Andy's Glasses

Today is the day we’ve been waiting for since… ages ago. It is the start of the Women’s Super League!!! Deprived of women’s football since… whenever it was, oh yeah, losing the World Cup Final, it’s coming back TODAY! That makes last week’s Spurs match at Arsenal totally irrelevant in my life, this afternoon’s visit by Liverpool, completely unimportant. Ukraine? Now reduced to peripheral consideration only. HS2? Put into the shadows by the return of the soccer gels. Even that total fuckwit of a (now resigned) Speaker of Canada’s Parliament giving a speech praising an old Ukrainian, not realising that the guy had joined the Nazis in the war, even that monumental act of stupidity is of so much less consequence now the pony tails are returning. I can’t wait to see… you know, that one with the long legs, pony tail, plays for… Arsenal? Possibly Manchester United, she’s fab. And… the goalie who didn’t get named shirts for sale… fantastic, and as for my favourite, Leah Something or other, the blond lesbian captain of Arsenal, she’ll be recovered from her surgery and back soon. (Its a credit to Arsenal that they’ve always been sympathetic and inclusive of gays and have always included them in their teams). All starting now! Or later. Possibly tomorrow. Don’t miss it!

Rishi Sunak has been inspired by Mad Max and is declaring all roads in England free of any speed limits. They’re going to be drag-racing (very inclusive) down Oxford Street, screaming past schools at drop-off time at 80mph and possibly, vehicles no longer having to stop at red lights. Like bikes!

Ok, that may be a slight exaggeration. What he actually said was ‘this new 20mph speed limit is wrong’. Thus immediately alienating him, his political party and his election hopes from the Green lobby, the road safety lobby and the lobby of ‘people who like driving so fucking slowly its like walking through water’. And all because he won a by-election that he should never have won because it had become effectively, a referendum about ULEZ. Thus his party think that the driving population must be greater than all the greens and all the others who are actually worried about people being hit by speeding cars and anyone else who paid too much attention at their ‘speed awareness course’ whilst the rest of us were doodling or sleeping. That’s why he’s given a reprieve to petrol and diesel cars for an extra 5 years. And now this!!! He won’t be invited to Greta Thunberg’s next teddy-bears’ tea party, will he? Instead he’ll be going to the Ace Cafe in Neasden to smooth talk all the Harley riders and petrol heads in their Custom Cars.

And I want to include HS2 in the latest series of ‘Rishi’s U-turns’ but I’ve run out of time and, quite frankly, I can’t be bothered. Maybe tomorrow…

Happy Saturday

A xxxx

I like numbers. Especially big ones. Unless they’re written in red ink on my bank statement. Other than that, bigger the better. And today’s scientific breakthrough is a new laser. They’re building it to try and activate protons to make them dance. So they can initiate nuclear fusion to provide us with 2 million years of carbon-free, cost-free electricity at NO RISK, unlike the current ‘fission’ models like at Windscale, Chernobyl…

This laser is ‘powerful’. Think Superman. Then make him the size of Jupiter. The laser produces a pulse of light. ***NUMBER ALERT!!!*** A trillion, trillion times brighter than sunlight on a summer’s day. Not a cloudy day. Possibly in Spain. So if that sunny day has a brightness of ‘1’, this laser’s brightness is 1 followed by 24 zeroes. Definitely need some cool sunglasses for that. To make its pulse, it uses more power than the entire national grid, but it lasts for one trillionth of a second. Not long enough to get an even suntan.

Also, and not as spectacularly numberish, but really wonderful, we’re all going to be travelling by ‘air-taxis’ really soon. They’re built, they’re tested, they’re 1000 times safer than helicopters and they’re vertical take off and landing, so they can pick you from outside your house. If it’s a wide road. With no cars parked.

But this is the stuff of science fiction made real. In the 5th Element Bruce Willis played a taxi driver, but of these kind of things. Flying taxis. And so now we’re aspiring to a dystopian future-world where the traffic chaos, insanity and mayhem can move in 3 dimensions instead of two. And I love that. No traffic lights in the air, nor pedestrians. Nor old men on electric bikes getting in everyone’s way.

