Andy's Glasses

Tonight sees the ‘final’ of the Eurovision Song Contest. What anyone older than 7 calls simply ‘The Eurovision Song Contest’. I can never recall semi-finals before. Nor quarter finals or rounds of… about 95 probably. The Contest has now been extended to a week-long extravaganza of screaming, singing really awful songs, better dancing, dressing up in silly costumes and impersonations of Agnetha when she sung ‘Waterloo’. Which never hit the spot because there is no one in Liverpool with such a great voice or fabulous bum. I’m just adorning the lounge with the flags of all the entrant’s countries and getting my wig ready for dressing up as that geezer last year who won but was not allowed victory because Ukraine was, and still is, at war with Russia. Can’t remember his name because we’ll never see or hear from him again. Which is why Eurovision is so good for so many people; because its so bad. Third-rate artists performing production-line manufactured Euro-crap, way beneath my superior and cultured tastes (Black Sabbath?), so I’ve never really watched it.

But Russia is still invading Ukraine, in case you hadn’t noticed. The people still living in Ukraine have definitely noticed. Which is why Liverpool is hosting the contest. Because its the city which most resembles the Donbas after 15 months of Russian assault.

So we’ve banned the Russians from entering. Doubtless a tragic loss to music. But in doing so the Eurovision People have made a political statement. They’ve abandoned neutrality. Ok, on the side of the good guys, but they’ve made them the good guys by not banning Ukraine too. Quite rightly.

Yet when President Zelensky asked to address the contest by video link they said a big ‘non!!’ Or ‘nein!!’, possibly ‘niet!!’ or whatever Eurovisioners say to state a negative. And I have to say I agree. I love little Zelensky, he reminds me of a toy soldier I had when I was 9. But his speech would be about the war. “Great song, now send me more tanks”. And it is inappropriate. Because that is a serious matter and the Eurovision isn’t. Its total bollocks.

Rishi Sunak disagreed with the Euros and said Zelensky should speak. Ok, another worthless opinion from our PM which everyone will ignore. Then Kier Starmer said he actually agreed with Rishi, rather than saying ‘the Prime Minister must go!’, like he normally does.

And that’s when I realised that I really really agreed with the decision. Because whatever Starmer says is wrong, stupid and useless. That’s it. Dilemma over.

Happy Saturday

A xxxx

Do you remember ‘in the old days’, when a car ‘went wrong’, it was because the top hose had split and you had water all over the driveway. Or your fan-belt broke and you had to wrap your wife’s tights round the engine to get home. But then cars got better. Stronger, less prone to breakdown, and much safer. And that safety used to be measured by the width of the bumpers, the strength of the chassis, the crash resistance of the sub-frame.

Not any more. I just received an email telling me that our new car’s data protection has been updated. I’ll stop wearing the crash helmet then. You just take it to the garage, where a guy called ‘Jim’, wearing overalls, a roll-up stuck in the corner of his lip, greasy spanner in his hand, will sort it out. Ok, that was a joke, which you know because Mel would NEVER let anyone dirty even approach the new car. But I feel safer knowing my data’s protected.

The immigration debate is hotting up. And has descended into a battle between Cruella de Braverman, possibly the most xenophobic of all immigrant-descendants ever to adhere to the ‘we’re here, you lot can all just fuck off’ paradigm of far-rightness made famous by Enoch Powell. And Justin Welby, the most recent incumbent of the Canterbury Archbishopship, who regularly crosses the line between ‘highest paid bible-basher’ and ‘moral conscience of Westminster’. And it is a royal battle. Without any royals involved. They’ve had more than their allotted ‘5 minutes of fame’ lately.

We all know the arguments. Its horrible to not be welcoming to the horribly dispossessed and defeated. That we would close our doors to Sudanese or Ukrainians fleeing war, or to French people fleeing Macron, or to Afghanis fleeing from the Taliban, is an abhorrent thought. Yet we need to ‘sift’ those from the less asylum-seeking and more pick-pocketing, free-loading rabble of mere ‘chancers’. All of whom, the worthy and the less so, arrive on the same boats. Run by the dreaded ‘people carriers’, who all sides of the debate rightly hate.

