Andy's Glasses

What: you can’t read Russian? Or is it Ukrainian?? Is there a difference? Anyway, let me help you with the translation. What this little leaflet says is:

“Dear citizens of the lovely city of Donetsk; we hope you’re having a nice day and supporting the Russian cause by shooting any pro-Ukranians you can find and joining the cause to revert to the motherland, where glory, love and Putin will be our just rewards.
Meanwhile, any members of ‘the Jewish Nation’ need to register all their assets and property with the pro-Russian governors immediately, for a fee of just $50 (and please don’t try to negotiate, haggle of ask for a discount for cash). Failure to do will result in you being deported to… er… well, deported anyway, let’s leave it at that.”

No word of a lie. Except the ones I made up. The Russians are demanding that ‘members of the Jewish Nation’ have to ‘register’ with the authorities. And you simply have to ask yourself why? Not just the paranoid among us, not just those who have read holocaust tales all their lives and know that you have to know your victims before you can persecute, isolate and whatever to them, but any right-minded person has to ask the question Why????

Never mind that the jews aren’t a ‘nation’. They are a people. There is a Jewish Nation; its called Israel but probably isn’t even recognised by the anti-semites of Donetsk. Jewishness is a religion, a culture, a lot of great food, but a nation? No. That its not.

But the Jews of Donetsk are having to do this on threat of this ‘deportation’ even though they are Ukrainian citizens, as they will have been for generations, and they are fully integrated into the full richness of Ukraine life. Whatever the fuck that might be.
There are about 15,000 jews in a population of about one million in the city, 1.5 million if you count all the inbred farmer types and agricultural, knuckle-dragging peasants from the whole region.

So why this sudden need for registration? The only reason is to identify this group so that ‘something’ can be done to them/ with them/ about them. And registering their possessions and assets is only so it can be stolen, ‘removed’, ‘repossessed’ or ‘borrowed’. Just like the nazis did. So what next; yellow stars to be worn? Forced removal to ghettos? ‘Confiscation’ of all property?? Crystalnacht all over again???

I don’t know why Eastern Europe is so terribly anti-semitic. But it is. Jews just want to work hard, enjoy family life, eat fatty foods and pray now and again. They don’t evangelise, they don’t eat babies, they don’t riot (only in my house) and they are generally peaceful, law-abiding folk. Yet time and again they are persecuted, robbed, evicted and murdered.

So yes, as they say, ‘just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re NOT out to get you’.

This leaflet, whether you can read it or not, is pure fucking evil.

Not again.

Happy Good Friday; may your eggs be chocolate, your prayers answered and your Russians rot in hell.

A xxxx

Was chatting to an old (very old) school mate the other day. He’d been at the Emirates to watch his beloved West Ham (I said he was old, never said he was clever) lose to the Arse. And he was complaining. Ok, all football fans complain, all the frikkin time, its what we do. That’s the purpose of football; to balance out lives that otherwise would be too perfect, too dreamy, too filled with joy and happiness and North Korean haircuts. Football grounds us. Ok, it depresses us. And West Ham fans have been so depressed of late that they’ve been booing their manager ever when they’ve won matches. Which is somewhat unusual, even for football. Almost nonsensical. And yet…

West Ham have a ‘history’, like Spurs have a ‘history’. Sadly for both, that’s always where the best stuff happened; historically. History is also subject to revision, to editing out the bad bits, to the rose-tinted selective memory syndrome that sends us longing for those sepia-coloured ‘glory days’ of old.

And West Ham have a ‘history’ of being a team that play exciting, attacking, fast-paced, lovely football. Though you need a long memory to recall those days. Certainly a memory that stretches past the Big Sam era. Because West Ham no longer play ‘nice’ football. They’re no longer nice to watch. Certainly not very exciting. Liverpool are exciting, Manchester City can be exciting, West Ham are more… agricultural. Less Ferrari, more Garbage Lorry. More Allardycian.

Spurs similarly have an ‘ideal’ an image of how a Spurs team should be. And, like West Ham’s, its based on history, certainly not on current state of play. And it goes back to the 60s (when everything good for Spurs began and sadly ended), and then the wonderful 70s, when Glen Hoddle and Ossie Ardiles ruled the park and played such football that the angels would come stand on the Shelf with me and me mate Stan. And then our Champions League season, just 3 years ago, with Bale and Modric and Lennon flying and Van der Vaart…

Ahhhh. Its not about winning. Its about playing in a certain way. Its about style, class and excitement. Something absent from both Spurs and West Ham of late.