They’re basically big versions of drones. Which carry 5 people. Original drones were made so that the Ukrainians could spy on the attacking Russians and so that you could watch women on the 19th floor of a tower block taking a shower. And now they’ve evolved into this. It’s just brilliant. Stockholm are having them first, and if not too many Swedes die in the trials, we’ll get them by 2028.

Other than that, nothing’s happening in the world.

Happy Thursday

A xxxx

They sent up a space thingy. Seven years ago. To travel about 2 billion miles out to deep space. And these are proper miles, not those silly ones my electric car uses which are (sometimes) only about 300 yards long. The space thingy would have been travelling at approximately 27,000 miles per hour. That is fairly fast. Sound travels at 761mph. So if you happened to see the space thing coming towards you as you sat on some distant satellite, you quite literally would not hear it coming. Well you would, but about 10 minutes after it went past. And it was going out to meet an asteroid called Bennu . Which is about half a kilometre in diameter. Oh, that’s nice, we’ll meet in space and have a coffee. Must be a Starbucks up there, surely? But no. Asteroids don’t sit still, it’s not in their nature. It’s revolving around some orbit somewhere and in fact in about 20-eighty-something, it might even crash into our planet!! Holy shit. Last time that happened the dinosaurs were made extinct, and that crash wasn’t as big as this one will be.

But it’s not really about that. They wanted to collect as ‘sample’. They sent it a little glass vial with ‘piss in this’ but it didn’t respond. So they sent the thingy. To ‘meet’ it. So let’s just ponder this ‘meeting’ for a moment. Because the asteroid is moving on its orbit, probably about the same speed as our thingy. So you have to work out, seven years ago, where that asteroid will be in seven years time, and arrange for a space vehicle, travelling at 27,000mph, to meet it precisely and exactly, to such a degree that the space pod ‘brushes’ against the asteroid collecting a sample. How hard can that be?

Then there’s the even bigger question of ‘why’. Or even ‘why the fuck would you do that???’ Go all that way to come back with 250grams of rock and dust. They could have come round to me on a Sunday when I’m gardening and taken all they want. I’d have paid them, in fact. But no, they wanted asteroid rock and dust. And who can blame them?

It then had to be ‘slowed down’ as it approached Utah from space at 27,000mph. Otherwise, really, all that work would have been scattered for 100 miles into the porridge of a lot of unhappy Mormons. The parachute worked and it hit the ground at just 11mph, itself totally amazing.

They reckon that Bannu is about 6 billion years old. Before the Earth was even formed. So they want to analyse its composition and learn where it’s been, what’s happened, HOW THE WORLD AND LIFE UPON IT STARTED!!! All from 250 grams of shit that you’d throw away if you found it.

Ok, and also, how it might be destroyed, averted, steered away or put off its course should it come too close in twenty-eighty-whatever.

And if you think that’s impressive, you should have seen Spurs at Arsenal yesterday. That was impressive.

Happy Yom Kippur

A xxxx

Today is the ‘North-London-derby’, a match so unique, so revered, so… special that it warrants more column inches, or even centimetres, of prattle, speculation, hypothesising, naval-gazing and ranting than all the other football matches played in the world, combined!!! It is also the match which, for most Spurs fans, defines the sentiment that ‘we can live with disappointment, it’s the hope that kills’, and is the uncontested benchmark for any football season. Any why is it such a ‘big deal’? Even when, quite often, neither team has any ‘top’ aspirations, both are playing ok, or playing shit, or mid-table, even then, it becomes so much more than the sum of its parts.

There are other ‘rivalries’. Apparently they have one in Glasgow, but it’s driven by religious sectarianism and historical hatred. Ours is just about football. There’s the ‘Manchester derby’ when United go to City with a massive list of their almost incomparable successes from yesteryear and get humiliated and embarrassed by the team of this year. Liverpool have a lop-sided ‘rivalry’ with City-mates Everton, but rivalry? Really???

