Andy's Glasses

That’s my password. Don’t tell anyone. I always use it because my old one, ‘andy’ was deemed too short for some actions. So I extended it. Then it lacked at least 1 capital letter and a number. Then it was too memorable, it had to be something that was so impossible for anyone to remember that you had to write it on a piece of paper and stick it on your fucking computer. Then it needed at least 14 characters, half of them not letters and NO WORDS!!!!

I know we need protection from online bastards and thieving scum. I know that if someone gets into my bank account online they might pay off my overdraft. Or commit ‘identity fraud’ and some Romanian pick-pocket would come home at 7 o’clock and say he was me. “You’re not Andy!!!!” Mel would shriek in horror. To which he’d reply: “I am now”. “Oh”, she’d say, “well, dinner’s ready, in that case, and have you fed next door’s parrot yet?”

So the Hungarians want to use the internet to impose more tax on their people. Every gig you download will incur a charge by the internet providers which will go towards the government tax pot. So the Hungarians are revolting. Nothing new about that. There’s protests in Budapest. Thousands of iphone-wielding yuppies bemoaning their government’s unfairness.

Well is that any worse than mansion tax? Which is a tax on London? The City which provides about 80% of the nation’s tax in the first place? Londoners should pay less tax because its so ridiculously expensive to live here. We should be subsidised. By the Hungarians if necessary.

Yet back in cyberland there’s more stuff going on. This lovely picture of a woman breast-feeding her tiny little premature baby has been removed from facebook for being deemed ‘offensive’. Facebook stated that (and this is a real quote; honest): “we have a problem with photos of women breast feeding because they involve breasts”. No shit. There were another couple of photos more ‘explicit’ in that there’s a baby clinging to something that, in the absence of evidence to the contrary, one could safely assume was a breast. So its ok to show people getting their heads sawn off with kitchen knives, but a breast, even in the most wonderful and life-affirming context, is verboten. Its like facebook is operating under Sharia law. Though they have now removed the ‘ban’ on the photo. Tossers. If you really want to see breasts, I’m guessing that other websites may be more forthcoming.

Spurs beat Brighton & Hove Albion last night. Brilliant. We love a midweek match against no-hope opposition. Its what makes us feel good. Until Saturday comes. And they always bloody do.

Happy thursday

A xxxx

We are all conditioned from a very early age to adhere to social norms and niceties. Every book we’re read in school, every movie, reinforces the One True Love paradigm. The ‘he’s the one’ or ‘she’s the one’ ethos of monogamy and love forever. Ahhhhhh.

Of course there’s other books and movies that people (ok, men) watch which paint a different picture. Involving lesbian triplets from Thailand, Serbian nuns and donkeys, beatings given by leather-clad dominatrices wearing nazi insignia… you know, other stuff, but that’s (apparently) deviant and perverse and consigned to the top shelf of humiliation and shame.

Religions generally present monogamy as the only option, other than Mormons, of course, which may account for its popularity. And ‘saving oneself for marriage’ is the party line of all judeo-christianic thought. Except Catholics, who save themselves for Jesus.

Yet there are biological imperatives at force as well, often in direct conflict with these social norms. In that all of nature (even Catholics) needs to advance its dna into future generations. Plants do it, animals do it and we do it. Survival of the fittest, the most misunderstood term in science, means survival of reproductive fitness, its not a measure of how many times you can bench press 100kg. It means the more of your ‘seed’ you can get out there the better the chances of some of it evolving into something worthwhile, even though you might be a sad and sorry loser with buck teeth and and body odour issues who supports Arsenal.

And while this applies to men and women, there are obvious constraints. Women can only bear one child at a time, in a long and protracted process. Whilst men can impregnate thousands of women, pretty much all at the same time. And procreation is what its all about. But practicing is fun.

Thus it benefits women to be monogamous, as they will have a provider, giver, protector and carer whilst in child-making and mothering mode, but it biologically benefits men to randomly distribute their dna to any worthy recipient. Tissues don’t count. Or better still, to any unworthy drunken old slapper from Dagenham, or back-seat Betty from Billericay. Its their duty. To nature.

A new test has now confirmed this in another way. Men who have had sex (it actually said ‘slept with’ but that’s a stupid, quasi-Victorian way of skirting the issue; sleeping is fine, sex, for some, is different altogether) with 20 women or more, (not necessarily at the same time) are 28% less likely to get prostate cancer. Wow. As significant results go, that is fucking massive. In every sense. That’s compared to men who’ve only been biblical with one partner.