Last night I watched some of the Copa del Rey final. They play that in Spain. For some reason. Spurs aren’t allowed in it. And there, upon that very stage were Gareth Bale and Luca Modric, still wearing a lillywhite strip, but this time the one belonging to Real Madrid. And they were wonderful. Still wonderful. Bale scored the winning goal. And what a goal. Safe to say, only he could have scored it. Ran half the pitch, outpaced fouling, hacking defenders and kept sufficiently cool to slot the ball home.

Gareth has scored 20 goals in 39 games for Real. I know, Spanish football is like Scottish football, pretty much just shite with a few teams scoring all the goals and always winning the glory. But still. Playing Barcelona is never easy, though with Messi in (relatively) indifferent form of late, Barca are suffering. What’s the point of having 70% of the possession if you don’t score goals?

I miss Gareth. I miss his goals. We miss his goals. But what I really miss is that 20,000 volt charge that you get when he gets the ball. Lots are players are brilliant and skilful. Very few are just wow! Worth 85 million of anyone’s money.

Happy Thursday

A xxxx

A group of men wearing white robes and hoods, trawling the streets after dark holding flaming torches. If this was in Tennessee this would be completely normal behaviour; the only questions would be ‘where your cross??’ and ‘who we gonna hang tonight?’
But its not in the Deep South, well not of America. This is in Spain and is the Catholic Brotherhood’s way of celebrating (celebating, perhaps?) the Holy Week prior to Easter. So, if Jesus does choose to make his Second Coming, he’ll find himself face to face with a bunch of KKK impersonators. This practice dates back to the 14th century (or thereabouts; long time ago anyway), but I reckon they only adopted this choice of fashionware after seeing Mississippi Burning. I could be wrong.

Meanwhile, in other parts of Europe, Nigel Farage, head of UKIP, the thinking man’s nazi party, sorry, the Drinking Man’s nazi party, and make mine a pint please, is accused of being a bit naughty. A touch ‘creative’ with his accounting. The irony of being the most anti-European in the European Union has proved too much for Nigel and he’s managed to claim his maximum £15,500 a year from Brussels in ‘expenses’ but can only account for about £3000 within the rightful use of it. When anyone questions him about the money he just shouts at them. In German. Ok, maybe in English. But it does seem a touch hypocritical for Nigel to gain from an organisation he desperately wants to pull Britain out of. Its a bit ‘feeding from the hand you really want to bite’.
There are also new allegations about another mistress for Mnsr Farage, a foreigner, no less. Presumably for Nigel this is a more acceptable type of European Union.

Always nice when Britain comes top in something. We don’t win the football, we struggle with being the richest nation, the cleanest, we’re condemned for our foul air quality, we don’t do well in education, struggle with health, but now we’ve topped a chart. We are the most sexist nation on the planet. According to some daft bitch from South Africa, a professor, no less, who has been here and studied us for 3 weeks. Wow, that’s comprehensive then. Apparently we have a ‘boys club’ mentality. Well she’s not joining mine. Has this woman never heard of Saudi Arabia? I despair. But still, always nice to top the charts.

And to Kim Jong Un. The funniest man alive (who has control of atomic weaponry, which dims the humour a little).
A barber in London put a picture of the tubby little North Korean leader in his window with a message saying ‘bad hair day?? get 15% off your haircut in April…’) And the North Koreans went round there and demanded he remove the item as ‘disrespectful to their leader’, issued veiled threats and reported the barber to the police. Who don’t give a shit because its not a crime to make jokes of leaders here, in fact it what we probably do best, other than sexism.

But how dare these North Koreans hassle hard-working Londoners? How dare they make threats here just because they come from a land where humour, along with decent haircuts, is banned? In fact, why do we even allow them to have an Embassy here? They’re horrible, nasty, evil, war-mongering people and should all be sent home, rather than try to ban one of the essential freedoms that this nation enjoys: freedom to take the piss out of dickheads. Its written in our contstitution (if we had one) along with the sexism and jaywalking. Its what makes our nation proud.

Happy Wednesday,

A xxxx

BBC4 to the rescue again last night. What a fabulous tv channel that is. They have a back catalogue of 284 million of the best documentaries the world’s ever known and they just rotate them. And loads are about music.