I’ve been to lots of Spurs Arsenal matches. I still bear the scars from most. And only really remember the good ones. Or the totally horrible ones (3-nil up and lose 5-3!!!!). I was at the Emirates for perhaps the most spectacular one; when total loser and no-hoper David Bentley performed the one single act in his entire Spurs career which entered him into the ‘legends’ by hitting a 40 yard wonderstrike past Almunia to give us the lead. Which soon turned into a 4-1 disadvantage that somehow, amazingly, incredibly, and best of all, undeservedly, ended up 4-4.

And the fixture always fills me with dread. Not with the fear of not slipping down the league table but of the total hell I’ll receive from all the Arsenal fans I know. And loads that I never knew I knew but somehow emerge from the depths at such times. But worst of all is those who are ‘sympathetic’, and then spend 3 hours explaining the wondrous evolution of Arsenal whilst poor Spurs have languished in the manager-turnaround circus leading to extinction. PATRONISING FUCKERS.

Yet with all that has happened before, and knowing the terrible price of unrealistic expectations; I can’t help but be positive about this afternoon. I may even come out from behind the couch. For bits of it anyway. But it’s because today’s match is different. Today, according to every single newspaper, it is Arsenal vs Postecoglou. And I’m happy with that.

GOD HELP MEEEEEE.

A xxxx

People collect all sorts of things. My very old mate has, quite literally, every single Arsenal programme ever printed or scratched onto slate. No idea why you’d want that. You can start a fire with old newspapers. Another mate collects pipes. Smoking ones. Doesn’t use ‘em, just likes ‘em. Books, records, cars, stamps, you can collect anything. And I collect bank accounts. Not necessarily for the aesthetics of fine art or the cuddliness of collecting teddy bears, it’s just that I don’t seem to bother closing them and just open another when needed. You can never have too many. Errrrr, right?

Then catastrophe. An account we’ve had since about 1990 announced they were shutting their current accounts down!!! Noooooooo!!!! Best if I transfer to another bank, OR, as banks now term it: ‘switch!’ Its a standardised process for taking over all regular payments and outgoings, direct debits, everything, it just magically ‘switches’ to the new bank!! That’s just what we need!!! What could possibly go wrong!!!!

Barclays went wrong.

They’re not my ‘main’ bank, but I have an account I use and thought it would be good to incorporate the account that was closing into that. So I called them, having seen online that they’re really into ‘SWITCH!!!’ Great.

Ah, you need the app. Ok, I got the app. There’s ‘switch’… “NOT for joint accounts”, which the other one is. Ah. So, using my new app, I called them. And got through!! To a person!!! Who told me that I need to go to a branch. So I popped in to a nearby branch. To be told that “you can’t ‘switch’ into an existing account, its only for NEW accounts, NOW FUCK OFF AND DON’T BOTHER ME AGAIN!!!!” She didn’t actually say that, but it was implicit with every breath she took. Scary, officious person. (Because I can’t say ‘bitch’)

I called my app-people again who told me she was wrong. I CAN switch to an existing account. Phew. But how? Ahhh, I’ll make you an appointment in a branch. But you have no branches. You’ve shut them all down. Oooh, there’s one, in Hendon, Barclays ‘Local’, you have an appointment made there. Yaaaaay, I’m winnin’.

When they called to confirm the appointment they told me ‘Local’ versions can NOT do a ‘switch’, only big, proper versions. Which, like big, proper dinosaurs, are pretty-much extinct. But there is one!!! In Holborn!!! Fab, make me an appointment. I can’t. Its not on the appointment system. You’ll have to go in. Ok. And ‘yes’ they can switch, and ‘yes’ from a joint account into an existing joint account, and ‘yes’… our ‘man’ (singular) is in on Wednesdays and he’ll call to arrange an appointment.

The old account is shutting on Sept 30th and the ‘switch’ takes 7 days. But heh, no problem. I’m getting an appointment!!!

He emailed on Wednesday. To make an appointment… for a phone chat. Errrr… ok, but time is waiting for no man, not this one, certainly. So he scheduled a call for yesterday, 10.15.

By 10.30 there was no call. 10.45… 11.00…

I went online with Santander, who are our main bank, because, I filled in an online application for a new account, pressed the switch button and…

“Yes sir, here’s your new joint account details and your switch is under way…” Ten minutes total. After 3 weeks of fucking about with Barclays.