So here’s the tricky bit; you can only apply for asylum here if you’re already here. But you’re not allowed to come here without it and will be herded with the ‘Albanians’ (now entered into Braverman’s lexicon as a generic term for all the world’s ne’er’do’wells) to foreign lands for years and years whilst our work-from-home civil servants spend the next decade calculating which side of the ‘righteous/Albanian’ divide you sit.

Its ‘ard.

Happy Friday

A xxxx

Yesterday’s football matches were just brilliant. For several reasons.

1. None of them involved Spurs.
2. I had no ‘skin in the game’.
3. Spurs weren’t playing.
4. All the teams were doomed anyway.
5. Was interesting on a deeply philosophical and scientific level.
6. Couldn’t have given a toss who won, lost or drew.

The three matches played were of massive importance in the relegation struggle. Shame Chelsea weren’t involved but that’s something else to look forward to next season. And unusual for bottom of the table teams, two of them actually won.

Everton’s was the most unlikely. Made way more so by the actual scoreline. You generally don’t get to wallow 2nd from bottom by scoring 5 goals. Away from home. Against one of the ‘wonder’ teams of the season. But they did against Brighton. More goals than they’ve managed in their last 18 games (possibly slight exaggeration but not much). May have saved Everton from the drop.

Fulham weren’t in danger of relegation, having pre-emptively put up their season ticket prices for next year by about 120%. But they thrashed Leicester. Not quite as comfortably as it initially looked like they would but 5-3 was fair. WAG-husband Jamie Vardy missed a penalty. That was worth next years inflated ticket price on its own.

And then the battle of the no-hopers against the little-bit-of-hopers went in favour of the latter who now have even more hope as they top the pile-of-the-precarious. Forest only have 33 points after their win but that may probably be enough as points are generally hard to come by at that end of the table. Other than yesterday, when there were points and goals everywhere. Southampton are gone.

Leeds didn’t play yesterday so did their customary losing on Saturday against Manchester City. I mean; how hard would it have been to beat City and moved up??

Tonight City play Real Madrid. Its a battle of which team can defend best against the two best players in the world at the moment; Vinicius and Haaland. Ooooh, that’s a lovely prospect indeed.

Football’s just so much more fun when you don’t really give a shit.

Happy Tuesday

A xxxx

We live in the leafy suburbs of North-west London. Nothing ever happens here. Its sleepy. Genteel. Peaceful. ‘Excitement’ round our way is when your ‘Ring’ doorbell drops off the WiFi. ‘Living on the edge’ is what we call driving round in a dirty car. And by ‘dirty’, that means either covered in muck, or powered by oil derivatives.

But that doesn’t mean we don’t know how to PARTYYYYYY!!!!

Oh yes, every time there’s a coronation, or a jubilee, we close off our tiny little street, block off the ends with cones, set up half a dozen trestle tables and, the defining item for any true party; we get a bouncy castle!!! The rule is simple: no bouncy castle, it ain’t no party. There are NO exceptions. You can get the sound system from Berghain, have Paul McCartney and Bruce Springsteen to share the DJing, line up the trestle tables with cocaine (rather than red, white and blue cup cakes), open 17 bottles of premium vodka and 14 canisters of laughing gas and then have a surprise performance by Jay-Z. But if there was no bouncy castle, it wouldn’t be a party.

The funny thing is; we have zero bouncy castle aged kids on our street. We have teens, we have grown ups and we have 2 tiny babies. I was obviously going to import a couple of ringers, but even before Lila and Joey arrived, ‘word got round’. Kids from adjacent streets, fucking free-loading on MY bouncy castle!!! I went out with my baseball bat but was told such things were acceptable for a street party. It was a wild afternoon.

Then later we had… The Concert!!! The Coronation one. Windsor Castle (not bouncy). And it was great. Lionel Richie was there, sounded the same but looked like he’s borrowed someone else’s face for the evening. But then ‘the stars of the show’: (what’s left of) Take That!!! (after Robbie Williams left). Well, you can’t get star-ier than three-quarters of shit, manufactured, tv-show boy-band, can you!!!! They were brilliant! Gary Barlow sounded… of something, Mark Owen… hmmm… other bloke… ok, so they have no power to any of their vocals whatsoever, but they’re really… errrr… good at… they… Ok, then I get why that was ‘their first performance for 4 years!!!!’

