Andy's Glasses

For a nation fairly obsessed with weather, we don’t do it very well. Any slight change in norms or expectations seems to cause havoc, chaos and disruptions to the entire country. The trains stop, the roads break, the valleys flood, the snow is the wrong kind, everything seems to have a rather profound effect.
I’ve never been to South West England. Ok, one weekend in Devon, years ago, but never quite made it to Cornwall and Somerset, two of our most beautiful and beachy counties. Because every time we think to embark upon the ‘long drive’ it seems easier just to jump on a plane and go to Spain/France/Italy/Thailand where the weather is guaranteed so you don’t have to wonder how to spend two weeks indoors at Faulty Towers watching the August rain pound the windows.
And now its gone. South West England has been drowned. Submerged under a sea of floodwater the likes of which haven’t been seen since Noah played for Bethlehem City FC. So I’ll never now get the chance to sit in the 17 hour traffic jams that represent the only realistic way of getting to that part of the world in summertime, to enjoy the ‘English Riviera’. I’ve blown the opportunity. Like Sodom and Gomorrah, I’ll never get a chance to visit. Unless David Cameron gets his finger out, puts his wellies on and goes down there with a big bucket to start dredging the 792,000 acres of flooded plains with the accompaniment of his fellow band of useless political associates.

Its a national treasure down there. And now its gone. Like Jimmy Savile.

Why would Swansea City go and sack Michael Laudrup? He’s a lovely man. A Great Dane. Intelligent. Handsome. Classy. He got them into europe last year (for those lowly enough to consider the Europa League as ‘europe’), kept them in mid-table security, had them playing beautiful football and was the nicest guy in the world who everyone in Swansea thought walked on water.

Now they’ve sacked him.

Because they lost a few matches.

And its all because of expectations. Realistic or not. That’s why managers get the boot. Because the team aren’t ‘where they should be’. But who decides ‘where they should be’? Its typical of most newly promoted teams to do pretty well in their first season (except Watford, of course) but then struggle in the second. By which time, the mediocre success enjoyed early on has caused a mass-spending spree necessary for that ‘push towards the champions league’. Ok. Right. Then panic sets in as league position looks rather tenuous (currently 12th but only 2 points above the relegation zone) and reality deeply digs in to the delusions of grandeur, severing them almost totally.

So sack the manager. We’ll get another one. A better one. A proper Welshman? A proven German?? An unintelligible Spaniard??

As a devotee to a ‘sacking team’ where managers generally last 4 months if they’re good, less if they’re not, I’m saddened that Swansea should adopt this model. Particularly when they had such a prize. Who do they want? Allardyce??

Happy thursday

A xxxx

When is London not the absolute and total best city the world has ever known?

When there’s a tube strike, of course.

So today, and tomorrow, and probably some kind of knock-on to Friday, the tube workers are on strike. Led by the ever moderate, very photogenic, awfully pleasant, Bob Crowe. The leader of their union. A man with all the charm of a hob-nailed boot. As it kicks you in the teeth. Every Daily Mail reader’s favourite. Every traveller’s nemesis. The man who earns £142,000 a year but lives in a council house out east. The man who, like some modern day Nero, arranged the strike from a beach in Rio de Janeiro. I don’t think Bob plays the fiddle. Probably plays darts.

And yet… and yet… and yet…

Bob has a job to do. Which would appear to be to keep the transport system in this country exactly as it was in 1924. All change is rejected, derided, scorned and refused, on pain of striking unions. So when they took ‘guards’ off of trains, there was uproar. The fact that trains, back in the 70s, no longer needed a man to push a button to open the doors cos the driver could do it, was irrelevant. We’ve always had guards and therefore we WILL always have guards. But we don’t. The unions then did their ‘thing’ but slowly, awkwardly and obviously with lots of redundancies that no-one ever wants, guards are no more.

So now its about ticket office staff. Who also seem a touch superfluous to requirements now everyone uses Oyster cars, or touchless bank cards and I haven’t bought a ‘ticket’ in 10 years.

