Placing a sharp knife in the hands of an Arab...

"Ahmed, is this sharp enough?"

"Ah, habibi, very good". Ahmed looks carefully at the 10 inch blade and smiles murderously, an evil twinkle in his eye temporarily blinding me. He then savagely slices open the packaging around the new fridge he's just delivered. Think "Psycho" knife action.

It is about now that I'm beginning to question my decision to hand him the largest knife in the house. And Ahmed is a huge motherf*cker. Distraction, I need to distract him.

"Ahmed, tell me, this fridge we've bought, is it really any good?" And with that, Ahmed the Knife turns into Ahmed the Pussycat. "Ah habibi, it's OK, but I would have bought the side-by-side version, just like the one my mother has...". In the end, what with his tales of batchelorhood and searches for a wife, I was almost ready to fix him up with one of mrs. anglosaxy's friends...

But, just for a second there...

Pick Tzvika!

OK, so I promised no name dropping, but this guy is one of mrs. anglosaxy's new 'friends'. She actually sat with him once or twice a week (pre-anglosaxy junior) as he tried to barter with her over certain 'things' that he needed produced. She's assured me that she wasn't swayed by his luscious good looks. Me, if I spot young Liam wearing shiny black outfits, I'll start to wonder...

He usually had one of his trademark blond lapdogs with him. In fact, within the few weeks he'd been frequenting mrs. anglosaxy's office, the number of lapdogs spotted had reached double figures. I've also had the pleasure (?) of seeing him in the flesh. And I have his mobile number at my disposal, so if any blond lapdog out there fancies her chances, feel free...then again, the idea of pulling off the ultimate crank call is rather tempting, especially after some amber nectar.

More? You want more? OK...

Last week, O (the vodka-toting Ruskie) flew to London. On the same flight as young Tzvika. Little did they know it, but a customs search was waiting for the pair of 'em. Tzvika was a little put out, since, after all, he is a Eurovision superstar. "Do you know who I am?" he asked the poor British customs officer, "I'm a big star in Israel, I'm the Maestro". His words, I kid you not. When it came to O's turn with another customs officer, she had to laugh at his dry, British wit - "So, are you famous in Israel too?".

Us Brits, we know how to bring a true superstar to his knees.

Boring ol' politics

I don't talk about politics on anglosaxy because [ yawn ] it's so boring...

Toiletries

Time to get down 'n dirty.

I've mentioned Corridor Land's luxurious facilities before, but don't you just love those fuckers who manage to leave the toilet in a real mess. I don't want to get too graphic, but there is a bogbrush standing in the corner, just begging to be used. For Fecks sake, use it. Especially after a heavy 'humus and ful' lunch.

Of course, upon exiting the pit of despair you bump into the sexiest girl in the office, who within seconds is probably screwing up her face in disgust and has quickly associated anglosaxy with the pile of after-lunch smeared within...

Should this failure to maintain some respect for your fellow Corridor Landers be referred to as a failure, or simply deferred success, as teach would prefer it back in the UK?

Takes me back to China...

Night off

Earlier tonight me and mrs. anglosaxy ventured out without little Liam, our first few hours without the new family member alongside either one of us. To be honest, I didn't miss the crying, the worrying about bottles and changing nappies, I was concentrating on the Tuborgs and the good fare at Pasha in Tel Aviv. The beers were hitting the right spot - hard to believe but I haven't had a beer for over a week. And when the beers are flowing, all is good.

Even the fact that in another half an hour I need to feed Liam and then catch some sleep before heading back to Corridor Land (for the first time as a Dad...gulp...) in the morning doesn't faze me. Could be the alcohol, could be the influence of my son ("my son"...wow).

Anyway, that'll be me moving towards the fridge to get a bottle for Liam...

G'night John boy.

Due to popular demand

OK, once again, this is my blog. So, acquiescing to demand (well, from my favourite jumpseat diarist and one and only on the facer), and being the proud Dad that I am right now, here are a couple more pics of the new kid on the block. His name? Liam (spelt with an 'alef' in Hebrew, not an 'ayn'). And yes, he has been sliced and diced - ouch.

* Hold your mouse over the pic for more details.






Right. No more baby pics for a long time. I promise.

Oh baby baby...

Sleep, highly underestimated...

Those fountains of cute, funny baby piss that you see spouting in all directions in movies [ when baby is held aloft ] don't just happen in the movies. Trust me.

And is it me or is it as hot as bastards out there?

Breaking news day...

London has won the right to host the 2012 Olympics. Feckin' brilliant!

The G8 shenanigans continue in bonny Scotland. Interesting.
* Is it me or do the British police always look like dopey gits when clashing with hooded, brick-wielding protesters?

But all this pales into insignificance when you get yourself one of these...

Excuse me while I drink myself into celebratory bliss...

Homo Sapiette - July '05

OK, I promised a babe of the month every month, so it's time to introduce Becky Griffin.


If you ask me, she's stunningly cute. Probably not an obvious choice to kick off this feature (well, mrs. anglosaxy was an inside job so she doesn't officially count does she...) and not one of those voluptuous sexy girls (and there are plenty of those in Israel), but classy, almost elf-like. Her star has risen pretty dramatically in the last 3 or 4 years, what with her spot on MTV Europe and fronting Castro's recent campaigns. I think, and hope, you'll be seeing alot more of her in the future. She also speaks perfect English (she lived in the States for 10 years) and knows her music. What more can a guy ask for?

You can see more of Becky in full flow here, here or here. We love you over here at anglosaxy, Becky, well, make that me and the dog...

Live 8

Back from the local pool, where I managed to singe my ass in the midday sun, it's nice to switch on the TV and see one of my all-time fave songs being performed at Live 8. A whole load of good songs to come this evening, though some might question the effectiveness of the Make Poverty History issue. Whatever your way of thinking, you have to say Sir Bob knows how to get a job done. Personally, I don't think it'll ever come close to the original event, which still sends shivers down my spine whenever I see a clip...who remembers that moment when Bono mixes it with the crowd? *shivers*...

China revisited

Right. This is my blog and I can stuff my face blog with pics if I so choose. OK? Good, so here's a few more pics from my China trip last October, just to take full advantage of Blogger's recent generosity. Next post - babe of the month.

* Place your mouse over a pic for more details. Click the pic to enlarge.