Andy's Glasses

Have you ever bought anything through Amazon?

Of course you have. Everyone has. Not just ‘has’, in the past but still does and will do again. Because they’re brilliant. Fast, great value and amazingly efficient. But best of all, if you have a problem, they are simply brilliant at sorting it out. Brilliant.

What makes ‘brilliant’ on a ‘customer journey’ that has become a little bumpy?

You phone them up, get straight through very quickly to someone who speaks English (or Irish, which is almost as good) and sorts out the difficulty with wonderful ease and simplicity. If there’s any ‘jumping through hoops’ required, Amazon do it for you. All you end up doing is taking the ‘thing’ round to the local sweet shop and dumping it there. 2 days later you have a replacement, or a credit, or a repaired thing or whatever it was you wanted. And every time (damaged kindles, returned articles, problematic stuff) its handled so amazingly that I just think: why aren’t all companies like that?

They’ve now developed new technology which actually works out what you MIGHT be buying next and shipping it to a warehouse near you, just in case you do decide to ‘buy it now’. How fucking brilliant is that? Its magic, that’s what it is. Telepathy. Though actually they’re just analysing the clicks you make and the searches you perform and anticipating to reduce delivery time.

Contrast that with my recent experience with IBM.

I ordered a part for my computer, new motherboard, the old one died in a power surge. No problem, Sir, that’ll be a hundred and fifty quid and will take three days. I was initially impressed. Though 3 weeks later when it hadn’t arrived my impressionism was dented. And phone calls were met with part derision, part accusatory disbelief, part Germanic (that’s where the parts are kept, apparently) arrogance and rudeness.

Eventually someone actually worked out that the ‘couriers done it’. They had the part, tried and failed to deliver and didn’t think it appropriate to, like, kind’a, sort of, tell anyone about it. Ok, said I, have them call me and arrange another delivery. Seemed a reasonable request. Yet no call was forthcoming. So I got pissed off and on Christmas morning sent them an email telling them to keep the part and give me a refund.

By the second week in Jan I’d heard nothing. So I called and emailed and called and screamed and emailed some more. And still they were ‘awaiting the credit’, ‘all in hand’. Yeah right. It takes 1.3 seconds to take my payment and six weeks to credit it? I found an email address for the CEO and sent him a note telling him I was going to make a County Court Claim if I didn’t have my money back in 2 days. The next day I received a note saying ‘the credit note was being actioned’. Ahhh, what a relief. But its just that, a note authorising a credit. How long til they give me the money back? Oh, that takes up to a week.

You have to think, at that point: WHYYYYYYYYYYY????????? Why does anything electronic process take a week? How can that be possible?

I don’t usually use these pages to vent on atrocious service or aggro in the marketplace. But the world should know what its like dealing with IBM and be warned: DON’T DO IT!!! You’ll end up beating the wife and kids in frustration. Mine will probably be out of hospital before my Amex card has received the funds.

Yours tearing out his hair,

A xxxx

Its a funny thing, the movies.

Whilst playing tennis with Spurs Paul yesterday we discussed American Hustle. He’d loved it whereas I’d hated it (all of it except Jennifer Lawrence, of course). Well, maybe not hated it because of some truly fantastic performances, but it just didn’t work for me. Whereas it really worked for Paul. Now shut up and hit the fucking ball, this is tennis, not ‘film appreciation 101’.

Last night I went to see 12 Years a Slave. Spurs Paul’s parting words yesterday couldn’t fail to resonate: (he saw it last week) ‘its just horrible, brutality and torture and sorrow with nothing else; a feel-bad movie’.

So I now have to ask: what does Spurs Paul really know about movies???

12 Years a Slave is remarkable. Yeah, its brutal, yeah its violent, racist, misogynistic, sexist, evil and sadistic. But is that a bad thing? You would think it would be yet by the end I actually thought; be nice if they could just flay the flesh from yet another naked slave girl with a bull-whip, before we go home; go on, just one more.

Ok, I didn’t and in half the scenes I closed my eyes anyway, but the film is simply gripping from the opening credits to the final whupping. It moves slowly but the time goes quickly. The story’s ‘true’ in that Hollywood way where its probably anything but.