I hate the thought of 950 people losing their jobs. Which is where Bob comes in. “Nearly a farsand peoples is gonna be art’a work, ain’ day?” He even speaks in ‘1924’. But his point, as is his point with every single change proposed by London Underground management, is ‘saaaafety’. It ain’ safe. Whatever improvements are suggested in terms of line running or job changes is ‘unsafe’. Because that way Bob seems caring. “All I’s cares abaaart is da saaaafety of tube travellers”. And as ‘progress’ is usually something to do with job cuts, the two sides start, continue and end from positions diametrically opposed to each other. And Bob’s ‘safety concerns’ can always be placated by extra money for his workers.

BUT DIS ISSS NOT ABAAART MUNNEEEE!!!!

And again, Mr Crowe has a point; he just doesn’t make it in a very nice way. But he didn’t get where he is today by being nice.

If they remove office staff and we have unmanned stations I would not let my wife/daughters/loved ones/Spurs fans travel by tube at night. Too dangerous. Only Tai Chi masters like me would be safe from the muggers, rapists, drunk and scallywags.

But London changes during strike days. It mobilises in a different way. Everyone goes where they can and then walks. So the streets are really really crowded. With walkers, hoofing it along the thoroughfares to their destinations with looks of determination, of fighting spirit, of battle on their tube-free faces. The atmosphere’s great. Its like the Blitz all over again but without the Germans. And bombs. The Queen Mother (may Her sould rest in peace) would be proud.

Because we’re heroes, one and all. For making it to work.

Where’s me medal?

Happy Strike Day

A xxxx

At the end of the match last night, as the Manchester City players sulked disconsolately round the Etihad offering cursory, miserable handshakes to the Chelsea players and each other, their rivals were bounding around in glee. Chelsea had won. Against all odds. They had defeated the previously invincible, they had felled the mighty, they had in fact shut down completely the most prolific goal-scoring machine in the entire history (!!!!!) of the Premiership. Ok, that’s only 22 years but still no mean feat. Thus the Chelsea players were ebullient. They were joyful, jubilant, celebratory, over-the-moon, flying on air, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera…

Yet in all this joy, one Chelsea face stood out. The scorer of the only goal of the match, no less. And what a goal it was. For only he, Branislav Ivanovic, among a sea of ecstatic team-mates, looked like he was just about to board a ship to a Siberian Gulag at the insistence of a Cossack’s bayonet.

Yet the inherent misery of the East European psyche really should be put aside in the wake of what was an amazing game of football. Most of which I saw. Not all though. So I missed the opening 20 minutes. Or ‘the only bit where Man City looked good’ as it will come to be known. But I had to watch what I could of ‘the battle of the bank balances’.

These two teams represent ‘the change’ in football. That’s putting it very nicely. Others might say they represent ‘everything that is bad, awful, dire, immoral and vile about football’. Both teams have been ‘bought’ at massive expense by owners with bottomless pockets who simply buy up every available player and plenty who wouldn’t be available but can be extricated from clubs/contracts by the application of masses of cash. Ending up with a situation where the wage bill alone at Manchester City exceeds their annual turnover. Chelsea’s financial situation is a little better, but only because they’ve had 5 more years under Abramovich than City have had under the Emirate Sheiks to come up with any number of ‘vehicles’ in which the Dodgy Russian has basically been ‘buying’ the club’s debt in various devious and dastardly ways.

Hence Jose Morinho accusing Manchester City of failing in the criteria of the ‘financial fair play’ rules. Rules so complicated, convoluted and intricate that Deloitte’s can’t understand them, nor the highest courts in the land. Only Michel Platini knows the secrets those rules (allegedly) contain. And he’s not telling.

So football is ruled by teams who have unlimited financial resources. These two, Real Madrid, the Italian giants, Paris St Germain. And here’s a sentence that will never be uttered in any other context: only the Germans do it properly.

However, on the upside, we get players over here that are brilliant. Eden Hazard last night was described as Messiesque by the pundits. And the little fucker was just that. And he was just one of a dozen fantastic talents on show in the game.

The result also makes the league battle way more interesting that it would have been if City had won. Its now a 3-horse race. Spurs are a bit below, in more of a 3-legged race. Can frugal Arsenal keep up with the might and wealth that currently keeps knocking on their door? Its like the paper shop on the corner trying to keep out Tescos. Only time will tell.

