Andy's Glasses

The Northern Line managed to take me 3 stops last night before packing up. Power failure at Camden. Catastrophic. Yeah, heard it before, it’ll be going again in 5 minutes. But after 10 minutes they announced ‘the entire Northern Line is suspended’. Stranded at Tottenham Court Road. Fuck! Hang on; where there’s Lime Bikes, there’s hope!! And there was. Four of them. So I hopped on one and ‘flew’ home.

When I say ‘hopped’…

I’ve never used a Lime Bike before but apparently your Uber account accesses them, I knew that. Plus, they have ‘Uber’ written on them, bit of a giveaway. You just needed to scan the bike’s QR code and ‘off you go!!!!’ But, of course, in my appaphobic anger, it wouldn’t scan. Just kept taking me to my ‘settings’ page. Where there was no picture of Lime bike. Just a lot of ambiguous app-bollocks using as many double negatives as Silicon Valley can find. “To not turn off the blocker of accessibility mode, don’t press this”. WTF??? Eventually I worked out how to let the app find my camera and, stopping a nearby lawyer as a witness, gave my ‘permission’ to film a fucking QR code. Thus the ‘hopping on’ actually took longer than the ride home. Which was lovely, Lime Bikes are really user-friendly to ride. And it cost me 9 quid. I looked on the app for the bit where it’s free for over-60s, AS ALL TRAVEL SHOULD BE, but it must have been broken. Or it would have said: “don’t press this if you’re not older than 60”.

I came home and looked for a suitable parking place for the bike. In someone’s driveway? Blocking the pavement’s a good place. Inside Waitrose front door? Ah, I’ll just leave it on that pensioner’s head as he walks down the street.

However, nothing could have dampened my mood yesterday. Nothing! Because Oasis are re-forming and that, to be honest, is proof, if ever it were needed, that there is a God. A real one. Up in heaven. In whose image we are made. So God is an ugly northern verminous piece of vile Mancunian-ness, wearing a fringe and dark glasses at night-time, who swears a lot, is abusive and insulting to one and all and yet who thinks He is the best thing that was ever invented.

Yeah, Noel and Liam are back together. I never thought the day would come. It’s like Spurs winning a trophy; you really want it but just know it can never be. The two brothers embraced… ok, scowled at each other across the Etihad one day and realised that everybody hates them. They’ve spent 20 years cultivating the most toxic personae they could, never even trying to lose their accents, and they only have each other. Possibly, deserve each other. I would rather donate the 350 quid ticket price to ISIS than enrich them and feed their arrogance.

Happy Wednesday

A xxxx

When you turn 60 you start getting uninvited emails from SAGA and all manner of unscrupulous organisations whose very existence is testament to the gullibility of old people and the credibility we attach to established companies who sound ‘beneficial’ to the aged. Whereas in fact, they’re the biggest crooks around. For confirmation of this; apply to SAGA for any type of ‘insurance; ESPECIALLY FOR OLD GITS!!!’, and you wonder how anything they claim is legal.

Then, as the years progress, you start getting invited to look at plans or sometimes actual buildings designated ‘retirement homes’. They won’t change your nappy in such places, these are generally upmarket apartment blocks, at very upmarket prices, for ‘independent living’ but possibly with a ‘warden’. Which translates as an asylum seeker on minimum wage sitting there 24 hours a day trying to learn English whilst a bunch of old people keep disturbing him, making demands whilst he’s conjugating his verbs. He is trained in only one sentence: “I’m not allowed to do touch anyone or do anything: phone 999”. “BUT MY HUSBAND HAS FALLEN OVER/STOPPED BREATHING/SWALLOWED THE KETTLE!!!”, “I’m not allowed to…”

There’s no care, certainly no ‘nursing’.