But its also a fascinating study of slavery. Like we don’t know all about it anyway. But in terms of understanding the people who used slaves, who benefitted from that awful system, who profited in so many ways, and who abused them so mercilessly, its so easy to make the fundamental error of judging history by our own, contemporary standards of equality and political correctness.
Because for those raised in the Deep South at that time, slavery was THE system. They were raised by slaves as children and grew up with fundamentally different mind-set from those NOW considered more enlightened. Even the more enlightened (by our standards, here and now) in the northern, Yankee states didn’t share their perspective. Those in the south simply knew no different and no better. And not a great deal has changed in the intervening years in that respect. A bit like bankers.

Slaves were a commodity, they were dehumanised by southern white society. Treated like animals. To be bought, sold, traded, beaten, abused and raped. Just like horses and sheep. The slaves were culturally and conceptually ‘animals’ to the white population. Because that’s what they were raised to believe. And all were God-fearing, bible-bashing, good-old-boy Christian folk, preaching justification from their bibles, just like the Afrikaaners would do a few years later to justify their own atrocious system.

The film is quite amazing.

Happy, very wet, rained-off Sunday

A xxxx

What do you do on the Sabbath? Whenever that may be. Friday/Saturday/Sunday, they all work for me. And I work on all of them. Because the seventh day has been changed from ‘…ye shall rest’ to ‘…ye shall shop’. That happened when they relaxed Sunday opening hours. Though for some of us its Saturday that’s the problem. And always has been.

Do you go to synagogue, THEN to football? Do you go to church then the pub? Do you pray then hit the brothel?

Ethical questions for our time. People used to be more religious, more observant, but now its the very few that adhere to the strict guidelines.

I went to Tai Chi at 8.15 this morning. That’s more philosophical than religious. The philosophy of ‘hitting people very hard’. From there I went to tennis and only uttered the name of The Lord once, when I hit a ball into the brook. So that probably counts as ‘in vain’, if I’m being strict with myself. As I must.

But what about the French? France is a Catholic country. Because its full of Catholic C-… people. And the catholics are outwardly a very strict bunch. They have issues with everything. Abortions. Crucifixions. Even contraception. Virtually everything is a mortal sin for Catholics except what most of the priests do in their spare time. They love a sin, and they love absolution. Which actually comes very cheaply. A few Hail Marys, a couple How’s ya Fathers and a Francis Ford Coppola and go back, Jack, and do it all again.

So Francoise Hollande went to the Vatican to meet the Pope. I just wonder what they spoke about. Because as the leader of a proudly Catholic nation, Mnsr Le President does not set the best example, from a spiritual standpoint. He’s broken most of the Ten Commandments this week. Its only murder left on his ‘to do’ list. Adultery, coveting thy neighbour’s wife, being a slut, speaking in Tongues (French), pride, gluttony, Jesus he’s a bad boy. Which is why the Pope looked suitably unhappy with the man.

But then just this very afternoon I had a ‘religious experience’. I was sitting in traffic on the Kentish Town Road and a woman was walking towards me. A muslim woman wearing a full face black scarf with the Darth Vader slits for the eyes. And as she drew level with me a gust of wind blew her headscarf upwards. Yes, it temporarily blinded her as she wrestled it down, but I just wondered if this act was, for those of her faith, a ‘Marilyn Monroe’ moment. For those who get off on chins.

Just a thought,

God bless the Sabbath, to keep it holy,

A xxxx

Its traditional for New York mayors to introduce ‘zero tolerance’ to something or other. Its kind’a expected of them.

Rudy Giuliano started it with his zero tolerance to crime. And he cleaned up the city completely over his term. Got rid of ‘no-go’ areas, cleansed, sanitised, removed the drug dealers, reduced muggings, it was a great success.
Michael Bloomberg must have done something of a zero tolerance nature during his 12 year tenure, but I can’t remember what.

But now we have Bill de Blasio, the new mayor, the new broom. And I think his main problem is that there really isn’t much left to be ‘zero tolerant’ about. But Bill knows how the public just love to hear strong words from strong men, how actions speak louder than screaming politicians and that zero tolerance is the way to leave an everlasting legacy.

So he’s having zero tolerance against jaywalking. The nastiest, meanest, most insidious of crimes. Kids start out crossing a little side street, even chickens have been known to do it, just to get to the other side. The next thing you’re crossing Broadway at 42nd Street and there’s fucking anarchy on the streets and Washington will fall!!!!

