s where the girls all wore flowers in their hair, and not much else. Love was ‘free’. It was the consequences that were more expensive. And promiscuity was the old austerity.

I’ve never been gay, nor bisexual, only intensely masculine, heroically manly, mildly metrosexual, superbly butch Ultimate Specimen of Male. But I’d love to be a lesbian. Where do I apply?

See what happens to a normal man’s mind when the football’s almost finished???

Happy Wednesday

A xxxx

Some Qatari sheikh geezer has bought himself a house in London. Just what we need, another home that is empty for 51 weeks a year. Only to be occupied when Son-of-Sheikh comes over in August with his gold Bugatti Veyron and Diamond-studded La Ferrari to race them round Harrods every night, upsetting the neighbours and the police.

This house only cost £40 million, so its not like they need to use it much. Just a little ‘pied-a-terre’ for shopping trips and football matches. Because Qataris love football, as we’re learning. And this purchase, in fact by the Qatari Royal family, is intended to start ‘a Qatari Quarter’ in London. Ahhh, nice.

Its the oil-rich nations’ version of a caravan site. They can adopt a little corner of Mayfair and fill it with their own. It’ll be really nice. Women will only be allowed in the Quarter appropriately dressed. Which means full burqas. Except the hookers, for whom appropriate dress is a little less Riyadh, a bit more Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman.

You’ll be allowed to hire slaves in the Qatari Quarter, force them into 7-day a week labour, pay them virtually nothing, house them in squalid barracks and feed them leftovers from the KFC wheelie-bin down the road. There’ll be no human rights in that Quarter of London. And it’ll run according to Sharia law. Meaning no alcohol. Except for the Sheiks when they entertain their hookers, of course. And any other total fucking hypocrites who fancy a quick pint.

And if they want to watch a football match, say Manchester United playing Liverpool, rather than shlep all the way up to Old Trafford, they’ll just bribe everyone to have the match brought down here into one of their gardens. It would appear to be the Qatari way.

Though all is not so wonderful for the nation hosting the 2022 World Cup. A BBC film crew was arrested there last week for ‘spying’. They’d gone to see how the workers (real ones, not like our Miliband-type ‘workers’) who are building the stadia really live. Not the lucky few who are fortunate enough to live in the ‘media friendly accommodation’ proudly touted to the world’s press, but the vast majority of virtual slaves from Sri Lanka and Bangla Desh who live in disgusting squalor. The crew were held and interrogated for 2 days, threatened with prison without trial, then suddenly released.

FIFA are now investigating this because if the World Cup actually goes ahead there, against all common sense and morality, there will be a lot of press arriving to cover it. And they can’t be randomly arrested or have limbs cut off just for swinging a camera around. Its just not football.

What was Cesc Fabregas thinking last night when he took a shot at that player’s head? Did he think no-one would realise it was him because of his cunning disguise? Tosser. Though nice to see Morinho doing a facial impression of Arsene Wenger. Abject misery.

Happy Tuesday

A xxxx

This is a big moment for the Labour Party. The election of its new leader is a fraught and complex matter. Mainly because it decides the direction the party will take over the next 5 years to the next election.

The Labour Party that got royally shafted, against all expectations, in the election last week, was a reversion to Old Labour. In accordance with Trade Union values and ideals, Miliband trod the Union line by banging on about ‘working people’ in such a way that many of us who do work felt alienated, discriminated against and persecuted by him. And I think I speak for all of Middle England when I say that.

Tony Blair won power with New Labour. Labour Lite. A nominally ‘centre-left’ party that in reality was way more centre than left but had a mass appeal to all of England.

But Labour is the party of the workers and is funded in the main part by the Trade Unions. Who fucking hated Tony Blair and his New Labour/Soft Toryism. Blair wouldn’t give in to their demands.

So now where do they go? The nation has shown that it won’t elect a government with values based in a bygone era. And now the Unions have actually threatened to withdraw financial support from the party if it reverts to New Labour once again.

Leaving a rather unpleasant decision. To either select a Union-friendly leader who will secure their continuing funding, without which the party can’t survive, but who the nation will never vote into power. Or to abandon the Unions, choose someone who might actually win an election for them, but go bankrupt in the process.

Ahhhh, Arsenal playing at Old Trafford, that’s a big one. In a big match to decide who gets 3rd place (with no need for Champions League qualifying banana-skin match) and who gets 4th with all the worries of that extra tie. So everything to fight for, and these teams have a bit of a ‘history’ which, in footballing terminology means ‘they fucking hate each other’. So all was set for a battle royal of passion, power, wonderful football and some serious temper-flaring.

It was so exciting I fell asleep twice. Only waking up to make a cup of tea. It was dull. Very dull. Were Arsenal guilty of ‘parking the bus’??? Wenger’s most often-critisised tactic in other teams?? Playing for the draw? Defending in numbers??

Oh well, at least its over.

Happy Monday

A xxxx

Goodbye Stevie Geeeee,
though I never, knew you at all, you had blah, blah, blah, blah… yeah, what-eveeeeer.