We had ten round for dinner last night. To tell the story of the passover. As ya do. And we told it. The correct way. By eating lots of symbolic and traditional foods (matzos, bitter herbs, blood of Christian babies, teriyaki lettuce…) and then we ate a proper meal and we adhered to the universal Jewish rule of ‘keep eating until you feel sick/ready to burst, then eat loads more’. So afterwards, once the table was cleared and the guests all gone, you can’t just go to bed. You need to sit, relax, have a cup of tea (me), drink half a bottle of vodka (Mel), enjoy a full bottle of gin (Rachie) and digest. And watch tv. Its essential.

And once again, 690 channels of total rubbish, and golf (same difference); and BBC4.

American Rock Legendary Tracks. With the usual talking heads describing how the songs came about, what they meant, how they have to give you goosebumps to really achieve legendary status, and, 30 years on, how stupid old men look with unnaturally black hair wearing sunglasses in a darkened room. Like Gene Simmons, although Kiss didn’t actually make a ‘legendary’ tune. And Gene wasn’t on it because, like all good Jews, he too was relating the tale of the exodus from Egypt whilst eating chicken. Though the programme was probably made a decade ago.

Rock music started with the Kinks. I’d never really thought of that, but that’s what it is. Which I love because not only are they English but they are London through and through. Muswell Hill, to be precise.

The first ‘legend’ was Born to be Wild. Ok, fantastic track, great driving music, headbanging essential, but for me at least, no goosebumps. Similarly Alice Cooper’s School’s Out. Brilliant anthem for every schoolkid in the world, where they can pretend to be fuck-you rebels whilst still achieving straight As.

Meatloaf. Yeah, ok, ish. But then the glam boys came, in the late 70s, early 80s. And there we find some serious goose bumpage.
I wanna know what love is. Fantastic track. Made with a full choir singing its collective heart out. But is it ‘rock’ or just ‘power ballad’???? Ooooh, that’s tricky, as if anyone cares at that point.

Don’t stop believing. Simply brilliant. Always was. Even featuring on ‘Glee’ couldn’t kill that one off. Survivor’s Eye of the Tiger, from Rocky. Powerful, driving, METTTTTTALLLLL.

The problem is that I’ve always struggled with Journey, Foreigner, Toto, Survivor, because they all look and sound exactly the same. In fact they were just one band, one haircut (or not cut), one sound. But heh, it worked. For (all of) them. And for me too.

Living on a Prayer. Can you be a ‘serious rocker’ when you’re as pretty as Jon Bon Jovi??? A question philosophers will ponder for all eternity.

And my own absolute fave of that genre, coming a little later, but mind-blowingly brilliant; Smells Like Teen Spirit. The ulitmate rock song. Mel and I were shaking heads on the sofa so violently I can’t move my neck this morning. Well, metaphorically.

Happy heavy Tuesday

A xxxx

So often as we watch our beloved game, its the big matches that disappoint. They’re either dull and slow and overly-cautious, or one team swamps the other and its 5-0. Which can be amusing, depending who’s on the losing end, but its not ‘a great match’, just a lot of goals.

Yesterday’s game between Liverpool and Manchester City was a great game. A great match. It had almost everything. It had first half dominance by Liverpool, it had an amazing second half by City and it had a deciding goal of spectacular quality. It also had one of the 3 errors that the normally immaculate Vincent Kompany makes during an entire season. But he’s not fully fit so arguably may have been better off not playing, dispite his always massive influence on any game. A captain’s influence. As Stevie Gerrard has for Liverpool. For both teams ‘the captain’ is a role almost beyond the player. Its a 12 man (relegating ‘the crowd’ to ‘the 13th man’ then) as both of these guys are brilliant footballers and exemplary captains. 2 in one.

At Spurs we generally give the armband to the player who’s grandmother has a birthday that week. Nice. But loses a vital ingredient. When Arsenal had Tony Adams they won things. Chelsea have John Terry, who, apart from being a vile, scummy, pikey, nasty racist, is in fact a fantastic captain of his team. Even I have to concede that. Reluctantly.

The other factor in yesterday’s big match that elevated it to a ‘thing of greatness’ was the referee. Mark Clattenberg had seemingly made a decision not to award a penalty, and to try and avoid sending anyone off, within reason. Because both of those events detract from the event, and red cards ruin big matches, full stop. Of course there was one slam-dunk penalty that was missed, when Martin Skrtel handled the ball intentionally but no-one saw it (only 47 tv cameras) so who cares?

The second half did at one point degenerate into a diving competition with players leaping around like Nureyevs in the box looking with that pathetic plaintiveness at the ref, who just ignored them. One of Suarez’ many dives at that time really should have been a booking. But as the Uruguayan was already booked ealier, that would have meant sending him off, so Clattenberg just cautioned him.