And this reinforces what our innate biology tells us already. We owe it to our families to ensure we live longer. And if that is to be achieved, we must become more liberal in our dispensation of affections.

We owe it to our families, to our biology, to the future existence of the VERY PLANET WE LIVE ON, to get out there and have meaningless sex with women. Loads of women.

I shall put this to Mel.

Can I sleep at your house tonight?

Happy wednesday

A xxxx

In 2016 they’re going to elect a new American president. The 45th. How many can you name? Ok, George Washington, he was the first, so they named a bridge after him. Then Brooklyn Beckham, he must have been a president because there’s a bridge named after him too. Next was John F. Kennedy, then Marilyn Monroe, Richard Nixon, a Roosevelt or two, J. Edgar Hoover, who wasn’t a president but he was gay, Ronald Regan, Bill Clinton and Michael Douglas. Oh, and some Bushes. Lots of them. All called George due to a peculiar form of ‘name blindness’ in the family which means all children are only and always called ‘George’. Except Jeb. Which stands for John Ellis Bush. Its an acronym. Geddit? And they’re already calling Jeb ’45’. Much as they call his brother, George W, 43, and his father, George HW, 41. I presume the numbers refer to their presidencies and not just to differentiate all the Georges if you can’t remember their middle names. They should have called him ‘Kate’ and avoided the issue altogether.

And there’s Barak Obama. The president who… er… hmmm… then he… well… er…

So to replace Barak they could just go for another cardboard cut-out, or they could go for Jeb. Who it is reckoned will definitely stand. Against Hilary Clinton for the Democrats. Anything her husband could do in the Oval Office she can do. Almost.

The world waits with baited everything for the next exciting development. zzzzzzzzzzzzzz…

Queens Park Rangers won a match last night, lifting them off the foot of the Premiership table. Bless ’em. Harry Rednap’s job is safe for another week. They beat Aston Villa 2-0. And its that ‘0’ that is significant. Because Villa haven’t scored a goal in their last 5 matches. Which, if you’re standing for the American presidency, is not a problem. But if you’re a football team, its a big problem. A very big problem. You only ever need to score more goals than the team you’re playing. Anything more is a waste. Its showing off. Scoring the same as your opposition is dull, but at least you get a point. Which, in the case of Man United on Sunday, was a rather spectacular and quite amazing point to acquire. Spurs have yet to realise this fact. That scoring the odd goal, even the odd rabona, is simply insufficient to get you where you want to be. Where your fans need you to be. Aston Villa are now, deservedly, cos they can’t score, languishing just above the relegation zone. And they have just one point less than Spurs. So if they draw next weekend, obviously it would be 0-0, and Spurs lose, then we’re down with the dross. With suitable apologies for any supporters of teams ‘down there’ for any insult in that term may imply, which is totally intentional and any apology totally insincere. Your team is rubbish. End of. Sadly, so is mine.

Happy tuesday

A xxxx

Its great being a Chelsea fan. I don’t know why everybody doesn’t support them. Abramovich should just buy everyone else’s fans, like he does with managers and directors and players. Fans wouldn’t cost much, would they? Though Sheikh Mansoor would probably put in a counter-bid for, like, Tranmere Rovers fan club, thus inflating the rate for their 26 members.

But us Chelsea followers have a great time. We go to matches and we come home victorious. Even yesterday when we played Manchester United, we didn’t win, in fact we were robbed in the 94th minute by an equalising goal, but we still brought a point back home where we can keep it with all the others, right at the top of the league. So coming home we had a right good drink on the 7.26 from Manchester Piccadilly down to Euston. In fact we were so pissed by the time we arrived back in London that we had to go straight to the pub and keep the buzz going until we all vomited into the garden of the house next door at midnight. Must have been the beensprouts in me kebab. What a laaarffff. Though not necessarily for the owners of that house next door, I grant you.

We’d quite forgotten, in our drunken stupor, that we had certain responsibilities which really should have been attended to. Fights need to be fought. Innocent civilians need to be scared shitless by blue-shirted skinheads with arms full of tattoos screaming evil songs, and synagogues don’t desecrate themselves.