Happy tuesday

A xxxx

Yep, and I have been. Give a daughter a set of beard trimmers and a head and she’ll have it shawn within 10 minutes. So why spend 85 quid and three hours having some cross-dressing nancy-boy called ‘Tarquin’ prance around cutting one hair at a time and making a production number out of it when Rachie and the hedge-trimmers does the job during the half time break of the Arsenal/Palace game? Hence the ‘selfie’ (wearing my uber-cool, Spurs dressing gown).

The Coen Brothers are uber-cool. They probably have Spurs dressing gowns too. Even though they grew up in Minnesota and, despite their jewishness, wouldn’t know Tottenham Hotspur from a bowl of chicken soup. In fact on current form, I think the chicken soup might play better.

However, they do make films. Exceedingly good films. If you like your movies a little odd, a touch obscure, a sprinkle of ‘noir’, a hint of ‘wacky’ and a soupçon of bizarre.

Fargo is in my genuine top 10 of all time fave movies. Which unfortunately has at least 97 entries, but still, they make the cut. And The Big Lebowski and possibly No Country for Old Men and A Serious Man…

Barton Fink…

Blood Simple…

Anyway, I love a Coen Brothers movie. Which is why we went to see Inside Llewin Davis on Saturday. Because its by them and therefore is beyond any question as to whether it should be seen or not.

Coming out after the film, (in the literal sense, I’d like to add), the word I heard uttered numerous times by loads of strangers making their way into a cold night in East Finchley was ‘pointless’. Mel called it pointless. I though it was pointless. Thus, I feel, the general consensus is that it is totally pointless.

But perhaps that’s the whole point? To be, seemingly, pointless. It kind’a goes nowhere. It says nothing very much and it lacks ‘action’ in any normal sense. (Folk music and musicians by their very definition, don’t do ‘action’).

Although… the lead guy, Oscar Isaac, is brilliant. In a pointlessly brilliant way, of course. And the supporting cast, Justin Timberlake, Carey Mulligan, the always outstanding John Goodman, are all wonderful. It has some fantastically funny moments too and, as you’d expect, its filmed beautifully and looks stunning.

So its a bit like me: superficially gorgeous and says a lot but is essentially useless, pointless and worthless.

In short, I really liked it. I just can’t work out why. But heh, I don’t have to. Its art, its an aesthetic, I can like it if I fucking want to, and worry about being labelled ‘pretentious’ later.

It has to be seen, otherwise there’s just no point.

Philip Seymour Hoffman. What a waste.

Happy monday

A xxxx

…about Scarlett.

Yeah, she’s gorgeous to the point of near-impossibility, she’s divine, delightful, de-lovely and built like the collective fantasy collaboration from a million wet dreams. But that’s not why we’re here. No, not today.

Today we’re not drooling and lusting, that’s for tomorrow. Today its serious.

Our Scarlett (all men ‘own’ her; she’s said that’s ok) has been an ambassador for Oxfam for 8 years. And, as well as numerous other contracts with endorsing perfumes, clothing, shoes, blah, blah, red-carpet-blah, she is now the ‘face’ of soda-stream. Remember Soda-Stream? Do it yourself bubbles in a whole range of horrible, synthetic, plastic tasting mega-sweet drinks? I thought they died in 1973 when the last carbonated cartridge gave way to the reduction of the carbon footprint. But what do I know? And not only are they still going, they’re doing so well that they can afford a $4million advert during tonight’s Superbowl, with La Johansson sucking on a straw. I’ll just leave you with that image for a moment…

Ok. Wow.

Oxfam find this new role of Scarlett’s incompatible with their charity. Why? Do Soda-Stream manufacture arms? Produce suicide vests? Perform Female Genital Mutilation? No, Soda-Stream’s crime is that they’re Israeli. And Oxfam, if nothing else (and many, including me, would deeply question the ‘something elses’) are powerfully anti-Zionist. They claim that the Soda company, whose factory is built in a settlement in Palestine’s West Bank, is in breach of international law, just by being there.

I won’t go into the questions surrounding ‘land won in wars’, as every nation on the planet is allowed, rightly or wrongly, to keep land won. Except Israel. So never mind the Britishness of the Falklands, nor Gibralter, nor at one time half of the bleeding world, The West Bank, occupied by Israel in a war they didn’t start, in 1967, and partly given back, is some kind of ‘totally different status’.