At 12.00 I received a call from Barclays. The one from 10.15. “So sorry, accidentally entered it into my diary for TOMORROW!!!, phah!, sorry, how can I help you?” The air was blue. Not Barclays ‘blue’ but vile sweary, screamy, abusive, insulting ‘blue’.

This morning, I received a text reminding me of my phone appointment for the wrong day at the wrong time. I was arrested at Charing Cross for standing in the middle of the Strand shouting “YOU FUCKING TOSSSSSSEEERRRRSSSS!!!!” repeatedly at my phone.

Go to Barclays Bank: IF YOU WANNA FUCKING DIE OF FRUSTRAAATION.

And I add another account to my collection. Win-win.

Happy Friday

A xxxx

I just received an email from Rishi Sunak. Personal one. Addressed to ‘Andrew’. Not just that but ‘Dear Andrew’ because he loves me. All Prime Ministers do. Signed it ‘love Rishi xxxx’.

Ok, it was a form message, but ONLY sent to the most important 66 million people in the country.

And he sent it because he’s taken a new stance on climate change and wanted to tell me to ditch the fucking electric car now, turn the lights back on, stockpile coal, burn petrol as much as possible, hike the central heating and eat polar bears. Because we’re so ahead of the curve on climate control that he’s worried we might actually exceed our reduction targets for 2050 and actually be taking carbon out of the environment. Which the trees won’t like. So he’s changing the date of compulsory electric vehicles from 2030 to 2035, and similarly, we can still get new, gas-burning, highly-emitting, carbon producing home boilers until that date, rather than getting penguin-friendly heat pumps.

All all because he thinks that the average brick-layer’s assistant will struggle to come up with 45 grand for a new van and 25k for the heat pump!

Even for a man who would tomorrow swap his fabulous electric vehicle for a 1970, 6-litre, Dodge Challenger R/T and run it on Nitro-methane, Rishi’s move seems a little ‘anti-zeitgeist’. As the whole world is moving towards lowering carbon with the over-riding importance on ‘NOWWWW!!!!!’, Rishi is chilled about the warming, he’s cool with Greece burning to the ground and the floods everywhere from Europe to last night in the fucking West End!!!!

Sales in superglue will rocket as the eco-warriors prepare to stick themselves to every road, building and non-electric vehicle in the land.

Cynics think Rishi’s change of direction is due to people’s hostility against ULEZ, being symptomatic of a reluctance to adhere to environmental issues if they cost ME money. And therefore, pulling back could be a vote winner. There again, looking at the economy, the NHS waiting lists, the strikes and the general shit, Rishi has a lot more work to do. But apparently, ‘we’ll still be fine for 2050, carbon neutral’. Yeah. Right.

Happy Thursday

A xxxx

Not Russell, for him there is no defence. He is the ‘Everton’ of humanity. The scumbag’s scumbag, whether allegation prove true or not. But I write, with hand on my heart, in defence of men. All men. Because it would appear, we need defending, explaining, forgiving and a host of other things, just because we’re men. And although we’re not all rapists, despite comments to the contrary, you just have to pick up the newspaper (sorry; or swipe up the Mail Online; though really ANY other paper would be better, if not cheaper) to see pages and pages of the growing ‘case’ against Brand. Then how the police are putting 1,000 officers on some form of suspension or ‘suspension light’, limiting their contact with anyone younger than 45 wearing a skirt. Then some actor/director/studio boss has been getting a bit casting couchy with people, and for God’s sake be careful around surgeons, they’ll be inside your underwear before you can say ‘oooooh, Matron!!!!’

But other than all that lot and virtually every other environment where men and women are in any kind of proximity to each other, you’re safe.

So it would appear that if not all, then a high proportion of men are, if not precisely ‘rapists’, then at least something rather unsavoury and unwanted in the sexual assault/harassment/abuse department.