Unlike in Chelsea’s game when the blue vermin ganged up on their ref, in that horrible way they have, that the FA simply must act to stop, and had a Swansea defender sent off. Horrible.

At the very end of the game at Anfield, Jordan Henderson was sent off, but it was too late to have any effect on the game and no-one can complain about it, even though there was no intention of malice. Just a horrible and careless tackle.

So now Liverpool are really top of the table and its ‘theirs to lose’. Which is so often what teams do. Lose it. Its all a mental game from now on. In fact, its all mental.

Great game

Happy monday

A xxxx

The first senior minister from the Church of England has entered into a gay marriage. I’m going to assume he’s gay then. No lesser mortal than the Archbishop of Canterbury has stated that this is in breach of some terms and conditions somewhere, either in the contract of employment or in Leviticus 57, whatever. And so he may get sacked.

But surely, sacking someone for (basically) being homosexual is illegal on grounds of discrimination? Or does the church get exemption from the normal rules of employment because of ‘God’s will’?. Or is that ‘God’s willy’? Either way its tricky ground. Though the church is now worried that this will open up the floodgates of priests entering gay marriage which goes against that institution’s fundamental assertion that marriage should only be between a man and a woman. How fucking 18th century is that? How terribly Oscar Wildean.

The Archbish is also most concerned (and I’m going to quote this because its so fucking ridiculous you’d otherwise think I’d made it up) that: “it could be catastrophic for Christians in Africa, hundreds of whom had been killed by people who associated Christianity with homosexuality”.

Firstly, it would not appear such a far-fetched idea to associate Christianity with homosexuality, with the floodgates of gay priests all mincing round eager to follow this lead, and secondly, who are these African gay-bashers? I’ve never seen an ‘ALL CHRISTIANS ARE POOFTAHS’ bumper sticker? Even in Africa. Only on our vicar’s car.

Tomorrow the festival of passover returns once more for its yearly appearance. The time when Jews (none of whom are gay, or in gay marriages, or anything even remotely that stylish) celebrate the murder of African Christians by eating cardboard for a week instead of bread.

Passover is also a time to remember when Wigan were passed over by Arsenal, the team that couldn’t beat them in 120 minutes of open play football, so resorted to a penalty shoot-out instead to eventually get the job done. They must be feeling very proud.

And just before that pride, Everton bumped the Goons down to 5th place. The ‘tragic’ league position, formerly owned for the best part of a decade by Spurs. Everton are riding high, thus got a very lucky break at Sunderland. For whom luck appears to have run out completely and only miracles, and maybe gay priests, can save them now.

Spurs are always proud. Proud to have gifted West Brom with three (more) defensive howlers to give them a head start. Proud that we’re a shambolic and useless Frankensteinian team, stitched together with parts that don’t fit together, bolted onto the pitch by a manager who doesn’t believe in tactics, organisation or planning. Tim just thinks: let the defenders defend, let the strikers strike and let the midfielders… errrr… midfield. Tosser.

Liverpool against Man City starting soon. The season decider. Well, one of possibly 9 season deciders. But big nonetheless. Very exciting.

Happy Sunday

A xxxx

My old life ‘luxury’ was always to read the papers in bed on a Saturday morning with a ‘nice cuppa tea’. Then I discovered Tai Chi, or perhaps it discovered me??? (its Chinese, therefore inscrutible, therefore its good to accentuate the mystical) and Saturday morning class is at 8.15 and if you’re late you get a scissors kick to the testicles. Ok, maybe not but you just don’t do ‘late’ for Tai Chi. It’d be like turning up late to see the Queen. Though she’s far less dangerous.

Unfortunately though, on Thursdsay night, my always delicate right shoulder suffered a degree of fuckage in a roll on the mats. Don’t know what happened; didn’t in fact know anything had happened until Friday morning. Such is life in ‘middle age’ (I hate that term almost as much as I hate the term ‘champions league qualification’). So no Tai Chi this morning. My life is empty. My karma well and truly sutra-ed, my yin out of line with my yang, my feng decidedly unshui. But I’ll survive, so spare your (totally fucking insincere) sympathy and bunches of flowers. But not the chocolates. Never spare the chocolates.

So this morning I got to read the papers in bed. And I’ll play some gentle tennis because: a. I think the gentle (phah) swinging might actually be of benenfit to my shoulder; b. its a lovely morning: c. I’m stupid.

The headline read: Lib Dems are pointless.