So today, we pre-empted the whole ‘retirement’ schtick and instead went to take a look at Willesden Cemetery. It’s lovely there. Ok, no gym or underground pool, or parking, but if it’s good enough for the Rothschilds, most of whom are buried there, well, the dead ones mainly, it’s good enough for me. Us. The rooms aren’t ‘big’, in the normal sense but…

Willesden Cemetery was the first burial ground of the ‘United Synagogues’, in 1870. When they ‘United’. The 8 acres of finest Willesden ‘countryside’ (as it then was) cost… drum roll… 4 grand. Including an option for a further 4 acres later. It’s almost full now. Though there is vacant lot next to Michael Winner, if you’re interested. Because he occupies the double plot his parents reserved but didn’t use. There’s the Rothschilds and other member of what would be Jewish Aristocracy if Jews were allowed in the aristocracy, with suitably flamboyant places of rest. Like all cemeteries, it’s fascinating. But the stories. It’s always about the stories. Which are fantastic. And, in some cases, even true.

Happy retirement,

A xxxx

I don’t know what Jermaine Jenas (known as ‘JJ’ to his mates, other than his former teammates who call him ‘PP’, ‘LZ’ or ‘TB’ because footballers generally can’t spell or read properly) has done to offend the BBC but they have really sprung into action against him.

It took about 10 years for the corporation to act against serial child abuser Jimmy Savile. After 5 years of suspicions, getting more and more convincing, the Beeb did the only thing it could do in the circumstances. They gave him his own show. Jim’ll Fix It. So that he could spend more time with even more kids, particularly the underprivileged or disabled types, which he preferred. It was like putting the fox in charge of the henhouse. Or putting an Abu Dhabi oil billionaire in charge of Premiership football club.

With Huw Edwards it only took about a year from when they had some evidence of his ‘predilections’ to suspending him. And another 9 months to stop paying him. Well, it’s not their money, is it? ITS FUCKING OURS!!!! But Huw was everyone’s favourite, lovely, Welsh newscaster, and making inappropriate advances to an 18 year old boy is legal, but within a workplace environment…

Jermaine played for Spurs. In theory. ‘Jermaine was on Spurs injury list’ is possibly more accurate. He’d come from Newcastle United where he scored a few outstanding goals and… well, looked pretty. So we bought him because when Ginola left we were pretty much down to just plain ‘ugly’. Which is fine when it wins you trophies, but it didn’t. So we employed the ‘pretty boy’ to brighten the team sheet. He retired quite young, became a pundit, not because he’s knowledgable or eloquent, because you’re not allowed either of those in the world of punditry, but because he looks pretty.

And then, last week, he’s sacked. Boom! No warning, no story about to appear in the Sun showing the text message photos of his nob, nothing. Just: gone.

I don’t know if he was sending pics of his genitals, but whatever he sent to the two women recipients, safe to say, it was nothing they wanted. The worked with him. And thus he was in a position of power. He was ‘the talent’. Although which talent, no-one’s ever been able to ascertain, other than looking pretty. So they sacked him. Obviously in the aftermath of the Huw Edwards ‘scandal’ they just couldn’t be seen to be dragging their feet again.

The Beeb had to be seen to be proactive. They couldn’t again just react to stories in every paper exposing abuse by their employees, inappropriate behaviour, just because they’re left with no choice. They had to act. Before the tabloids. And they did.

So why is Lineker still there?

Happy Sunday

A xxxx

Living on a boat has its dangers. No doubt about that after this week’s happenings in Sicily. You can never be too careful. Waterspouts, pirates, submarine attack, you just never know. Hence my mate, The Boatman, who lives on a really fabulous house boat, has to be careful. Take precautions. Protect yourself. That’s why he had this little array of deadly weaponry on his kitchen table yesterday. Firstly to send me a photo, in case I’m in any doubt about his continuing need for therapy, and also because these are just his ‘surplus’. His proper armoury has all the good things, looked after by the boatswain, or the quartermaster, or any other of ‘the crew’. So this lot he wants to sell. He just needs to find another unarmed psychopath to take the lot off his hands.

However, someone walking past his boat on the towpath noticed. And wondered if this was a Russian incursion, a terrorist attack in preparation, world war 3 about to start, on the River Thames in the middle of nowhere, somewhere in western Oxfordshire. Being a ‘good Samaritan’, he called the police.