Welcome to the Carolean Era. WTF???

A xxxx

Ok, so tennis was rained off. Man plans, God laughs. Though I thought He’d be too busy with Charles’ coronation, like everyone else, to bother about keeping me wet. So I had absolutely no choice but to watch the ‘event’. It was on BBC1, 2, 3, 4 and 5. And there isn’t even a ‘5’. It was on Channel 4, ITV, Sky (19 of their channels) and even channel 5 showed it, but performed by second-rate actors from dodgy soap operas. I went on to Netflix instead, but they were only showing episodes of ‘The Crown’ and ‘Game of Thrones’, though later they have ‘Queen’s Gambit’. Sky Musical was showing ‘The King and I’ and ‘Dave’ was showing a repeat of the last coronation, Elizabeth’s. On all other channels was ‘Songs of Praise’.

Westminster Abbey is the star. However many ridiculous costumes are being worn by the assembled cast of dignitaries, that building is just ‘something else’. Which I was fine with until Jesus came in. Not even wearing the uniform of the 5th Welsh Fusiliers, NOR, the 27th Lancashire Artilleries. But Justin Webly told me He was there and that’s good enough for me. So we better sing a few songs for him. Then God arrived and that seemed to cause yet more delays to the business of sticking a big heavy crown on an old man’s head. Hymns, readings, all sorts of religious bollocks, the sole purpose of which is to check out the frocks everyone’s wearing.

Charles had to choose which uniform to wear. He opted for his naval Admiral’s one, rather than army General or Air Force Top Gun. Joey would have gone as Batman. But Charles never did ‘active service’. Harry and William did which is why Wills gets to dress up like a chocolate soldier and Harry, the most soldierly of them all, has to wear a suit. Because he married a woman of mixed race. And he gets to sit in the 3rd row, where no-one can hear him slagging off The Queen. Whilst Wills is right up there with the swords, orbs, sceptres and the amazing collection of Royal Paraphernalia which serves no purpose ever, in any situation, nor has done, for 800 years. But it looks nice on the telly.

I find it a bit difficult to reconcile the deeply religious Jesusness and spirituality with everyone dressed in full military regalia carrying swords, knives and guns. Ok, not guns, but they would do given half a chance. But that’s just me. Maybe there’s going to be a sacrifice. For the new King and Queen.

But before that: more hymns!! Loads more. Because you can never have enough.

This is the best day ever. I’ll never forget it. And if I do, they’ll be showing it on Dave for the next 22 years.

Happy Coronation Day

A xxxx

Not only is the coronation tomorrow!!! But its going to be the best one ever. Other than Ethelred the Unlikely’s in 834 when a dragon swooped down and made off with the crown, but Elton John came and did the entertainment, even though he was only 22. But unlike that one, Charles’s is going to be ‘inclusive’ and ‘diverse’, in the meaning of those words which we all need to hear and yet, still, causes a little bit of vomit to creep up one’s drainpipe. So although the event is being held in church, there’s going to be representatives of all the major religions present, just in case Charles and Camilla choose to convert at the last moment; they got it covered. The Chief Rabbi will be there, the head Imam, a noble Hindu, several Shaman, a witch, four Druids and a man who says ‘ohmmmm…’

Yet they chose to hold the event on a Saturday, rather than the usual ‘midweek’ slot. Possibly something to do with the football, or tv ratings, they haven’t said. But Saturday is the Jewish sabbath!!! Friday’s the muslim one, tuesday is possibly the Zoroastrian version, who knows? Anyway, the Chief Rab got special dispensation (I kid you not) to enter a church on that day, plus, he can’t travel by car (causing a spark, so electric cars are the devil’s work!!!) or even use a microphone like everyone else will. Because they are banned activities on the Sabbath. He’ll have to walk to Westminster Abbey. He lives in North London. I suppose he could stay with a friend nearby and walk from there. But its all difficult.