I blame evolution. Which, in a non-directional way, produced ‘woman’ to be alluring to men, so they would attract more mates and be reproductively ‘fitter’ than some rotten old minger with halitosis. And it also selectively produced men to want to reproduce, because that is what evolution is all and only about. Ok, Darwin wrote nothing about casting couches, cars parked on lanes off the Esher bypass, nor the broom cupboard at Nobu. But we (as a species) NEED to reproduce and thus we NEED attraction to the… errr… contradictory… gender… or, obviously, possibly the same gender, but… errrr…

In short, our ‘animal’ side (and that force is BIG, Luke) wants us to be promiscuous, to go out and make loads’a babies. To propagate our genes into the future. The more the merrier.

But then, about 3,000 years ago, such a short time that on an evolutionary line it would barely register a single dot at the end, some bastard came along and introduced things like ‘society’ and ‘acceptable behaviour’ and even ‘marriage’!!! Which kind’a changed things. Essentially, the ‘animal’, man, became ‘civilised’. Except Russell Brand, obviously, Harvey Weinstein, Jimmy Savile, Kevin Spacey… half the police force, all the surgeons, most partners in law firms, accountancy firms, banks and… men. We are innately, biologically, genetically attracted to women. And vice versa (in theory). It takes actual effort not to jump on people to ‘mate’, like real animals do. Obviously more of an effort than Russell is prepared to make. Because he is fucking animal. No insult intended to animals.

However, 3000 years is a long time for mankind. Long enough to ‘socially engineer’ (because it ain’t real ‘evolution’) an understanding of etiquettes and propriety, even with the major setback which was the Romans.

I’m not defending the indefensible, I’m here to bury him. But just as an alternative ‘context’, its not always easy being a man. And a lot, lot harder being a woman.

Happy Tuesday

A xxxx

Now here’s a funny thing. How does the justice system work? It works on impartiality, evidence, balance and fair… justice. No preconceptions, no prejudicial theories outside the context of the trial, just truth. So you get allegations made against Woody Allen, not very nice ones, fairly convincing, lots of relevant data, not looking good for the Woodster, but… but its Woody Allen. The man is a god. Just for ‘Sleeper’ alone he should be exonerated from all crimes for life. Add in any of 19 other masterpieces and he veritably hobbles on water. Well, walking’s a bit tricky at that age. Anyway, Woody, crimes, I initially disbelieve, then I justify, possibly offer mitigation, over-reaction, miscalculation, affirmative action. Anything that’ll ‘square’ in my mind the not very nice ALL-EG-EDDDD actions with the image of a man I love deeply. To maintain his ‘innocence’.

Then Russel Brand gets ‘outed’ as a serial molester, sexual assaulter, predator, groomer and rapist. And immediately my mind is telling me ‘he done it, (my mind is not so grammatically critical as the rest of me ),course he did, lock the bastard up and throw away the key’. That way we won’t have to accidentally chance upon his revolting, smug, evil face ever again. No one was surprised upon hearing this latest ‘scandal’.

And it could be that Russell is correct; that all his ‘promiscuity’ was ‘consensual’. In which case its that age old problem, women just have no idea what ‘consensual’ even means and need to be educated proper. As there seems to be a slight ‘disconnect’ between what was said and how it was received by him. And you have to admit, there is a certain ambiguity in the word ‘NO!!!’ which could be an issue. But this is not about his innocence (yeah, right) or guilt (no question whatsoever). This is about the courtroom which sits, Monday to Friday, AND weekends, evenings and during the night, in my brain. Which has already (by the end of the story breaking the first time) found him not just guilty but despicable. Just like he was prior to the story.

I’m not proud of it, its what it is.

Joey’s at ‘big school’ now with his sister. Awwwwwww…

Happy Monday

A xxxx

Yesterday (and today) was the Jewish New Year. The day, as it is written, when all Spurs fans have to make the biggest decision of the year, whether to go to the match at White Hart Lane at 3 o’clock and upset their wives, families, parents, uncles, aunts and a few holier-than-thou mates who’d already put their tickets on stub-hub, or whether to absent themselves from the match so as to score a few more points ‘up there’ at this pivotal time of year when the annual ‘tally’ is run before the ultimate ‘judge’. It’s a moral dilemma. Of sorts.