But can you imagine what it would be like to support a different team? How horrible would that be. Like Spurs, f’rinstance. They only beat third rate teams from the Greek 3rd division, then delude themselves that such a hollow victory stands them in good stead to face a proper, in-yer-face, even talented Premiership team. Yet then along come a bottom three club and beat them at the Lane. If I didn’t faaaarrrrkin’ hate them so much I’d almost feel sorry for them. But I don’t. Because they’re jew scum.

Bit like the Arsenal. Who also play like a bunch’a tarts. The only difference is that they somehow manage to win the odd game as well. Not that Sunderland are in a very good place at the moment. And places don’t get any worse than Sunderland.

West Ham fans are a bit like us Chelsea fans, at heart. In that they pretty well hate everyone and everyone hates them because they’re vile, evil, nasty, nazi, racist, cockney, bottom-feeding vermin. But the Hammers are punching well above their weight at present. Forth in the bloody league and saw off Manchester City, if you so please. I put a tenner on City winning, on an accumulator with ‘Hung like a Horse’ winning the 3.27 at Chepstow, The Fat Blond getting kicked off Strictly Come Dancing and the Portsmouth jihadi getting killed in Iraq. Waste of a bleedin’ tenner that was then. So I put another one on West Ham getting relegated. On the assumption that their luck can’t last forever and they have no skill or talent whatsoever to back it up. 43 to 2 on that. Good odds.

I’m gonna write to Abramovich though, because we need Ronaldo playing for the Blues. In case Costa gets hurt or Drogba dies of old age. I saw the Portugueser Saturday night playing against Barcelona and he’s well tasty. His buy-out is only about £5.7 billion, which is a bit of a bargain really cos he scores about 70 goals a season. And its not like Roman is short of cash, is it? He spends more than that on boats every summer.

CHEL-SEA-EAEAEA…

Happy Monday

A xxxx

Using big words is not clever. Unless I do it. Using the correct words in the right place is desirable and can avoid ambiguity. The mere additionalisation of complexicated verbositage to accentualise the perceptification of intelligiencial appearances is the domain of uneducated tossers with (quite deserved) inferiority complexes, small penises, West Ham scarves and bad breath. Or ‘Russell Brand’, as its now known.

A third rate unwashed comedian who fancies himself (well no-one else does other than part-heiress, part-man, Jemima Khan) as some kind of ‘people’s poet’, some type of revolutionary leader, a spokesman for the ignorant masses, who are all, generally, less ignorant than he is.

When still a comedian (though not a particularly funny one) he shot to fame by ‘prank-calling’ an 80 year-old retired actor to tell him that he (Russell) had shagged the old man’s grand-daughter, in graphic detail. Yes, really funny. Really, really funny.

So he went to Hollywood as some kind of ‘lothario’, some kind of irresistible dream of manhood perfection, bad-boy, lock-yer-daughters-up, sex machine. Even though he’s gay. Well, even though he sounds like he’s gay and the role he plays is merely a form of public denial of the pitifully obvious.

So now, buoyed by the most undeserved success, he’s written a book, called ‘revolution’ and has entered the political fray as an anti-politicist. Which is a bit like joining a football club as the director of ballet. He has no policies, which comes as no suprise, but aspires to be the next Mayor of London. God help London. He speaks in anti-capitalist sound-bytes that have no meaning to anyone this side of Carl Marx’s death. He talks of ‘collectives’, bless him. He doesn’t understand economics. And is passionately anti-American. To the point that he is a ‘9-11-denier’, feeling that Al Quaeda weren’t necessarilly responsible for the worst terrorist atrocity of our time, he wouldn’t put it past the Americans to have done it themselves. Fuckwit.

And he feels the BBC has an ‘anti-Islmaist agenda’ because it accused the Canadian gunman in a ‘anti-jihadist narrative’. Which is a bit like calling them ‘anti-Conservative’ for calling David Cameron a tory.

I will not mention this vile person any more because I don’t wish his name to appear anywhere that I might see it. Let alone that face, which even managed to hi-jack an interview with Sam Allardyce yesterday on Match of the Day. If necessary we must ban West Ham too, for spawning such an evil. Certainly until they stop winning games.