Anyway, Soda-Stream employ hundreds of Palestinians in their factory, who work there happily, alongside Israelis, on equal pay terms and appreciate the prosperity. But because Oxfam are basically, a bunch of anti-semites, they’re ‘strongly opposed’ and boycott everything from the occupied territories.

The Mail on Sunday, which is no better than that shitty rag on any other day, has claimed ‘new insight’ into why Scarlett has abandoned Oxfam for Soda-Stream. Which they put down to money. Greed. Impoverished childhood. Money-grabbing (jew) bitch. Ok, not in so many words. But that’s the gist of their ‘suggestion’.

Which I find deeply insulting on Ms Johansson’s behalf. It trivialises what is an important message. That Scarlett stands by Israel and its efforts in Palestine. She really is not short of cash, to my knowledge. So to even imply such a thing is just typical of their right wing, reactionary attempts at defamatory speculation loosely disguised as ‘journalism’.

Never mind, Scarlett, we love you.
Oh boy, do we love you…

Happy sunday

A xxxx

Amanda Knox; innocent babe, framed and abused by those horrible Italians or murdering biy-utch finally gonna get what she deserves?

Its such an interesting case (zzzzzzz) that’s only gone on for about 17 years, although Amanda still looks as fresh as the day she slashed her best friend’s throat in a sex/violence frenzy that would shame co-ed Tai Chi. Allegedly. And to be honest, no-one is ever going to know what really happened, except me. And I’m not saying a word.

Knoxy has now been sentenced to 28 years for the murder, having previously been acquitted and released from prison in Florence. But she’s in Seattle and has no intention of moving anywhere. Not voluntarily anyway. Thus begins the horrible, dirty business of extradition.

Will the Americans yield to the Italians’ demands for one of their daughters so they can dress her in a very unflattering orange boiler suit and lock her away with a bunch of knife-wielding lesbians? Or will they refuse the process and risk a reciprocal knock-back next time they want a wayward Italian brought to America for crimes against the United States thereof??

Its a tricky one and I’m not sure what the answer is but ‘yellow’ seems as good an answer as any. Or ‘79.77’, as an alternative.

My rule of thumb in such legal quagmires is as follows:
if the person in question is fairly good looking and, even though you know she probably did do it, that somehow even adds to her unquestionable allure, then she’s innocent.
If its some rough old slapper killing/carrying a gut-full (literally) of cocaine/being very naughty, then lock her up, send her back, do what is required and may The Lord have mercy on her soul.

1- all at Hull. Not the worst result of the season but yet one more tragic fucking disappointment for Spurs fans who, quite frankly, have suffered enough this week.

West Ham won and Fulham lost. Shame on both counts. I like Fulham; they have a nice ground, lovely, gentle fans and they are a fragrant and worthy team. West Ham simply aren’t anything that isn’t horrible and nasty. But such is ‘the beautiful game’.

Everton won, which is a pisser, whereas Manchester United lost, which is rather good for Spurs. The Juan Mata honeymoon didn’t last long. He’s now regarded as the footballing equivalent of a premature ejaculator.

Speaking of which, Chelsea play on Monday at Man City which is a game of massive, immense and exceedingly large proportions. None bigger. As proportions go, that is.

And now its time for the rugby. So come on England. Can’t lose to the French. Ever.

Happy saturday evening (been a busy day)

A xxxx

A Francophilo is defined as ‘someone who hates the French but loves their patisseries’. And that’s me. I like to invent new words when the old ones don’t work any more.

Though I don’t really ‘hate’ the French in any real sense, I just hate the thought of them. Well, the French men that is. Don’t mind thinking about their women at all. Something I seem to share with their president. Though he’s a big supporter of the ‘actions speak louder’ campaign.
And apparently, London has between 300,000 and 400,000 French nationals living here.

Which means to me that there are 100,000 French people pretty much unaccounted for. I mean, they’re either here or they’re not. They can’t all be on Eurostar (at the time of the counting), nor out the house shagging someone else’s wife, surely. The Missing. They’ll make a movie of it.

400,000 French people left to come to London… but only 300,000 arrived!!!!