So as the boatman is having a cup of tea at lunchtime, 12 police cars arrived. Simultaneously. Coordinated. Out of which jumped 17 police officers. With guns. Drawn. “ARMED POLICE COME OUT NOW WITH YOUR HANDS UP!!!!”, they screamed, like they do on the telly, but, Alec Baldwin notwithstanding, this was with real bullets.

He grabbed a gun, put a knife in his belt, and ran on deck screaming and shooting, thinking that if he could just untie the vessel and cast off, he’d be ‘gone’! Although his vessel is way more house than boat and only goes at about 3mph. Which isn’t a problem unless you’re re-enacting Bonnie & Clyde.

Ok, he didn’t. The wimp. He put his hands up and walked out towards 22 policemen, 17 of them armed and ‘loaded’, and a dog. My mate wasn’t worried about the guns but was most concerned that they had little bag in case the doggy needed a poo.

He was handcuffed and put in a police car whilst they started their search. Which did yield loads more weaponry but alas, all legally allowed. Yes, air rifles and pistols, crossbows, all kosher. They found no nuclear warheads, ballistic missiles or Semtex, sacks of raw heroin or blocks of pure cocaine.

The did find a flick-knife. Just like my one. We bought them together, 43 years ago on a trip we made to France. And that is sooooo illegal that he was charged for possessing it. Everything else was fine. And for that he was in a cell for 10 hours.

Is it illegal to own a penis? Well why is it illegal to own a few weapons? They go together. With testicles comes a fascination with guns and knives. Ok, most men don’t go to such lengths to fulfil the fantasy, we’re happy with standing in front of the mirror saying: “you talking to ME???”

He’s free now. I’m his parole officer. And he had to promise not to invade anyone for at least 1 year.

Happy peaceful Saturday

A xxxx

We’ve had a new government in for 10 minutes now, possibly a few weeks, and I’ve not been impressed. They’ve immediately caved in to union demands. All of them. The Starmer way, then. Why ‘negotiate’ when ‘caving in totally’ is so much easier, quicker. The whole thing with unions is that it’s in their mandate to ‘try and take the fucking piss’ as much as is possible. The idea of negotiations is to try and reduce what are always frankly ridiculous demands by some form of quid pro quo in which, ok, you can have more money, BUT, we want to include weekend work, or we won’t reduce the working week to 13.5 hours. Yet no. Just ‘give ‘em what they want’. Possibly because Starmer is a weakling, but possibly because the Labour Party, and hence the government, are effectively ‘sponsored’ by the Unions. The Party’s only source of income. So rather than bite the hand that feeds it, Kier is licking that hand very softly.

Next came David Lammy’s re-funding of Hamas. Oh, sorry, refunding of UNWRA. Same difference. Our government is now supporting terrorists and paying for their training. Which is possibly why the BBC (another government entity) have elevated Hamas to the ‘Civil Defence Authority’ in recent reporting. They’ve been promoted from being ‘proscribed as a terrorist organisation by the UK government’. Rather than ever just calling them ‘jihadi motherfucking scumbag murdering vermin’. Presumably there’s a ‘scale’ at the BBC and murdering, raping and torturing just 1200 people doesn’t qualify as ‘terrorism’ any longer. Maybe the BBC will be demanding for ISIS to be accepted in the United Nations. Where, quite frankly, they’d fit in perfectly.

There’s now deep murmurings that the tax, which we were absolutely promised was ‘not going to rise under this government’, is going to rise. Under this government.

But today, the totally unforgivable. They’re going to extend Coucils authority to increase 20mph speed zones across more boroughs. I mean, why??? To slow down already ridiculously slow-moving traffic (average London journey speed: 6mph)? Oh, it’s to save children. Not the ones being ‘murdered’ in Gaza in numbers way beyond their total population of children, but different ones. British ones. (The death of any child anywhere is beyond tragic, this is just a question over the numbers and who produces them). Running out into the road all the time. Oh, those children. It is simply the worst idea EVER. Do they not consider that some cars have ‘sport mode’ or as my brother-in-law calls it: the ‘naughty switch’. It’s when it all gets ‘angry’. Louder, lower, faster, more brutal. How the fuck do you reconcile that with 20mph zones, Mr Fucking Prime Minister? It’s an abuse of my human rights.