So they’ve decided to move the coronation. To Hendon. Its unusual, its not the norm, but Charles is a ground-breaking royal. It will be the first ever coronation in Hendon Reform Synagogue and the first major event there (barmitzvahs, weddings…) officiated by the Archbishop of Canterbury. Then its all round to the Hendon Hall Hotel for what would be called a ‘kiddish’ in other circumstances, but they’re renaming it ‘a Royal kosher Feast’, catered by the Hendon Bagel Bakery, but the Palace is insisting that the fish-balls be flown up from Platters in Temple Fortune.

Mazzletov to Charles and Camilla

A xxxx

I’m so exited for the coronation, I can hardly breathe. Not so much the king stuff and queeny bits, but the thought that, after 70 years, we might get a new sandwich filling!!!

Coronation chicken was invented at Elizabeth’s coronation in 1953. The Queen fancied a quick sarnie before going off to the Abbey and they’d run out of cheese. And ham. Someone had cleared out the peanut butter jar and put it back empty!!! All they had was chicken. And the Queen hated chicken sandwiches. “Too dry for one’s palette, don’t you find?” Well, Your Majesty, how about if I put some salad cream on it, just a little too much? Oh, and a few raisins? Just swept them off the floor. “Hmmm…” said the soon to be Queen, “anything else in one’s larder?” Oh, just this, some curry powder. Shall I put some on?

And so, what sounds on first glance as a combination with positively emetic qualities, came to be. Such a wonderful combination that it was actually crowned.

So I have two slices of slightly stale, bland, white, cut-loaf sitting by the side of the telly. Ready. For the new one.

The actual coronation is the real deal though. I can’t wait to see… soldiers. Thousands of them. Horses. Hundreds. Uniforms. Millions. Then: “look mum!! More soldiers!!!” OMG!!!! More Soldiers!!!! And MOOOOOOORRRRE soldiers!!!! Etc, etc, etc…

I am no Republican. Nor an anti-monarchist. And I have to like Charlie, cos he’s odd. Always has been. And a man unyieldingly true and loyal… to his mistress. He’ll look lovely in ermine. So on Saturday morning, in his honour, I shall play tennis. But unlike my usual selfish, competitive and obsessive motivations, this time, I shall be playing FOR MY KING!!!

GOD SAVE THE KING!

A xxxx

The ‘inventor’ of A.I., Geoffrey Hinton, has resigned from Google. Ok, he’s 75 so its on the cards. But the real reason is not ‘old age’ but so that he can warn the world about the impending apocalypse due to AI, which he can’t do whilst employed by the major proponents of that particular advancement.

Ok, he didn’t use the word ‘apocalypse’, he’s probably not a fan of the Terminator movies like me. In fact, I’m not just a ‘fan’, I actually see them as factual, like the News. And as I can never remember if ‘life imitates art’ or ‘art imitates life’, I think belief in art is acceptable. Even if that ‘art’ has Arnold Schwarzenegger playing a cyborg.

Hinton reckons that ‘AI chat-bots are now more intelligent than humans’. Well, if he means more intelligent than the humans you speak to if you don’t want the ‘bot’, he’s probably right. They’re generally exceptionally stupid with no ability to think ‘outside the box’. Nor ‘inside the box’ or in fact, anyway near the fucking box. Every big company now tries to get you to ‘chat’ because they have unlimited ‘bots’ and only one actual person in ‘customer service’, who only started yesterday, was acquired through the ‘employ the unemployable’ government program and is still looking for that ‘box’ in which to think around.

But the ‘bots’ are simply useless. As are those companies who use them. They don’t realise that IF ITS A SIMPLE PROBLEM YOU CAN DO IT YOURSELF. You only call when its something complex which can’t be resolved online. Which is why endless messages ‘on hold’ telling you visit www.tear-my-fucking-hair-out.com for ‘all your support’ don’t really help the situation. You’ve done that, been there, and its failed.

Maybe Mr Hinton is referring to other forms of AI. Because it can now apparently write its own machine code. Computer programs. And that’s where Terminator and the apocalypse comes in. When they ‘take over’!!!

