Andy's Glasses

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

Arsene Wenger has been royally pissed off this week (or, as they say where he comes from: ‘plus ca change’) because of tv scheduling. Nothing to do with Game of Thrones, series VII, being screened when he’s out at carpet-weaving class, nor that Alsace’s Got Talent will not be shown this year due to no talent being found in Arsene’s homeland. No, he’s pissed off because they’ve scheduled Arsenal’s FA Cup semi-final against Reading at 5.20 today. To be screened on BBC1. Whilst on Sky Sports 1 at 5.30 there is Chelsea playing Manchester United. What will fans watch? I wonder?? The romance and history of the world’s oldest cup competition in its nail-biting final stages? Or what could be an incredible game of football? I know what I’ll be watching.

Come Dance with my Gran, on channel 5. Its Tango week. Will Vladimir, the handsome, toned, skin-tight professional be able to lift Agnes Maythorpe from Pontefract, and her zimmer frame, in the finale? Thrilling stuff.

But I’m fed up with the Premiership. Other than Chelsea Man United which, doubtless, Mel will insist on me watching. Its all bollox. Its all rubbish. Ever since Spurs stopped winning and misery flavoured my weekends. So now I’m only excited by the Championship. Where last night Middlesboro’ beat Norwich to go top of that table. At least until Bournemouth and Watford play today. Not against each other but either can take top slot. But not both. I’m sorry. Football’s not like that.

My mate Ali is a ‘boro’ fan. Ethical-Hedge-Fund-Ali, for short. Though in fact he’s rather tall. And quite posh, even fairly intelligent and educated. Making him the most unlikely ‘boro’ fan around. No insult to ‘boro’ fans, of course. Not that any of them can read. So for him, it would be nice for Middlesboro’ to come back, for a short while, to the Premiership.

Yet I have allegiance too with Bournemouth too. And Watford is one of those ‘almost London’ places which is actually miles away if you happen to live in London but counts itself part of the capital for footballing, rugby and holidays in Teneriffe whilst talking to Mancunians (who actually live in Sale but can’t be bothered to explain the difference either) purposes. I have many friends who are Watford fans, even one brother-in-law.

So my loyalty is divided but really I don’t have that emotional connection and can thus just enjoy the final few games with the simple enjoyment that neutrality brings. And its all such a welcome relief from the elections which are depressing and give me ulcers.

Spurs are at Newcastle tomorrow and I don’t give a shit what happens. Though, of course, I reserve the right to be thrilled if we thrash them and distressed if we don’t.

Happy Saturday

A xxxx

I don’t know who I’m going to miss more: David Cameron or Gisele Bundchen. Its a troubling thought as the German-sounding Brazilian supermodel (errr, that’ll be Gisele) retires from her career of posing, pouting and preening, just as Cameron is about to become the next ex-Prime Minister of Her Majesty’s Kingdom of, blah, blah, blah.

Whereas Gisele never missed an opportunity to put herself out there on the public stage (very few supermodels are recluses) Cameron is more shy about time in the public eye. But only when it involves televised debates with his rivals. Whereas he loves being filmed in tea shops in Burnley, car factories in Solihull, hospitals fucking anywhere.

No-one noticed that Nick Clegg was absent.

Yet every ‘opposition’ leader took the time to mention how ‘sad’, ‘disgusting’, ‘appalling’, etc, that Cameron was absent. Thus not able to ‘defend his policies’. So they slagged him off anyway.

Last night I was out being repeatedly hit over the head with a long stick. Or rather, avoiding being hit over the head with a long stick by some devious Chinese tactics of disarming such assailants and leaving them in a heap on the ground.

And I’m glad I missed the debate. It was bad enough hearing everyone on tv talking about it endlessly when I got home.

And this is how the debate basically went:

Miliband: Cameron’s a nob.

Sturgeon: so are you, Ed, unless you become Scottish reet nooow.

Farage: I fuckin’ hate darkies.

Miliband: with me as Prime Minister may God help you all.

Sturgeon: I’m much cleverer than anyone else here even though I’m totally smug and obnoxious.

Farage: can I smoke in here?

Miliband: we want to make Britain a place for workers to work and working men and women to work in a workmanlike way of working.

Sturgeon: we don’t want ‘Tory-lite’, Ed, we want ‘a new way’, though I’m not prepared to say, in any meaningful way, what that vague and worthless phrase actually means. And once we, the Scottish Nationalists, have made Britain greet once more, we can leave.

There were 2 other women there as well but I don’t know who they were. They were the political equivalent of the girls who used to be on stage with magicians, the ones who eventually had 16 swords stuck in the box in which they’d been put. If only.

This election has become horrible. Everyone too scared of saying the wrong thing to actually say anything right. So they just argue about nothing and then wonder why the voters are becoming un-engaged with the entire circus.

I’d rather get hit on the head with a long stick.

Happy Friday

A xxxx

So its happened; the manifestos have been announced. Those promises stating what the political parties will and won’t do ‘when’ they’re elected to power. Right. So the Green manifesto is not worth the trees that had to be destroyed in order to produce paper upon which to write the thing as they will never get to power, nor have any influence over those who do. So why do they bother? Why waste all those resources? How Green is that??

And manifestos are in a way ‘sacred’ in that once written they are pretty much there forever to either be adhered to or they’ll become the biggest rod ever to be beaten with. Like Nick Clegg and the abolition of tuition fees. Nick went into government and promptly the fees went up. Oh dear.

But that in fact set an unholy precedent. The only excuse for breaking a manifesto promise. And its fairly new in Britain. That ‘we are in a coalition government and therefore it wasn’t us; it was them’. And as we look pretty much set to have more coalition governments, whilst we have such uninspiring political leaders all sharing the same dreary goals, we better get used to such excuses. ‘Ahhhh, WE did want to stick to that promise but THEY wouldn’t agree to it’.