Steven Gerrard has played his last home game for Liverpool. Yesterday the fans sober enough to still be awake at the end of the match, or who hadn’t walked out in protest at being beaten 3-1 by Crystal Palace, gave a ‘fitting farewell’ to one of their own. For like them, Stevie G is a Scouser. He speaks their language, though heaven knows, no-one else does; he is local, he is a true great and he only smiles if he absolutely has to. You think of Steven Gerard, you think scowl.

And such a fuss. The word ‘legend’ is obviously being banded about liberally all over The Wirral and across the Mersey, as well as by the world’s press. I picked up someone’s Oyster Card the other day on the tube and returned it to its rightful owner (checking first that there was no easy cash just tucked in there, of course) who said “ahhh, thanks Mate, you’re a legend”. So we won’t go too deeply into modern abuse of a once really good word, a legendary word.

Stevie G never sailed across the Aegean Sea in a rowing boat slaying Gorgons and fighting Minotaurs. But he did play for 17 years for Liverpool. Man and boy. And during that time, I think its safe to say that he did more for that club than all the other players put together. HE won them the FA Cup against West Ham. HE certainly won them the Champions League in Istanbul after his team were 3-0 down at half time. He was such an inspirational player and captain that he didn’t need to do the spectacular. Which in fact he often did early in his career but less so afterwards. He led by example and drove the rest on.

Yet that’s not why he’s so special and revered in ‘that part of the world’. He’s special because he played for one club his entire career. And not just ‘a club’ but His club. The one he was born near, the only club he ever supported as a kid. He lived the dream. When he made moves to actually leave Liverpool at one time, seemingly lured by the evil dosh that Chelsea were offering, his supporters simply threatened to kill him. So he stayed.

And better to have stayed there in the North West rather than move to the North East. Where 3 teams are fighting for that vital third relegation place. Leicester (Midlands) did the impossible and avoided relegation after being bottom of the league on Christmas Day. QPR and Burnley are already gone. Leaving the holy trinity of Hull, Newcastle and Sunderland in at the death. And death is an appropriate phrase because getting relegated is so financially punishing.

Its complicated but basically Hull are gone unless really silly things happen. Not impossible but Newcastle or Sunderland are still in big trouble. Be nice if they could all go down really, but football’s not about ‘nice’.

Ok I’m off to shed some tears for Steven Gerrard before tennis. Don’t know why but Liverpudlians love a good cry over nothing. Spurs fans only cry during matches. Every match.

Happy Sunday

A xxxx

We need to talk about Chuka. He has withdrawn from the Labour party leadership race. And I don’t mean ‘race’ in any bad way. But this is the oddest thing in British politics since Ed Balls became Shadow Chancellor. In fact this makes even less sense that appointing a man who can barely count to a position involving the nation’s budget.

Because Chuka was the favourite. 7-4 favourite, to be precise, and them’s pretty short odds. And if the dream of entering politics is not to a. lead your party and b. become prime minister, then you should never have given up a decent career as a parasitical lawyer in the first place.

But Chuka has stated that he can’t run because of the ‘scrutiny and attention’ he and his nearest and dearest have been receiving from the press since the race began. So one question for Mr Umunna: WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU EXPECT????

Has he not noticed, in the years of being very close to Ed Miliband, that high political office tends to be a bit of a media magnet? That in fact without the media attention, no-one ain’t gonna win nuffink. We live in a media driven world. Every politician is a media whore first and foremost. ‘Too much attention’ for a politician is like ‘too many cheeseburgers’ for me. Can never happen. Its the dream scenario.

Yet Chuka reckons it was all a big surprise.

So we can emphatically refute his given complaint as being the real reason for his withdrawal. And we must look further, to try and find that ‘real reason’ for why he has bottled out of what should have been not only his dream but the dream for his party. Because Chuka is young. And that could be a massive bonus in the next election when the country’s young constantly complain that they can’t relate to a 50-year-old ex-public-schoolboy rich kid. And he’s smooth and suave and clever and pretty. (So Chuka 5, Ed 0, just for starters).

So if that’s not his reason, it can only be one thing: a skeleton in the Umunna closet. One set to be revealed very very soon.

And this is where perhaps I can offer a unique perspective otherwise lacking in the mainstream political observations. Because we can enter the realm of the purely speculative, hypothetical fantasy.

He murdered someone when he was 7.
There’s a video of him eating a live tortoise.
He once voted for the National Front.
He supports Arsenal.
He shaves his head because he has fleas.
He wanted to fight for IS.
He raped a sheep.
He likes being spanked by Policemen.

Or he’s gay.

Which is kind’a the general consensus. And if that is the case, then even more shame on him for (just last weekend) producing ‘the girlfriend’ who no-one knew existed, and simply not coming out, in the party who paved the way for gay rights and equality. But its sadly very unlikely that ‘the nation’ would ever put a gay man in number 10, so that would seriously affect the party prospects.

I like Chuka. In a party filled with throw-back socialists, total tossers, morons with absolutely no credibility or ability with the public, he is a breath of fresh air. And if he is gay, so fucking what? Have the courage of your convictions; both personally and Party-ly.

Its times like this I wish we still had the News of the World. Then we’d know already.

Happy Saturday, Chuka

A xxxx