Happy Thursday

A xxxx

The death of Mike Lynch as caused such a stir that thousands of people immediately cried out in anguish and despair: “who?”

“Oh, the geezer wot sunk on ‘is boat in Sicily”. Weren’t even a proper boat, only had a bloody sail; what use it that to anybody when you could ‘ave a pair’a really noisy 400 horse-power engines spewing out diesel fumes all round the Med?

Anyway, fucking massive boat, sporting the world’s (2nd, apparently) largest mast ever in the whole universe, got hit by a ‘water spout’, tornado thing, and sunk within 60 seconds. The mast, when hit by an amazingly strong, swirling wind, acted as a massive lever to tip the boat. Other factors then played out and under it went.

The mast was 72 metres long. That would take Usain Bolt over 6 seconds to run that far. Probably have to be lying on the ground, would take him longer to run upwards. It would take you 3 minutes to walk it. Because you dawdle. But basically, it was a big boat. 10 great big ‘suites’ for guests, all the usual superyacht paraphernalia, plus the mast. Probably cost 500 mil. (guessing, never bought a Superyacht.) and now its gone.

Mike Lynch shared my birthday!! It could so easily have been ME on that yacht!!! Except he was born in 1965 and I was born in 1956. Spookier and spookier. An anagram of my birth year!

Mike was raised in South West Essex too. But there we start to diverge. He went to Cambridge, I went to prison. He set up amazingly profitable tech companies and acted in an entrepreneurial way for all the years I was ‘workin’. Then he sold His company to Hewlett Packard. For millions and millions. Apparently a few too many millions as HP then sued him, dragging him over to America to stand trial, for ‘falsifying accounts’ to inflate the apparent value of the company.

He won. Was acquitted on all charges. There had been some fraud, but not by our Mike. Essex boys don’t do fraud. Just car-theft, drug-sales, breaking and entering and assault.

And this boat trip was with his leading legal team, his accountants and bankers as a celebration of his victory. A tragedy.

Last week, Mike’s business partner, also acquitted at the trial, died when hit by a car whilst jogging.

If I was a conspiracy theorist I’d be beside myself with glee. But I’m not. Just two tragedies. Both awful.

Happy Wednesday

A xxxx

The good news is: you can eat carbs again. Don’t hold back. No counting calories. Have the extra slice. Buy two of those. Eat the whole loaf. Toast is now king. Whereas it was… toast. Yet here in the Times this very day, they’ve given us carte blanche to binge on everything they told us last week would kill us. Would turn us into diabetic hefties with clogged up everthings and wobbling obese-ness hanging over our belts. No more; the path to a six-pack is a six-pack. (Beer’s carbs, innit?) Ok, I didn’t read the whole article because the headlines exited me so much I just wanted to share this good news before I head to Greggs.

The bad news is: Spurs played last night. Against recently re-promoted Leicester. The last match of the opening weekend of the Premier League season. Which saw inevitable wins for Arsenal and Liverpool, a stand-out away win by Brighton at Everton and the champions victorious is the battle of the money-launderers. The Chelsea Cheats hosted the Manchester Monsters and, basically, got stuffed. But it’s to be expected. You can’t spend a measly £1.2billion (yes, fucking BILLION) on new players and expect them to win games. Todd Boehly needs to up his game. No-one knows exactly how much Manchester City have spent because the accounts got mysteriously lost just before the court case for financial irregularities starts.

But then out came Spurs. My glory boys. Who have everything, except glory. But last night they strutted round the King Power stadium almost like they’re some big, top-6, rich team from London. Oh, they are. Just, sadly, usually at the wrong end of that ‘top 6’. Which used to be the ‘top 4’, but… needed to be extended.