And there are so many other important things to consider, like the European demand for £1.7 billion from Britain due to our economy being better than those of so many of our European ‘brethren’ states. The calculation for this ridiculous amount takes into consideration such measures as ‘the black economy’ and prostitution. Maybe even both. Neither of which are quantifiable, which is kind of a definition of a ‘black enconomy’. And whilst prostitution is not illegal, living off immoral earnings is illegal. Thus Britain would be party to an immoral and illegal act were we to part with our money to those horrible Franco-German pimps. My own advice about this is: fuck ’em! Not the prostitutes, necessarily, but Europe.

Happy Sunday

A xxxx

Ever been to Canadia? Where the Canadians live?? I have. Its a fantastic country. Well, the bit six miles north from the 2000 miles of US border; the ‘warm bit’, is great. The other 97% is a frozen wasteland fit only for seal cubs (to be clubbed), polar bears (to eat the seal cubs that avoid fur season) and the odd Eskimo/Inuit to ride around on his snowmobile. Huskeys are so ‘1965’, now its Kawasaki or nothing.

Two things strike you about Canada:

1. Its just like America
2. Its nothing like America.

They use the American phone system, they have zip codes, they drive the same cars as Americans (Mercedes, BMW, Nissan) and they eat way too much of the same excessive food as the Americans.

Yet they’re not American. They’re nicer. Sweeter. More… more.. more.. more simple. I don’t wish to imply any educational sub-normality, but if the mortar board fits…

And the wonder of the Canadian people starts from the top. Their presidents are never contentious, hateful, nasty bastards. Never morons from Texas, peanut farmers from Georgia or morally questionable Arkansarains. As long as they keep the French at bay Canadian presidents are liberal, open, warm-minded folk who support liberal democracies, hate the bad guys, side with the good and the noble and act in a manner that their electorate would want. They all have guns, but unlike their neighbours to the south, they don’t choose to use them. Not in a school-yardy, shopping-mally way.

Which makes it so inevitable and yet so depressing that it should suffer at the hands of terrorists. Shooting innocent soldiers; what does that gain?? Awful. LEAVE CANADA ALONE.

Spurs won a football match last night. Yes, thursday night football is all the rage after that waste of time and space on tuesday and wednesday with all that champions league rubbish. Thursday night; UEFA; proper football. And we played… err… some team from somewhere in the Med, and we thrashed them. Five-one. Brillaint. Lamella, wonder-goal. A ‘rabona’ of sheer class, inventiveness, skill and showing a complete and utter inability to even consider hitting a ball with his ‘wrong’ foot. As all ‘rabonas’ demonstrate. Harry Kane hat-trick; the new Suarez.

All is brilliant down the Lane once more.

Happy Friday

A xxxx

I can’t understand what all the fuss is about. Poor Rene Zellweger has been ‘re-done’. She’s had a make-over. Though granted, this time the ‘makeover’ is more like a Dr Who re-birth when he comes back as a different person altogether. Sometimes an older one, sometimes a younger one, but always completely different. Rene chose to ‘enhance’ her 45-year old tired look with a completely new face. Not a bad face but just one that is unrecognisably different from its previous appearance. Gone are the slitty eyes, those famously puffy cheeks. Wrinkles and lines consigned to history. And in place of that stands this new, improved, near-perfect incarnation. That looks permanently surprised, if not completely shocked. And that is how it will look, even in moments of serenity, moments of gaiety, moments of rapture, joy, sorrow and anger. That’s what you get for your $100,000. A beautiful face that doesn’t work. Personally I’ll stick with an ugly old face with full function. Bladder control is something different.

Adel Taraabt is an anagram for ‘fat bastard’. But only for dyslexics. And for Harry Rednap. There are fears the Moroccan star of QPR has become’radicalised’. By Burger King. And Pizza Hut. Greggs. Pasties Are Us. Gone are the roots of his heritage, the diet of cous-cous and fresh salads, sleeping with a goat then eating it for breakfast, now he’s just piling on the pounds. According to Our ‘Arry. Who declared Adel ‘unfit; 3-stone overweight and the most unproffessional footballer he’s ever known’. I don’t know if that includes the 3 million amateurs who play our national game every weekend. Taraabt replied by posting a photo of his flat stomach for the world to see, slagging off his manager in return. In steps the boss of Milan, where the Moroccan played on loan last year, to say that Adel was wonderful, professional, fit and dedicated. Which is presumably why they chose not to invest the 6 million quid (not a lotta money for a player) and make him a permanent fixture at the San Siro. Or, at least, at the restaurants around the San Siro. The Big Boss of QPR, Tony Fernandez, has stepped in to reconcile the manager with arguably the team’s best player. Adel would definitely argue that. Never been a modest chap. And ‘best player’ is always a tricky one when you’re bottom of the league. They need someone to step in and sort out this mess. Someone calm, intelligent, engaging and charming. Where’s Joey Barton when you need him?