They’re all here (making London France’s 6th largest city) because of Mnsr Hollande. Not in moral protest, the French have absolutely no moral standards whatsoever as anyone knows who’s ever stood in a lift queue in Courchevel. Bloody savages. But here because their pres. decided to tax them at 85% so he can get enough money to trade in his motor-scooter for a nice Renault Clio as befits the leader of a major European restaurant.

There are parts of Kensington now where English is not spoken. The shops will only serve you in French, the staff are all appallingly rude and arrogant and there are gateaux everywhere.

I despair, but still remain keen to find these 100,000 errant Frogs in case they all turn up at my house seeking asylum.

I love Tai Chi. My new ‘thing’. My main event. Its a wonderful form of relaxation, stretching, exercise and brutal violence. You go from philosophical meditation to broken collarbones in 0.6 seconds. Its where Marcel Proust meets Bruce Lee. And I don’t mean ‘in heaven’.

Last night we abandoned the more meditative and used each other as punch-bags. STAB-KICK-JAB-CROSS-JAB-KNEE-ROUNDHOUSE-KICK, and repeat as the victim glides backwards across the room holding up the punchbags. And repeat, and repeat, until someone either dies or you’re sweating so much you might drown.

I ended up with 2 rather nasty blisters on two of my rather nasty toes. I may sue.

Happy, peaceful Friday

A xxxx

Alan Hanson said: ‘you can’t win the league with kids’
Andy Conway said: you can’t win the league with Yids.

Can I say that? Is it illegal? Will I be arrested?
Its racist, evil, unkind, like calling Mylie Sirus flat-chested.

I don’t care anyway, we’ll sing what we want to sing
Its only scoring goals that’s proved a more difficult thing.

But we won’t win the league, certainly not this year,
Even though the season can be considered rather queer.

Arsenal seem forever to have been top
but now they’ve started the inevitable drop

From from invincible, from wonderful, it seems to have been halted
Now who knows where they’ll end up being sorted.

Liverpool too, they were sublime, they had their days of glory,
now though its gone to shit, its just another story.

They beat Everton, rivals, foes and nieghbours,
and ended up still forth, for all their hard-fought labours.

Chelsea seem to have trouble scoring goals
West Ham ‘parked their bus’ to add to Morinho’s woes

Would Mata have made the difference? settled the score??
Irrelevant now, the Spaniard’s gone, what’s left was a nil-nil draw.

But no such goallessness last night at White Hart Lane
Man City scored almost all of them, which was the tragic shame.

We have hopes and dreams and expectations, we want to finish forth
But there was simply too much power from those bastards from up north

Its all gone to shit, to hell in a handcart, the game I used to love
Its women’s cricket for me from now on, a game sent from the heavens above.

We beat the Aussie women, Sheilas one and all
stuffed them rotten, got them Ashes, with bat and with the ball.

So all you gloating Gooners, all you West Hammers feeling smug
it ain’t over til its over, then still they can pull that rug.

But it makes no difference to me, whatsoever,
I don’t watch football, whatever the bleeding weather

Its bridge and women’s cricket, never fail to entertain,
football’s just a waste’a time and a right royal fucking pain.

Happy Bastard Shitty Nobbish Thursday

A xxxx

I know my rights.

No taxation without representation.

I pay my taxes.

Then I pay more.

Its all very well for George Osbourne to get all smug and complacent about ‘how well the economy is doing’ due to a few obscure economic criteria which affect not one ‘real’ person in this country. George has never had a proper job in his life. Unless ‘slagging off Ed Balls’ is now a vocational university course that I missed on the UCAS form. George arranged that we (the tax paying public) should buy the Royal Bank of Scotland and what a shrewd investment that was, on our behalf as they’ve now lost £40 billion in total and will never be able to repay the debt. But still manage to provide a nice bonus for their hard-working staff. Who were guitly of mis-selling virtually everything from dodgy insurance and unrepayable mortgages, to crack cocaine, 2nd hand Reliant Robins and double glazing.

Yet George isn’t the problem. In this particular context. Only in most others.