I simply refuse to have my life and my progress dictated by a little green man. Fuck him. Its the mark of a civilised nation when the people are given the freedom to cross roads, something most are taught by our parents at about 2 years old, where and when we choose. Ok, there’s collateral damage, people get hit by bikes, by motorcycles, by the odd bus or two, but its worth it. Because the alternative is walking to a crossing every time you need to cross a road and wait there, with no traffic for 6 miles in any direction to be seen, waiting for ‘permission’ to cross from that little green bastard. Who seems quite often to be on an extended tea break. Green tea, probably.

I see these people, these poor hapless prisoners to brainwashing, see them every night standing there waiting patiently as scores of Londoners barge past them to cross the roads. They’re called refugees from faraway lands. Foreigners. Tourists. From totalitarian regimes which punish road crossing with the full might of the law. Places like Hungary, where fascists march the streets, like California, where I was once stopped after crossing a road but thankfully ‘released’ once they realised I was an ‘alien’ and unaware that I was in a thought-controlled state.

Jaywalking saves time and gives people the freedom, just a small one, to do what they want. To remove such a liberty is probably how North Korea started. So be warned, Billy-boy. Today you’re fining people for street crossing, tomorrow you’re shooting your uncles for treason and having a stupid haircut.

Whereas in Miami, its even a crime to street-race a Lamborghini whilst under the influence of drink, drugs and certain other medications of a non-medical nature. As Justin Bieber found out yesterday when the arrested the tattooed moron under just such influences. Agreed, drink and drugs make you drive much faster, but its still not allowed in Florida.
Justin is now thinking (that’ll be a first) about returning to his native Canada.

Why?? Do they allow drink/drug drag-racing up there??? Bloody savages. Frozen savages.

Happy zero tolerance Friday

A xxxx

Oh my word. What a disgrace. How shameful. Forget groping Lib-Dem Lords, set aside quenelle gestures by footballers; Spearmint Rhino and the Apartheid regime are both insignificant as gestures of racism and sexism, compared to… to…
to THIS!!!!

Dasha Zhukova is sitting on a CHAIR!!!!!

What a total BITCH!!!!!! (what’s ‘bitch’ in Russian?)

But what a chair.

Its (apparently) a replica of a pop art 1960s chair designed by Allen Jones. Remember Allen Jones? He was the one who… who… oh alright, I’ve never heard of him either. Anyway, he designed furniture based upon scantily clad women because it was 1960, another world. In which they still had slavery, people smoked all day, you could still call a spade a spade and women stayed at home filling their husbands’ pipes ready for his homecoming at 5.37. Germaine Greer was still back in Australia where she belonged and the extent of someone’s ‘feminism’ meant how big their chest was.

Then a (bloody) Norwegian (typical!!!) re-did the chair, blacked it up and Dasha Z found one for her art gallery in Moscow. And had the damned cheek, the bald-faced nerve, the outright audacity not just to sit on it but to BE FILMED DOING SO!!!!
Might as well have raped the corpse of Nelson Mandela, all the fuss its caused.

I would have issues with Ms Zhukova on the grounds that she’s an oligarch’s daughter and she’s shacked up with Money-Launderer-in-chief, Chelsea boss Roman Abramovich, for whom she is much too good looking. But she can sit where she wants. On whatever she chooses. She can sit on Nicolas Anelka’s head for all I care. Its not a ‘gesture’, nor a ‘political statement’, its just sitting down. So why all the fuss?

Because this CHAIR(!!!!) represents a type of racist misogyny that simply doesn’t exist in our post-politically-correct world. Its an affront to every modern value in a world so obsessed with appearance, so devoted to sterility of both thought and action, so repressively determined never to cause any offense to any group, creed, race or sect, except Mormons, obviously, and Arsenal fans, that it has totally lost its perspective on history. And you should never judge history by modern values.

But they do. And in every paper is Dasha, sitting on ‘THAT CHAIR’, telling us how its A TOTAL FUCKING DISGRACE. To all humanity.

I actually like that chair. Because its funny. In any age, at any time. And it represents another world, which also adds to its charm.

So to the critics of Dasha Z (and not just because she’s really gorgeous, because that too would be a representation of chauvinistic horror) I’d just like to say: ITS JUST A CHAIR; SOD OFF.

Happy thursday

A xxxx

I believe in freedom. Amen.