For 45 minutes we were simply brilliant. Played with flow and flair and finesse, setting up chance after chance and… not scoring. But it was inevitable and the goal eventually came from the unlikely place of the head of the smallest guy on the pitch, a defender to boot, goal-hanging in the 6-yard box. Oh, how we all love Pedro Porro. Ok, let’s get ‘em!!!!

But we didn’t ’get ‘em’. We let them reach half time just one nil down and then had 45 minutes, plus (lots of) stoppage time to regret the misses and our failure to capitalise on all that wonderful attackingness. It was so exiting I went up for a bath. I know, that’s a particularly girly thing to do, but I’m in touch with my feminine side as much as the next right-wing rioter, so I can.

And when I came down we’d brought the kids on, changed the team around and allowed horror-of-horrors, Jamie Vardy, to score. He is 87 years old. But looks older. In what must have been a peak of despair, Ange brought on Richarlison. And I knew it was over at that point. He may have upped his tattoo game but no other.

A draw. Not the worst way to start the season. Lots of ‘positives’ in the first half domination, though Leicester were truly abysmal at that point. But not the best way either.

I remain ‘cautiously optimistic’.

As usual.

Happy Tuesday

A xxxx

What are we going to do about the Scottish Nationalists? Ok, due to various… issues, we’re now lumbered with only 9 of the fuckers in Westminster since the last election. Previously there were about 70 which is too much for anyone. If I’m honest, one SNP MP is one too many. And yesterday showed me precisely why I think that way.

John Mason (MSP) replied to a tweet from a fellow Scottish Nash. about Israel, in which the other person used the G-bomb. “Genocide!!!!” To which John Mason stated: “If Israel wanted to commit genocide there’d be 10 times as many (deaths)”. A statement perfectly true, common sense to anyone who understands the military might at Israel’s disposal, and inoffensive to anyone who is not a Scottish Nationalist.

Mason was ‘immediately!’ thrown out of the party. With the comment: “to flippantly dismiss the death of 40,000 Palestinians is completely unacceptable”.

What is completely unacceptable is splitting an infinitive!!! But literacy has always been an issue north of the border. And I must have missed the ‘dismissal’ of 40,000 deaths, which he didn’t actually mention. All he did was succinctly call into question the way many of the moronic masses, which includes, it would appear, all but one of the Scottish National Party, jump onto the ‘genocide’ bandwagon. Which had been previously reserved for fans of Hamas, crooked South African politicians and those in debt to Iran.

Odd that no ruling of genocide has happened yet, and is unlikely to, being just a cheap shot by Iran using South Africa as its proxy to score some public sympathy points. And yet the ruling seems unquestionable in the eyes of the Scots Nats. A red line that cannot be crossed. To even imply such a thing is punishable by… removal. To them, all war deaths are ‘genocide’. Don’t like to think about Braveheart. All killed by the biggest antisemite of them all, Mel Gibson.

Even more odd is that for what is indeed a very contentious issue, this Israel genocide thing, those dogmatic Scots will engage in no debate, no question, no deviation from the party line. Unless, in Alex Salmond’s case, that deviation was sexual, or in Nicola Sturgeon’s case, financial.

So just a brief word from me to the Scottish Nationalists, other than John Mason who has amazingly retained the ability to think-before-he-virtue-signals, YOU CAN ALL JUST FUCK OFF.

Glad we got that off our chests.

Happy Monday

A xxxx

I am a terrorist. Not like a suicide bomber, I’m much too important for that and would never wear anything that resembled a ‘fat suit’. And not like Joey in that he wants to destroy everything, in a considered manner. But in one way, as defined by our esteemed new governmental intentions, I am as radicalised as Jihadi John, as bad as Tommy Robinson and as guilty of that dozy old woman who was sent to jail last week for posting that ‘they should bomb that mosque with all the adults inside’.

I’m not just a man but an… extreme misogynist!!! And Yvette Cooper wants to treat us as ‘terrorists’, along with all of the above. All normal men are misogynistic because we have to defend ourselves from rampant feminism and make definitive statements about ‘who wears the stilletoes in this house!!!!’ That used to be ‘trousers’ but gender dysphoria and post-feminism changed the parameters.