It is not for nothing that Real Madrid are European Champions. They visited Liverpool yesterday and won 10-nil. But only actually bothered to score 3. It was more than enough to make a very emphatic point. That Brendan Rogers either missed or is in a world of delusion.

Happy Thursday; may your face be lifted and your tagine served on a pizza.

A xxxx

We lost 2 Oscars yesterday. I don’t mean the awards, as in ‘someone else has won MY award so we have to sit smiling and pretending we’re really happy for them whilst really we’d like to rip off their false eyelashes with pliers and disembowel them with a nine-inch gold statuette’. No, 2 other Oscars.

Oscar de la Renta died yesterday, aged 82. He made frocks. George Clooney wore one of them the other week. Jackie Kennedy wore them in the 60s when husbands were dying all around her. Oscar seemed like a sweet man, born in the Dominican Republic, blah, blah, obituary, blah… Yet no mention of ‘he left a wife/lover/’partner’/3 dogs and a newt/whatever’. And that’s strange. He has step-children, one of whom runs his business. He has charities because he did seem like a lovely man. But I need to know if he was gay. To keep up the fashion designer quota of 100%. He had 2 ex-wives, but we aren’t told if these were just window dressing for less liberal decades. We shall all miss him.

Oscar Pistorius went to prison. Not for very long though. 5 years. Though actually, in South Africa that equates, for white people, to 10 months. No, makes no sense to me either. Then he’ll be under ‘house arrest’ so he can host parties and clean his extensive gun collection. Though its doubtful any ‘intruders’ would be brave/stupid enough to bother him. Is it a fair sentence? We’ll never know what really happened that night. To most sane people it was simple murder. He got up, grabbed his gun, shot someone 4 times through the bathroom door, not noticing that the other half of the bed he vacated was missing the stunning blond who had been there at bed-time. Oooops. He has to live with it every day.

nuf Oscars.

UKIP are no longer content to have a team comprising racists, misogynists, paki-bashers and homophobes who believe the flooding last year was divine punishment for allowing gay marriage. Nigel Farage has formed a ‘bloc’ in the European Parliament with a Polish Euro-hater who said that beating wives makes them better people. Though in Poland this is what passes for ‘a joke’. And the party he represents in that land is headed by a holocaust-denying, racist shit-head. So in fact, a pretty good fit for UKIP. Nigel maintains that by having this ‘bloc’ he stands to win more time to speak, AND gets a million pounds extra Euro-cash for his party. Some party that will be. I don’t understand European Parliament.

40 goals scored last night in 8 European Champions League matches. The most significant 2 were the ones Man City allowed in an empty stadium in Moscow after being 2-nil up. Bayern Munich’s 7 against Roma were important because of the humiliation they caused for Ashley Cole, who had to be substituted on competence grounds. Cheryl must has been smirking at that one. Chelsea score 6, even without Diego Costa and tonight Liverpool host Real Madrid. Just think how much better that competition would be if Spurs were playing in it. Its their loss.

Happy wednesday

A xxxx

I was walking down the Strand yesterday morning when I heard music. Not just noise, but music. Chanting. Drums. It was a protest, I could see as I neared. Or a support group. I couldn’t tell. What was fantastic was that this merry little group of Rwandans were chanting along to drums in unison and it was very pleasing. You wanted to dance. Most of the Rwandans were, in fact, dancing. Some of the police were even shuffling their size 13s as well. Their banners seemed to declare love and support for their president. Who, I can only assume, must have been staying at the Savoy Hotel just opposite.

There’s a protest going on somewhere in London every day. Outside the High Courts there’s always groups with posters, sometimes chanting, but always in a dull and dreary manner. “WHAT DO WE WANT??” “MUNNNEEE!!!!” “WHEN DO WE WANT IT??” “NAAAAHHHHH!!!” (repeat ad nauseum). Maybe Rwandans are just inherently more rhythmic than nurses from Cleethorpes, Council Workers from Blackburn, librarians from Southwark, but this little demonstration was great. Put a smile on the face of the passers by and brightened our Monday mornings.