We needn’t have worried. Once God had counted that all the Jews were absent from the Lane, which took him about 82 minutes, because even God can run out of fingers, He decided all was ok and Spurs could win. Eventually. So He extended the match until that happened. It took ten minutes of ‘added time’ for Spurs to score the 2 goals required for victory, then he added on more minutes, in case we wanted a 3rd goal and, at the time of writing, the match is now in its 14th hour of ‘added time’ and should finish by Tuesday.

Our star (ish) Brazilian, Richarlison, has been out of sorts since… well, forever really, but certainly since he arrived at Tottenham. He can’t score goals. Which, for an Uber driver is not much of a problem, but for a Premier league striker, obviously, a bit more so. He’s had, as he described it this week ‘mental health issues’. Well any fan could have told him that. But acceptance is the first step to redemption. And it proved true that the problems were ‘in his head’. Or in his case ‘on his head’. Because he’s been sprouting a blond head for about 3 years, and his psychologist/barber cut it off. And hey presto, like some Samson-in-reverse, he scored one and made one on Saturday.

I’m officially obsessed with electric transport. The car is phenomenal (outside of home charging notwithstanding), and the bike… OMG it’s the only way to travel. But I don’t ride in when it might rain. Like, electricity and water??? I heard that if its raining and you’re on an e-bike, if your tongue is on the handlebars and your testicles slip onto the saddle and your feet touch the ground, all at the same time: you DIE!!!! Probably because you crash into something but it’s a big concern for us fair-weather, princessy heroes.

Happy Sunday. COME ON EVERTON!!!

A xxxx

There’s big talk about concerning the ‘triple lock!!!’ on MY pension. Yes, I am a pensioner and thus get paid by the state, have incontinence issues, dribble down my shirt and walk round in circles talking about Rommel’s attack in Tunisia. Its what we do. And we do all that shit because we can afford to. Because the government don’t just pay us, but they give us a pay rise EVERY YEAR. Otherwise we’ll go on strike!!! The nation would positively grind to a halt if the above activities were to cease due to industrial action. And the pay rise is ‘triple locked’. Meaning that whichever is the greater of: average earnings; inflation or 2.5%, that’s what we get. And as average earnings have shot up, due to a massive increase in inflation; us old’uns are going to be quids in. And deservedly so. We’ve paid all our lives into a state pension, even though we didn’t want to. We gave our legs for this country. Probably metaphorically, but its what us oldies claim. We need more heating than you young bucks do. And certainly more alcohol. So its all well and good that our annual pay rise is much more than anyone else’s. As it should be. If they gave more money to young people they’d only go and waste it on sex and drugs and rock’n’roll. Possibly a bit on rent, buy a house, pay childcare, improve healthcare… but who wants that? When you can have half a nation of overpaid old folks getting pissed every day on your dollar. “WHEN DO WE WANT IT? NOWWWW!!!!”

The other thing about getting old is that you may at some point get to become a grandparent. To, probably, a grandchild. Or two even. And the whole point of being a grandparent is that you don’t say ‘no’. Only when Joey’s broken something, and by then its too late. But grandparents are providers of ‘treats’. Which mummy and daddy have decided to rename ‘junk’. Thinking that by renaming food high in sugar, salt, MSG, excessive colourings and flavourings as ‘treats’ makes them sound worthy, commendable and hence, overly desirable. Whereas by calling them ‘junk’, Lila and Joey will instantly throw their lollypops in the bin (well, Joey probably on the sofa), cast aside their salt’n’vinegar Hoola Hoops, run away from their ice creams, and head straight for the nearest Holland & Barrett. Yeah. Right.

The only thing with ‘treats’ is that they should be secret. And Lila and Joey don’t do ‘secrets’ very well. Saying ‘don’t tell mum’ (dads are always more… flexible) about ‘treats’ or ‘illicit’ viewing on YouTube (teenagers being stupid type videos which are so stupid that they guarantee the viewer will end up an incurable fan of Love Island and The Only Way is Essex by the time they’re 12) that they always tell their mum at the earliest opportunity. Phah! Kids.

Happy old Friday

A xxxx