And here’s the point. If you read the above paragraph with a light heart, an open mind and a smile on your face, it’s because you get the irony in every sentence. The satire which is proposing the opposing position to what you feel, to make that very point. You never realised how clever you were, did you? I certainly never thought you were.

Yet that paragraph, written by the Andrew Tate’s of this world, are not ironic. They’re inflammatory. A call to arms against women. The very thing that Yvette Cooper wants to stop.

So how is some spotty, inexperienced, post-Cambridge graduate with no life skills, armed with a 2-1 in Tudor History, and now in the civil service because of daddy’s connections to all things double-barrelled, going to tell the difference between me and the eponymous Mr Tate? You need to appreciate context, nuance, subtlety to realise that ‘he’ is a nasty, wife-beating (if he had a wife, he definitely would), almost-rapist with no respect for women whatsoever, and I truly love women in a lovely way that only sometimes results in objectification, physical abuse and shouting ‘SHOW US YER TITS, LUV!!!!!’ at passers by.

And that’s the problem. Firstly you really need to rigidly define what, exactly, ‘extreme misogyny’ is, and then you need to find a way to find it without denying the 90% of men who aren’t misogynists the right to exchange banter, say funny things to prove a point and engage in harmless free speech.

That is definitely beyond the reach of this government. And what we really don’t need is more restrictive legislation, thank you very much.

Happy Sunday

The Bitch Slapper xxxx

Who doesn’t read of the recent incursion by Ukraine into Russian land and not grin like a Spurs fan at a postmortem meeting for an Arsenal loss? I’ll tell you who’s not grinning, Vladimir Putin. Though he seems rather quite powerless to re-take control of that little extreme part of his territory currently under enemy occupation. And how that must hurt him. His pride, his megalomania, his ability to lie to his citizens that ‘there is no war’. In due course there will come ‘the retaliation’, and God help us all, but meanwhile, we can enjoy. And rejoice at the sheer chutzpah of Zelensky.

Meanwhile in Doha, there having ‘ceasefire talks’ about Gaza. The Israelis turned up but Hamas were busy this weekend with the start of the new Premier League season so cried off. When the Israelis initially refused the talks were going to happen anyway. Such is the collective stupidity and arrogance of international diplomats who feel that they can reach decisions of great importance with neither of the protagonists present. They’re ’that good’ at what they do. Whereas the reality is that even if both warring parties were in attendance, the chances of them doing Biden’s or Qatar’s bidding is pretty minimal anyway. So the show goes on.

And have you ever wondered (unless you’ve seen that super little video I watched the other day) why there is not one single bomb shelter in the whole of Palestine? There are 500 miles of tunnels, so they know how to dig, but not one place where civilians might go for safety. If, f’rinstance, you happen to live next to a highly armed nation who are always 100% war ready and you go into that nation and murder 1200 of its people. AND… you’ve planned this for years and are under no illusions as to what was the totally inevitable consequence of that attack.

But bomb shelters are what civilised countries provide for their populations at such times. Hamas choose an alternative path. Which involves the total sacrifice of any or all of ‘the civilian population’. Every woman and child killed by bombs or missiles is a win for Hamas by giving it another finger to point at Israel. So not only are there no bomb shelters, Hamas uses the terrorists version of a honey trap to increase civilian deaths. It buries its arms depots and stores under schools, hospitals, refugee centres, anywhere which will cause maximum ‘outrage’ by observers only capable of reading banner headlines and not the full text.

Similarly, everyone has now accepted that “40,000” Palestinians have died in Israeli attacks. Even though, as they always tell us, “this figure comes from Hamas”. And because the BBC would rather trust a murderous death cult intent on using the deaths of its own people to advance its political narrative, than to question this. Even though it would appear that about 50,000 of those 40,000 (???), are women and children. Whereas in fact at least 15,000 deaths are of Hamas ‘soldiers’. Or ‘terrorists’ as they would be called if they lived next door to you.

Never mind, at least the football’s back.

Happy Saturday

A xxxx