Its progress. But not necessarily as we know it, or wish it to be.

Happy Wednesday

A xxxx

If ever anyone needed absolute and total proof that there is no God, yesterday’s match at Anfield has surely put that matter to bed. To be honest, I’d been having serious doubts after last Sunday’s 6-1 drubbing at Newcastle. Because that seemed the lowest low point we’ve reached… for weeks. Then ‘the miracle of White Hart Lane’ occurred when, having gone 2-nil down to Manchester United on Thursday night, we valiantly fought back for a 2-all draw. A whole point. But it felt like 6. Because… because they all do, being rare and seemingly unavailable to us.

So the stage was set. Anfield. Where we always win, on every 14th leap year. What could possibly go wrong?

We didn’t get off to the best possible start. Conceding 3 goals in 15 minutes is never really to your own advantage. But heh, its only numbers. And then Harry scored his now-weekly, token gesture goal. The one you get for just turning up and getting thrashed.

But then something happened in the second half. I think, rather than Spurs ‘improving’ in any meaningful way, Liverpool just got worse, in a very meaningful way. We were hitting the woodwork with a regularity normally only seen at a carpentry convention. But then our Son managed to miss the woodwork entirely and score what was a quite beautiful goal. 3-2 then. Bit more respectable? Everything to play for?

But play they did and late on, but like, really late, past going home time, Richarlison, scored another beautiful goal. This one was beautiful only for its significance, not for any aesthetic qualities. Yet they all fucking count! And it did count. We had done the impossible and come back from 3-0 down to 3-all and could be genuinely proud of ourselves.

But pride precedes a fall. And we fell. Boy, did we fell. 90 seconds after our goal, in the 95th minute of the match, Lucas Mora simply gave the ball to Diogo Jota. Who did what Jotas do in such circumstances and hit it in the net.

Whether Jota should have even been on the pitch after kicking Ollie Skip in the head causing much blood, is an interesting question. If he had been sent off, Mora’s pass might have gone to a Spurs player. Maybe. But should Skip have been sent off himself for an earlier terrible mis-tackle? In which case his head wouldn’t have been there when Jota kicked.

Its such a complex game, its giving me a headache, as well the now thrice-weekly dose of nausea.

Happy Monday? After that???

A xxxx

Ok, so I swear all the time. But I swear for fun. For effect. For emphasis. To accentuate, to obliterate, to obfuscate, to… ok, degenerate, but its all bollocks. And that’s one kind of ‘swearing’. The other is when you swear an oath. Swear on your life. And generally I avoid those. Too much commitment, too great a need for a level of honesty and consistency I can’t hope to uphold.

But all that is about to change!!!

I’m going to swear allegiance to my King!!!

He wants us all to pledge our allegiance to Him. King Charles III-rd. And I can’t wait. Just like in the old days when you followed your king into battle. So when Henry VIII was hoisted by 15 men and winch onto his horse to lead us at Agincourt, the men swore their oaths to him. When James II landed on Dunkirk beach, I’d have been right behind him with my sword and my Royal banner.

Oh, what do you mean the king no longer leads us into war? The government do that? What that rabble of bullies and morons who can’t organise a piss up in a brewery, unless its in lockdown, then they do it with no problem. I’m not swearing allegiance to them, they’re awful.

Americans have their ‘pledge of allegiance’ and make their kids say it every day at school. Because they are, as a nation, fairly retarded, incredibly gullible and don’t understand guns. So to whom are they pledging? Donald Trump?? Joe Biden??? These are the men who operate the system that is the United States. They are ‘ground zero’ when the shit hits the fan. And neither have every been worthy of support of any description, let alone unfailing loyalty.

I’m happy Charles is to be our king. I’d be happy if it was William. Elton John. Ossie Osbourne. Harry Kane. Because the king is but an irrelevant figurehead. He’s there for the tourist trade. Not for me. What we supposed to do; follow him into his organic farming business?

Fuck dat. The only swearing I’m going to do is of the profane type. Plus ca change…

Happy Sunday, I swear it is.

A xxxx