I believe in personal liberty. But not taking liberties with others. Even if you’re a politician. Especially if you’re a relic of a 1970s radio jock.

I don’t like censorship, I believe in the sanctity of free speech and expression and I think people should be given sufficient lattitude in all walks of life to show, time and again, that they can’t be trusted with such a luxury. Enough rope to hang themselves. And dangle they will, every fucking time.

And the government, among other things (though I’m never sure what they might be), are charged with drawing lines in our personal freedoms, with saving us from our own worst excesses, from shifting the moral guidelines to accommodate an ever-changing world.
But some things they do amaze me.

Gambling is a good one. I’m not much of a gambler. Though many are. An it can be a bit of fun or it can be an addictive, destructive obsession. And yet watch any sporting event on tv and the commercial breaks spend their allotted three minutes telling you how easy gambling can be. Go on, do it NOW! We’ll give you the first 20 quid free. Bet on this very football match. You don’t need to phone anyone or go anywhere, just go online. No computer? Your phone will do. Here’s an app called ‘instant loser’ and you we’ll give you 8 to 3 on David Moyes being strangled by a Man United fan during the game. 17 to 4 on the floodlights going out during the match. 26 to 1 on any player coming out as gay during injury time. Its sooooo easy; just nick your mum’s credit card and you’re away…

And boozing is another. They’ve just opened the first ever pub in a motorway service station. The Drink & Drive… ok, its actually called the Hope & Champion is open to serve its drinks to… er… to… well, who you gonna serve in a service area by junction 2 on the M40? Probably motorists, I’d imagine. As you’re not allowed to walk down the M40 as far as I know. And its open brilliant hours, so if you stop to fill up at 5 in the morning, you can have a couple pints before breakfast and be on your way, with just a little ‘buzz’. You know, just to take the edge off of life’s harshness, just to blur those edges a tiny bit. Just to make you more aggressive, judgement impaired and a much better singer for when Born to Run comes on the radio.

So the police are always talking ‘zero alcohol’ when driving and then they license a pub on a motorway. I think the term: ‘go figure’ is appropriate in such circumstances.

I’m applying to open a fully licensed bar and grill, opium den, Amsterdam style ‘coffee shop’ and casino/brothel, on the M6 at Droitwich. Where you get a free rent-boy with every £1000 lost and Wednesdays are all the paraplegics you can eat days, at ‘Andy’s’. Clergy welcome. Police probably not.

Happy all the paraplegics you can eat day,

A xxxx

Its amazing, profound and highly significant.

I just googled to see what ‘bitch’ is in French. Not that most French people wouldn’t understand, if not the word itself, certainly the tone in which it is uttered. But what I found was 756,371 sites (ok, I didn’t count them all, but certainly more than 20) dedicated to swearing at the French in their own language. More than exist for any other language (errr… probably) and more than for any other nationality. Because you need to insult French people much more than any others, more than all the others put together. Its a fact. And to do it in English, whilst kind of rewarding to a degree, simply lacks the unambiguous joy of calling someone a ‘chienne’ or ‘putain’ or a ‘totalement wankeur’.
It avoids that possibly horrible situation of having a conversation explaining what ‘tosser’ means, or ‘bollox’ to someone who smells of garlic and doesn’t wash their hair.

And the reason for this search for further education, other than just for academic research purposes, the reason I need to call a bitch a bitch is because Anne Hildago, the deputy mayor of Paris, has earned that right to be so insulted. No, not just because she’s French, used to be Francois Hollande’s ‘culture minister’ until recently (read: shagged her way to the top, obviously), nor because she’s a nob (sorry, doesn’t really translate, that one; not in the feminine anyway).

She accused Boris Johnson, the mayor of London, of ‘claiming’ that London is now more popular than Paris. A claim based on a mildly creative use of statistics, the likes of which haven’t been seen since Enron folded, I concede. But it is true. Last summer 20% more people visited Londres than did the year before, which was the Olympic Year. Millions of (fucking) foreigners, enjoying our City, taking in the sites, picking our pockets and raping our wildlife. So many that London (according to Boris) is now more popular than Paris. Add to that the relatively small number of French people we have here compared to there and London becomes much much much better.

So Mdme Deputy Mayor de Paris; how d’ya like them pommes?
And what is a ‘deputy’ mayor, in fact? Its like a deputy road-sweeper. A deputy bus conductor. What’s its point? Its ‘raison d’etre’?? (translate that, ya bitch!) We don’t have a deputy mayor, we have decent, nice, clean people instead.