How is that news? Are they so short of interesting events that the publishers of our daily rags are forced to state universal truisms?

‘The world is round!!!’
Gravity always works downwards!!!
Jennifer Lawrence is divine!!!!
Adolph Hitler was naughty!!!!
The sun’s hot!!!!
Chelsea fans are evil!!!!

You simply don’t need reminding about stuff you already know. That’s not what ‘news’, by any definition, is. Poor Peaches, that’s news. William and Kate racing yachts in New Zealand, though not very interesting, is news. Football is always news.

Virtually every day I have cause to comment, ponder, utter or just think: ‘the Lib Dems are pointless’ but no-one puts it on the front page of the Times. Yet Jeremy Browne, possibly because he is a Lib Dem politician and (I think it safe to say ‘former’-) friend of Nick Clegg, says it and WOOOAAAAAHHHHH, THAT’S NEWS.

Though Mr Browne does have one more interesting insight. That every politician or party should ask the question: if you didn’t exist, why would it be necessary to invent you?’

And the answer is because politics takes itself so damned seriously, its only by the existence of Nick Clegg and the Lib Dems that we can fully appreciate what a total waste of time and space the entire ‘government thing’ really is. Shakespeare realised that there must always be ‘a fool’. And who better than old Cleggers to set the example that other fools can barely aspire to?

Enough talk, its time to go and ruin my shoulder completely

Happy orthopaedic Saturday

A xxxx

The reason football fans survive the almost endless heartache (Spurs fans), anxiety (all fans), depression (Arsenal fans), humiliation (Manchester United fans) and hatred (Chelsea fans) is because of hope. That single, solitary glimmer of what might be; of what could be; of what one day may come to fruition.

That one day you might get to the Champions League. Again. That you might win the league. That you might win any kind of silverware that doesn’t come in canteens of 12 place settings from Argos.

Yet for most teams, the mass in the middle and lower end of Europe’s finest tables, aspirations are more humble. Survival. A league cup. Entry into the Europa League. The LD Vans Trophy. Relagation avoidance.

But fuck ’em. We’re not interested in those sorry bastards. We don’t care if Swansea go down and Stoke stay up, if West Brom survive 2 seasons or 4 before dropping back down, if Aston Villa finish 6th or 16th. They’re just there to make up numbers and prepare us for the main events. The glamour games, the big stuff. The Winners.

Man City play Liverpool this weekend and that is truly massive. If the Scousers win that’s the only way Man City won’t win the league. They still can but Chelsea and Liverpool will have a chance. Spurs can still win the title, but only if everyone else dies and has all their points taken away in a match-fixing scandal. (the dream scenario)

Sunderland are almost done. If Spurs can beat them 5-1 they must be compete rubbish. Everton visit them at the Stadium of Getting-Very-Dark-Now on Saturday and that too is a massive game. Because a victory for Martinez’ boys will put them above Arsenal, in 4th place. Champions League place. And if you end up 5th, as we know to our great and continued cost, you get double punishment. Not only you miss out on Europe’s top table but you get stuck in the Europa which distracts massively from next year’s quest for 4th place. As well we know. Though Spurs’ malaise is way deeper than just the pressure of Thursday night football.

With Barcelona crashing out of to Athletico Madrid on Wednesday questions are now being asked about the future for Europe’s reigning monarchs. Barca are ‘getting old’ and without some serious(ly talented) new blood to replace the Puyols and Xavis and Iniesta (who’s always looked about 55, even when he was 19) Bayern Munich have almost toppled the Catalan’s throne.

No mention in all this of West Ham. Who cares?

So we’re at the final fence. The last chapter. The 18th hole.

Some of us are still hoping. We just don’t know what we’re hoping for.

Happy friday

A xxxx

I love a cabinet reshuffle. Out with the old ministerial garbage, the dead wood, the named and shamed, the worthless, the pointless, the useless and those fallen from grace, either in terms of popularity or morality. Or, in the case of Maria Miller, both.

She had to go. Not because ‘her position became untenable’ after the investigation into her expenses, nor because during those enquiries she treated the hearing with contempt and inflammatory rudeness and pretty much refused to answer questions in any direct or meaningful way. Nor that her continuing presence was causing a scandal that could cost votes. No. She had to go because all week she has enjoyed ‘the complete and total support’ and confidence of the Prime Minister’s office. Which is always the kiss of death.