Unlike Ed Balls. Our Shadow Chancellor of the Exchequer. Or, ‘NOB’ for short. Maybe ‘TOSSER’; I’m a bit dyslexic when it comes to acronyms. He wrote a column in the Evening Standard last night about the proposed ‘mansion tax’, should Labour (heaven forbid) win the next election. Assuming they have a majority and always dependent on whether their Scottish contingent will be allowed to vote on such a south of the border issue. Because there are no 3 million pound houses in Scotland. Only Balmoral. And there aren’t many outside the M25. Thus Unlikely Ed wrote in the London newspaper to ‘explain’ this most unholy of taxes to those who it actually affects. Most of whom have their butlers read the paper to them. And, trying and obviously failing to be clever, Balls tried to equate the mansion tax with the survival of the National Health Service. Implying that any resistance to this new tax can only be by the sort of bastards who would want extended waiting lists in hospitals and bleeding coal miners (do we have any coal miners any more? must check) to sit in corridors outside jammed full A & E units (do we have A&E unites any more? must check) contracting MRSA during their 84-hour wait to be stitched up.

Houses between 2 and 3 million will ‘just’ have to pay about 3,000 a year. Just. Above that and it gets really heavy, up to about 28,000 a year, so they reckon. Or about 50k a year has to be earned by a UK tax-payer just to pay the extra tax for living in a nice house. The lower rate, for homes between 2 & 3 mil, will raise, they estimate, 162 million a year in tax. What is known, in our age of ‘billions’ as ‘a piss in the ocean’. 0.16 billion quid. Massive though that seems to impoverished scum like you, to the government its actually of no value. The cost of paper clips for 7 weeks in Westminster.

The only redeeming feature is that if you assume that a massive proportion of very expensive homes are owned by people who don’t pay UK tax, this will be a way to at least recoup something. They avoid income tax here, they avoid stamp duty on buying their properties by purchasing through offshore companies and they rarely even occupy their homes. They just collect them.

Basically, I’m all in favour of taxing rich foreigners but leave hard-working Brits alone. Or what happens to aspiration?

Happy tuesday

A xxxx

I went over to Slightly Dangerous Alan’s house on saturday to check out his new toys. His new hobby. Having grown bored of Counter Cross Stitch and flan-baking, he moved on to Weapons of Mass Destruction and Implements of Death. Nice. As a car dealer he obviously upsets a lot of people. There again, if he was a priest he’d upset a lot of people; its what he does best. So needs protection. And never one to stop short of any kind of excess, this is the result. The really scary thing is that its all legal and available at a ‘good’ sports shop near you. Sadly, no psychological evaluation is required preceding the sale. Otherwise the picture would have been one of me holding a nice cup of tea.

And what’s with all the penalties? Every match seems to be decided on penalties these days, like World Cup quarter-finals. There were 4 penalties awarded at the tragic match on Saturday between Spurs and Man City, 3 of them against Spurs. And in yesterday’s game between Swansea and Stoke there were two more. Screams of ‘unfair’ and ‘cheating’ and ‘diving’ and ‘horrendous refereeing’ ring round the post-match interviews as well as everyone’s favourite: ‘refereeing inconsistency’.

We need the same rules for everyone, said Mark Hughes. Everyone named Ryan Shawcross should be exempt from penalty decisions because the refs are biased against him. Is that, I wonder, because of his reputation, or because he is a bear-hugging thug who hurls people to the floor in temper at every corner kick? Victor Moses dived!!! screamed the Swansea coach. He cheated, dived, won a penalty, the ref should be shot. Blah, blah, blah.

Players cheat. Or perhaps that’s rather indelicate. Maybe ‘attempt to gain an advantage in a not totally honest manner’. Cheating. Diving. Going to ground if any contact is made with the far reaches of their bootlaces. A caress on the shoulder results in any striker plummeting to ground like a dead hippo. Other players kick out, trip up, haul to the ground, headbutt. What is the ref supposed to do?

So the only ‘consistency’ that remains is this:

If its their players doing it (fouling, kicking, diving, ‘simulating’) then they are fucking cheating, scummy, thuggish, diving BASTARDS. If its our players they are the victims of some kind of abuse or tarnished reputation and were innocent of all crimes so the referee made a mistake which cost us the game/goal/league/parking fine.

I hope that’s cleared matters up.

Happy monday

A xxxx