Like Lord Rennard.

He’s clean. For a lib-dem. But he has issues. Or rather, others have issues with him. Women, mainly, who accused him of being ‘inappropriate’ (fondling), mildly abusive (groping) and essentially a very very naughty Lord. He denies it. All 11 of them were just imagining it, maybe even wishing secretly that the obese, sweaty Billy Bunter clone would in fact molest them sexually.

But he won’t apologise. Instead wants to come back to the government as if nothing had ever happened. Quite right too. Sexual abuse is just soooooo zeitgeist. In almost every court in the land. We are turning in to a nation of perverts.

Come to London: get groped.

Happy Tuesday

A xxxx

David Silvester, a councillor in Henley and representative of the UKIP party, has been suspended by that sorry band of reactionary, stick-in-the-mud, pre-Victorian racists and other Daily Mail readers, because of some comments he made. He said that the recent terrible flooding in his and other areas was a direct message from God to David Cameron in response and anger over the legalisation of gay marriage. Real, Old Testament, fire and brimstone stuff. So what next? A plague of locusts in Reigate? Slaying of the firstborn in Burton-upon-Trent?? I thought that shit was all over. I thought we no longer had miracles and the term ‘act of God’ was purely a get-out for sheister insurance companies looking to avoid a claim. Then up pops old Silvester and shames his political party. Not a normal party either, but UKIP. Which is almost impervious to shame in any normal sense.

Whereas I know, for a fact, that the flooding was really because Arsenal are top of the Premiership table. And God is a Spurs fan. Big fan. Sits not so much ‘in’ the Upper West stand but kind of ‘just above it’. In that godly way. (Also saving about 15 hundred quid a year on a season ticket. Clever).

We played Swansea yesterday. Not the best team in the league but by no means the worst either. They play nice football and have a great manager in Michael Laudrup. But Spurs outplayed them. Fairly comprehensively. With Adebayor once again cast in the most unlikely role as hero. A credit to Tim Sherwood for firstly giving him a chance and secondly to appreciate that with so few strikers on the books its pretty assenine not to play the ones we do have.

Arsenal go marching on. Ok, only Fulham, and at home, but its still a job that needs to be done. Similarly Manchester City, saw off Cardiff even though they conceded two goals. Though outscoring Manchester City this year is becoming something of an impossibility, however many you score.

Not so Chelsea. Much harder to score against that lot. Manchester United did manage it, but only once and way too late in the game to affect either the result or the horrific grimace on David Moyes’ face. His team, particularly in the continued absence of Rooney and Van Persie, look very very underpowered.

Liverpool struggled against a neat-looking Aston Villa side who played their ‘break away’ game with aplomb at Anfield on Saturday night, forcing the Scousers to consider themselves lucky to get their one point. Which was good for Spurs. And remember; anything that’s good for Spurs is good for the whole world. And for God.

We could do with Everton not winning tonight at West Brom. Though whether Anelka plays is almost a more interesting question than the result itself. I’m hoping for at very least a lightening strike on the Hawthorns if not the full Sodom and Gomorrah.

Happy Monday, let’s be careful out there, and say our prayers.

A xxxx

I thought of a great way to con people. Its brilliaint. A modern day sting. Or Sting. Here’s what you do:

you make a film about a con, a sting, a hustle. You get truly brilliant actors (I shall include the females under this generality for the sake of… of… of something) and you get them performing brilliantly and you create a massive hype surrounded by Oscar nominations and glitzy 70s period costumes. And then you use a story which is limp, weak, lacks credibility and is lumpily unbelievable. And con the British public into spending their hard earned, tax-paid income on this truly American Hustle.

I didn’t like it. I didn’t hate it, purely because Christian Bale is magnificent, Amy Adams amazing and Jennifer Lawrence… well, to be honest, her presence alone precludes my ability to hate anything. If she played for Arsenal I’d have serious problems. If she performed a quenelle at the Oscars I’d consider forgiving Anelka.

But much like that other Oscar nominated movie; Blue Jasmine, this too is a bunch of magnificent performances that simply didn’t work for me as a movie. Though unlike the Woody Allen film, this one is too long. All films tend to be too long and suffer for it. Because you get bored and start thinking about how uncomfortable cinema seats can be. As a rule, a movie should last as long it takes to get all the bits of popcorn husk out of your teeth. Any longer is just vanity by the director. Or the dentist. (?)

