About bleedin' time, some might say...

Last week, in a bevy of bureacratic bliss, mrs. anglosaxy officially became mrs. anglosaxy.

Eh?

Well, we got married a few years back (don't prompt me for a date, because, well...) but due to a variety of reasons (such as turning up on 3 previous occasions, but being turned away because of a lack of this official paper or that official document) we had never managed to register ourselves as officially married at the Ministry of Interior, the Ministry that can put the shiver in your timbers as well as define your legal status in this country. Some might argue that if there's a choice between your loved one and having to face the wild packs of swarming Israelis at the Ministry of Interior, the loved one might be the one packing his/her bags. Be warned my fellow goys, marrying a Jewish girl in Israel is a bureacratic nightmare...

Anyway, last week, we finally managed to squeeze in a visit to the Ministry of Interior's luscious new offices, and, hey presto, within an hour or so, unbelievably, we were done. Complete with a fresh new addition attached to our little identity card pullouts. We are now, officially, a family. Oh crap.

And yes, those surly bitches at the Ministry of Interior still reign supreme.
"Smile love, for chrissake".