Out and about

Last night was a bit of a long one...

It started with me slaving over a hot stove, rustling up some of my world famous pasta, complete with tuna and cherry tomatoes. Oh mama. Never fails to get a lingering kiss from mrs. anglosaxy...

Then the phone rang. It was M, inviting us downtown for a few beers. His cousin, who lives in San Diego, is in town for a few days, so we arranged to meet up with them and a couple of other friends.

We were both so wrapped up in scoffing the extremely delicious pasta that we didn't spot Z's Steve McQueen impression. This wasn't his first 'Great Escape', there have been a couple of nights when he hasn't even bothered to let us know he fancied stopping out and chasing a few bitches. Anyway, after a long search, we eventually found him at mrs. anglosaxy's parents place, a location he always seems to end up at whenever he gets the chance to run for it. Next time we'll head straight there and wait for him...

After having yet another shower, we met up with M and his cousin at Le Central for a quick beer. While there, we came across a word that most Israelis don't seem to know, but love upon hearing: flip-flops. 'Na-aley etzba' just doesn't have the same quirkiness...I also got some good news about my plans for the long, chopstick-laden flight, but more of that when I get to join all the dots.

We then crossed over the street to Blaumilch. This place was heaving, god knows why. A 'stum' place that manages to pack 'em in. I tried my usual trick of speaking English to the doorman/bouncer, but he wasn't impressed. The girls had to flutter their eyelashes a tad too much in order to get us all in. I hate these places. Always amazes me, Israelis are possibly the most impatient people in the world, yet are prepared to stand in a queue for an anonymous place, undoubtedly serving up anonymous drinks. I'm going to queue for a beer? Right, right...

After walking in and walking straight back out, we then moved on to Scores, my favourite pool bar. I'm not sure how, but I ended up teaching this cute blond how to play pool. I had to explain, repeatedly, how to splay your hand on the table. Unfortunately, as mrs. anglosaxy was looking on, I couldn't explain in great detail...

Our own private taxi service ensured that people got home, before we headed home ourselves. The night ended with me doing my Jonny Wilkinson impression with a few of the empty bottles pictured in the post below. At 4am. Zzzzz.