So we need a new minister for Culture, embracing the arts, the BBC, the press and major sporting events, like darts from Sheffield and the national Tai Chi championships from Solihull. And Maria was also the minister for Women. So we best get a new one of them too, otherwise 50% of the bleeding population will be moaning and nagging on about not being adequately represented. Again. And that role is, strictly, ‘women and equality’.

Thus David Cameron, who is famously challenged in relationships with women, ‘on a professional level’, who struggles to accommodate them into his government, and, ever since his fagging days at Eton, has felt much more comfortable in the presence of (preferably bare-chested, but you can’t have it all) rather effete, camp and posh men, he has appointed a new minster for women. A woman. Good choice, Dave. But a woman, one Nicky Morgan, who is opposed to gay marriage and is strongly anti-abortion. So perhaps we should split that role. A minister for straight, married, middle-class, normal women. And then appoint another for the rest. The rabble. Or, 70% of the female population, as they might be known.

Yet this new crusader for the rights of (some) women, this post-feminist pioneer has to report to her overlord; the Minister for Culture. New kid on the block, Sajid Javid, Minister for Culture. The only man in the world who actually approves of ticket touts. Or ‘ticket re-sellers’ as he calls them, for following their entrepreneurial dreams and filling a gap in the market. Not just exploitative bastards who fleece honest fans by corruptly buying up vast blocks of tickets that the fans should have been able to buy themselves without the 5000% mark-up. No, they’re ‘entre-pree-neuuuurs’, ain’ they.

I’m gonna assume that Nicky Morgan is a devout Christian. Because regular people don’t hold strong views against gay marriage nor oppose abortion, preferring to give women that choice. And I’m not suggesting in any way that Mr Javid is a devout or even observant Muslim, but the culture of that particular religion is not really conducive to ‘women’s rights’ in any way that actually gives them any, kind of, rights.

And that, Ladies, is your new ‘dream team’ to fight your corner. Might as well have the cabinet meetings in Spearmint Rhino.

Interesting that in all these expense claim cases, not one MP has under-claimed and been awarded MORE money.

Manchester United are out of the Champions League, David Moyes surely soon to be out of a job, and much more sadly, Barcelona’s aspirations in that cup also ended last night at the hands, and feet, of ‘the other’ Madrid, Athletico. The new wonderteam to come along and dare challenge the supremacy of Real Madrid and Barcelona for Spanish bragging rights.

Happy thursday,

A xxxx

I love a bit of art, a nice pik-cher, a paintin’, maybe a skulp-cha, just love it.

Yet I managed to avoid all of Vienna’s almost countless galleries until our 11th ‘hour’, immediately prior to take-off, before giving in and actually entering an art museum. The one in the picture. Aptly named: The Museum for Modern Kun- well, whatever, you can speak German as well as I can (I sincerely hope). All the museums are wonderful buildings, in fact spectacular. But going inside?

This Museum of Modern Art, momak, had and exhibition of modernism. Ahhhh, modernism. Great. So we paid our Euros and in we went, into that building that was so splendid it was made of volcanic lava and looked like a massive, black shoe-box.

Modernism started in the late 1800s and there was Picasso and Maigritte and numerous other luminaries of the art world, some impressionists, some cubists, a few surrealists, dadaists and all was well and dandy. Until Modernism decided that it was ‘modern’ in repsonse to the changes in the world, led by Darwin and Freud, and thus became a philosophy rather than a mere art-form, and this opened up the doors to all kinds of ‘installations’, concepts, and general ‘stuff’ that was so revolutionary, so different, so ‘fucking out-there’ that it would not immediately be considered, by the moronic masses, as ‘art’.

Piles of metal, a couple of mirrors, some cardboard boxes, three tv screens showing disconnected images over and over again. This all became ‘modernist art’ and is really good. No, it is, really good art. Apparently.

Call me a philistine if you will, but an entire wall covered in pages with random numbers printed on them is not something you would want to look at in a museum. In an accountant’s office maybe, but not an art gallery.

Yet the exhibition made it much easier to leave Vienna and fly home. Arriving back at Heathrow just in time to hear the last 15 minutes of the Chelsea game on the radio coming home. European Cup quarter-final. And Chelsea did what was required. Paris St Germain are gone, Spurs never started, Viennese play football but in powdered wigs and long red coats whilst holding violins, and Chelsea are through. The Morinho effect.

Art is life. And life is football. It all comes around. Which was why my main thoughts whilst wondering round the momak were of Spurs beating Sunderland 5-1, Arsenal losing 3-0 at Everton and how different things have different meanings to different people.

Have a very post-modernist Wednesday

A xxxx