In American Hustle the Bradley Cooper character is the main flaw. I like Mr Cooper; he was wonderful in Silver Linings Playbook, fabulous in The Hangover, but was just wrong in this. A problem with the plot rather than the acting.

So that was last night. Luckily we had such fun in the afternoon at the London Art Exhibition at the Design Centre in Islington. What was planned as ‘a leisurely afternoon/early evening stroll enjoying the best of artisitic endevours’ turned out to be an hour of pushing through crowds trying to get just a peek at some total shit (in the name of ‘art’), some piece of cardboard painted white, (£5750 + vat), a collage like my kids did in kindergarten, but more childish (£7225 + vat), three red squares on a blue canvas (£9583) and a photo of an old man (£22,745).

Nothing wowed, nothing even made us look twice, but on the plus side, I didn’t get my pockets picked nor got ribs broken in the constant crush.

We were out within an hour. Job done. Art over. Let’s check out the football scores.

Fortunately, for art’s sake, I played tennis brilliantly. I played like Toulouse-Lautrec.

Happy sunday

A xxxx

Nicolas Anelka ‘performed’ his now infamous ‘quenelle’ geture after scoring a goal on December 28th. I think it safe to say that at that time, unless you are French or part of a worldwide anti-semitic conspiracy, that, like me, you’d never seen nor heard of such a thing. I thought a ‘quenelle’ was a new form of low-calorie pulse, bigger than cous-cous, firmer than barley. But no, its a ‘reverse nazi salute’, invented by a French ‘comedian’ called Dieudonne M’bala M’bala. Who, in his spare time, stirs up anti-jewish, anti-zionist and anti-most-things hatred amongst the muslim and extreme right-wing communities. An unlikely alliance in itself, if you think about it. Because most of the far right in France are essentially anti-muslim first and foremost. Which is why the Le Penn dynasty fared so well in Marseilles due to its massive North African immigrant population. And extremist Muslims are the Front Nationale’s biggest bête noir. If that’s not a racist term. But Dieudonne has managed the impossible and has united these groups of not very nice people who, under other circumstances, would be the most natural of enemies. And the glue that binds them, the common ground, the catalyst, is anti-semitism. Everything is compromise. Let’s all hate the fucking Jews. And rejoice!

So Anelka ‘quenelles’ and there is a slightly belated uproar once we’ve all worked out what, precisely, he was signalling. And why.

Because he stated he did the act purely in support of his friend Dieudonne who had been banned from certain appearances due to the content of his ‘act’. Nothing to do with anything anti-semitic. No, nothing at all. I had this swastika tatooed on my chest because its a pretty shape. Means nothing.

Anelka’s team, West Bromwich Albion, have been very cagey about it and have made no sanctions against the player. The ‘Kick-it-Out’, anti-racism-in-football organisation have done similarly fuck all, giving credit to the defence that the player was just supporting his mate, didn’t really realise, blah, blah, fucking bullshit.

So it came down to the Football Association, the governing body of our national game, the grande fromages, the main dudes, the all powerful, all seeing, quasi-godlike rulers of EVERYTHING. And we await their decision. And we await. And await. And await some more. Because they’ve said that they won’t have an answer until January 20th at the earliest.

They obviously don’t have access to Google at the FA then. Because one click and they would know everything there is to know about ‘le quenelle’ and its significance, offensiveness and implications. Its not an ambiguous sign. It doens’t have another meaning, about saving the rainforests or supporting Jennifer Lawrence in her quest for another oscar. Otherwise I’d be doing it all the time.

Zoopla, West Brom’s shirt sponsors have threatened to remove sponsorship immediately if Anelka plays on Monday night. Good for them. But sadly, you can’t have sponsors picking the teams. But you can have sponsors removing their sponsorship if its being abused, maligned and used to represent racist arseholes like Anelka.

So to Greg Dyke and his merry band at the FA: DO SOMETHING FOR ONCE IN YOUR SORRY, HIGHLY PAID LIVES THAT IS WORTHWHILE. DELAY NO LONGER. MAKE A STAND AGAINST EVIL.

And can you get back to me by June/July time?

Happy Saturday

A xxxx