David Cameron and various of his many health ministers (there was an epidemic among them early in the last government) stood outside numerous hospitals stating how the Emergency Wards would never close. Then 3 weeks later 14 of them closed down. ‘Making the NHS better’. Ok, Dave, whatever you say.

Miliband once again stated that he will reinstate the 50% band for income tax and ‘keep it forever’. Like herpes. Only for wunderkind Chukka Umanna to then state that they’ll only keep it for a short while, then drop it. Well that’s not very Old Labour. Not very Ed.

I’m still struggling with Miliband’s division between ‘the rich’ and ‘the workers’. In his mind two mutually exclusive groups. No-one rich ever works, obviously. They got rich by… errr… by… well not by working, that’s for sure. You don’t get rich by hard work. And workers are all poor, in contrast.

Whereas the reality is that everyone works to better their lives and possibly those of others. And the harder you work, often, the ‘richer’ you become. So at what point does gain through hard, honest endeavour make you rich enough to become a Miliband hate-figure?

Big debate tonight. Dimbleby with all the leaders from all the parties. Except David Cameron who won’t play. Not because he’s scared. But because he’s too something else.

Happy thursday

A xxxx

The Chinese are in uproar. They are disgusted by the disgraceful behaviour of Lewis Hamilton, Formula One’s favourite dwarf and on-off, on-off, on-off, on-off… on-off boyfriend of Nicole Scherzinger. They accuse him of ‘sexist bullying’ after winning the race on Sunday in… well, somewhere in China, obviously.

After the race, on the podium, the winning drivers were celebrating. And they had much to celebrate. Lewis had won the race. His team was again successful. A 50 zillion pound payment was on its way to Hamilton’s (Luxembourg) bank account. So the drivers celebrated in the time-honoured way, by wasting 5 grand’s worth of vintage champagne. Spraying it all over themselves, each other and anyone else nearby.

And Hamilton spotted a cute little Chinese pit-girl and so chose to include her in the festivities, spraying her in the ear and head, which made her grimace a bit. But the Chinese are inscrutable and a grimace could well be the most ardent form of appreciation. Who fucking knows with those people? Who even cares? Not Lewis. He was just saying: ‘oh, what fun, what joy, join me in enjoying this lovely wine, but not necessarily in the usual way’.

And China has erupted in its displeasure and accusations. All of it. 1.6 billion of them all using the very few social media outlets that their nation’s strict censorship still allows them to use and accusing him of ‘sexist bullying’ and calling for him to be banned from China. Which is a bit like banning someone from Syria except he might need to go there next year to race.

So just to clarify the Chinese position. Slaughtering Tibetan Bhuddists is fine and dandy. Locking up artists for 5 years because you don’t understand their work and thus assume it to be anti-government is ok. Murdering political opponents is de rigeur. Imprisoning people without trial is perfectly acceptable. Making entire villages homeless because some property developer has plans for the land and has bribed the local officials is just ‘business as usual’. Blocking 90% of internet sites for the entire population (other than the government, doubtlessly) is for their own good.

But spraying a girl with booze in some perfectly innocent fun is FUCKING DISGUSTING!!!!! And shameful and cause for protest and banning entry.

Ok, I think we’ve got that.

Happy Wednesday

A xxxx

…Raheem.

The Liverpool fans haven’t yet ‘turned’ on Raheem Sterling. Even though their young superstar is at this moment still refusing the new contract that will keep him at Anfield. They haven’t gone into death-threat-mode like they did when Steven Gerrard spoke of leaving all those years ago. But it maybe just a matter of time. And of goals. Because Raheem keeps scoring them and that puts the fans in a bit of a quandary. How can you be outwardly hateful to someone who is so vitally important to your team? Ok, its arguable that no Liverpool player has ever been as important as Stevie G, but this current team is struggling to be a top 5 side. It is not blessed with a multitude of superstars and so to give Raheem a hard time would indeed be a case of stealing the hubcap that feeds you. (Liverpool mixed metaphor).

100,000 pounds a week may sound (to lower class, ‘working people’ type scum) to be a lot of money to offer a player. But he’s not a kid. He is 20 years old and only has one Range Rover. Which, in footballing circles, is probably cause for ridicule. I don’t know. And I’m not sure that the money is everything in this case. Ok, he could get more than his 5million a year maybe at Arsenal (who are desperate for his signature) or pretty much anywhere he chose, but that would also offer him Champions League football. Which is, as all Spurs fans know to their eternal and continued cost, a massive lure for talented players. Though with the destruction of Manchester City’s seaons continuing, perhaps he can achieve that with his Anfield mates.

Then there’s the off-field antics. Firstly Raheem was filmed smoking from a shisha. Ok, nothing really wrong with that, its only inhaling fruit juice, probably counts as one of your 5-a-day. And then yesterday he was filmed sucking Nitrous Oxide from a balloon until he virtually collapsed. Which, although not illegal, is a bit stupid. Though probably very funny, as laughing gas tends to be.

These events are just kids having fun. But they do go against the football club’s code of conduct. Quite rightly. So my question for Mr Sterling is not why he partook in such activities, I have no problem with either, but why be so vain, so mindless, so bloody stupid, to allow or encourage videos to be taken?

Though before we judge him too harshly, we need to assess his mind. In an interview for the Times they asked him what he’d read recently. War and Peace? Wuthering Heights? A Tale of Two Cities?? No, his reply was that he’d been reading a lot online about Kim Kardashian going blond.

Where’s the rule that all footballers have to be embarrassingly, almost terminally thick?

Happy Tuesday, whatever he (and his hateful agents) decide for his future.

A xxxx