The problem is this ‘mansion tax’ that the Lib-Dems and Labourites keep banging on about. The ‘brain-child’ (though he apparently has very little brain and I don’t think was ever a child) of Vince Cable. The uber-tosser Lib-Dem business type person. Who first levelled the concept as ‘a tax on all homes valued over £1million’. Tax ‘the rich’.

But ‘the rich’ wouldn’t be seen dead in a mere 1 million pound home; their houses cost loads of millions. A one million pound house is half of London properties. Whereas the best house imaginable, a castle with a moat in 98 acres of Derbyshire countryside, up north, can be had for £427,995, including the servants, footmen, butlers, maids (see ’12 years a slave’ for full details). Thus they’ve now upgraded it to a house over £2 million being subject to this tax, should those total unfeeling bastards ever, heaven forbid, become our government. Though technically, I s’pose, Vince Cable is ‘government’ or ‘half government’ due to the folly that is ‘the coalition’.

So basically, this horrendous proposition, this outrageous suggestion will charge people 1% of the value of their house over 2 million quid. Every year. Just for having the thing. Income is unimportant; if the house is worth 3 mil, you pay 10 grand a year just for living there, you fucking rich, southern, cockney bastard!!

Yet to pay that 10 grand, you’ll need to earn 20 grand. Assuming that these people are high rate tax payers. Thus effectively its a 2% tax before you start. Let alone the consideration that ‘no man should ever be taxed twice… unless its vat… or fuel duty… or any of the others’ that we’re cleverly suckered into paying.

Mansion tax is a hateful idea conceived by hateful men. If it is implemented I shall be forced to move (even though I don’t have a 3 million pound house; but that’s not the point. If only I knew what the point was?) I shall go to the third world. Or ‘Leeds’ as its known. Maybe Barnsley, Liverpool, Grimsby, where everything is cheap. And nasty.

At least Manchester United Juan a game at last.

Happy wednesday

A xxxx

Well its been a rather dull January transfer window in the footballing world. Though many are heeding past mistakes and the received wisdom that January transfers tend to be panic buys which end in misery. Except for Spurs, who manage to achieve the same end in August.

After our ‘summer spree’, spending over £100million on players with ‘mixed results’, Spurs have been very quiet. In fact we’ve only done one bit of business which is selling Jermaine Defoe. One of our only 3 strikers, though he’s not moving to Toronto until the summer. By which time we’ll have replaced him with… er… with someone very very good. Even better than Soldado or Adebayor. Probably.

The only ‘big name move’ has been Juan Mata’s departure from Chelsea to Manchester United. So little Juan has not moved for immediate glory then.

Chelsea’s player of the year for the last two seasons was suddenly superfluous to requirements at Stamford Bridge, where Oscar and Hazard are playing so well that there’s simply no room for the wee Spaniard who most managers would chew their own legs off to have in their squad. I personally have teeth marks in both my thighs at this very moment but sadly it didn’t work. Just hurt a lot. And gave me a stiff neck.

Eden Hazard has now said ‘he can be like Messi and Ronaldo’ and will be ‘in that league’. So no false modesty from the Belgian dwarf then.

West Ham are trying to sign Dani Osvaldo from Southampton. He’s currently suspended for fighting with his own team mate. So will be a perfect fit in the Sam Allardyce/West Ham style. They like ’em tough. The hammers are also trying to sign Ross McCormack from Leeds. Don’t know the man, never even heard of him, but if he plays for Leeds he must be another thug. The Yorkshire club have a history and a culture and would never field a player who couldn’t ‘handle himself’, in that Vinnie Jones kind of way.

Because teams have to have a plan, a model, and West Ham’s, in the absence of anything resembling ‘football’, are trying ‘violence’ as the way forward.

Similarly, Arsenal, true to their model, are trying to sign Tom Daley and Lily Savage.

But you must be careful of what ‘model’ you choose and project. Because UKIP leader Nigel Farrage is complaining that ‘the wrong kind of people are in UKIP’. How strange that a party based on the reactionary insecurities and innate xenophobic tendencies of highly strung people should end up with a bunch of screaming nutters as their representatives. The bible-bashers, the wrath of Godders, the neo-nazis, rivers of blooders and other strange and exotic misfits are precisely who you’d expect with that sorry bunch of scaremongers.

So vote for Spurs today,

Happy tuesday

A xxxx