Bye bye 2006

Back in time for some serious duty-free purchased whiskey swigging, it's time to say goodbye to 2006. I'd do a review of my year but such a lot seems to have happened, it'd bore you, and me, stupid if I listed it all here.

So, let's just say it was an interesting one - the family has expanded (and contracted, bye bye Zeddy boy), the business empire is developing, and Depeche Mode didn't make it.

Happy New Year!

Loads of pics on their way...

"...and there's no need to be afraid..."

Right, that's it, I'm off to sunny England. Off for plenty of crisp, frosty (foggy?) mornings, beer, chocolate and plenty of shopping. Bring on those turkey sandwiches and pickled onions!

Happy Christmas to you and yours!

What the hell am I? #19

Just to keep you busy for the next couple of days...

THE ULTIMATE COLLECTION - PART 2: You know you've been in Israel too long when...

Continued from here.

62. ...you know it's just plain stoopid to go to a Tel Aviv beach on a Saturday.
63. ...you rent in Tel Aviv and don't balk at paying $1000 for 45 square metres.
64. ...you answer the phone with a feisty "Allo".
65. ...you no longer know how to drive round a roundabout.
66. ...you know the names of the models plastered on the enormous building-size posters along the Ayalon highway.
67. ...you drive abroad and instead of opening the window you change gear.
68. ...you start humming along to crappy Israeli hip-hop (hinneh ani ba...hinneh ani ba...).
69. ...you leave exactly 2cm between you and the person in front of you at the cashpoint queue.
70. ...you start calling your plumber 'my brother' (Ahi!).
71. ...you use your work phone for important idle conversations.
72. ...you can say the Hebrew letters Het and Chaf without bringing up phlegm.
73. ...you are no longer baffled as to why similar Israeli businesses congregate in one street.
74. ...your favourite websites are homeless and the marker and you wait expectantly for each edition of taanglo to hit your inbox.
75. ...you tell a friend you might have a job for them.
76. ...you take a mango and a tub of humus with you on holiday abroad, just in case.
77. ...you turn down a job because it means a 20 minute commute.
78. ...you think the Israeli version of "Whose line is it anyway?" is funny.
79. ...your weekly shopping basket includes sour cream, halva and soup almonds.
80. ...you don't even open your window to acknowledge the pump attendant when filling up at the petrol station.
81. ...you loudly complain while queuing at the supermarket that "they need more checkout girls".
82. ...you admit to owning at least one black Kenvelo FBI t-shirt.
83. ...you think Maya Boskila is attractive.
84. ...you and your mates/family have a barbeque on a traffic island.
85. ...you empty your ashtray out of the window while driving at 100kmh.
86. ...you take a taxi and give street by street directions to the driver.
87. ...you tell your boss that "hiyeh beseder (it'll be ok)".
88. ...you go to your local corner shop in your briefest of boxer shorts, tea-stained vest and, of course, sunglasses.
89. ...people who haven't seen you for months don't ask where you've been.
90. ...you drive with your left hand while your right hand is caressing the headrest on the passenger seat.
91. ...you ask people what their problem is simply by shaking your palm-raised, fingers spread out hand at them 3 or 4 times (the ma karah action).
92. ...you panic when the first winter rains fall in October and put all your t-shirts on the inaccessible top shelf.
93. ...your 3 year old neice has never met you.
94. ...you think that Israeli chocolate tastes better than your Home Country's.
95. ...you think nothing of waiting for the policeman to finish his call to his mother before asking him/her for directions.
96. ...you blast your horn, shake your fist and shout Ben Zonna at someone having the nerve to reverse out of a parking space in front of you.
97. ...you bottle feed your baby, play with your infant and row with your wife. While driving down the Ayalon freeway.
98. ...you remember the names of the nurses in the maternity ward upon each visit to your local hospital.
99. ...you listened to the hourly radio news broadcasts for the latest on Benny Sela.
100. ...you can come up with 100 solid gold reasons why you know you've been in Israel too long...

"...includes spacious garden balcony"

Welcome to the world of Tel Aviv househunting...

Soofy

You can call me Soofy (of course, short for sufganya - doughnut). My doughnut count stands at 6, which isn't bad after Thursday's soof-fest, but I feel a binge coming on...

And with Christmas coming next week, I really will return from Blighty a feckin' sufganya...

It's been...

...3 years since I was last in England. 3 bleedin' years. Can you believe it...that is a fecking long time, if you ask me. Will those pesky Brits still understand me? So, to check whether or not my accent still works, I'm going home at the end of this week for a spot of Christmas malarkings. Me and Junior only, a "lads weekender".

Need my Christmas fix badly - that's right ancestors, stuff me silly with turkey, chocolates and booze, play me soppy Christmas Carols, and shop me till I drop, I promise I won't whine...

You fat bastard

Oh Feck, it's not even officially Hanukka, it's only 10.20am, yet I've already had 4 of these little blighters this morning...

It's been...

...15 years but I finally did it.
Last night, I watched Pour Sacha (in Hebrew it translates to the glaringly obvious "We Loved Laura"), the movie in which I did a spot of extra-ing. And there I was, in all my glory, shooting my Uzi at imaginary Arabs, a couple of seconds of true movie magic. Well, it had mrs. anglosaxy laughing anyway. Don't tell her, but I think I've fallen in love with Sophie Marceau, is she gorgeous or what? But how come she wasn't around when I launched my acting career? Not very supportive of her fellow actors, I guess, but then, she is French...

Flash git

Aw, fuck! Last night the speed cameras down south caught me as I was speeding. I caught the bastard flashing at me in my mirror, as I glanced at my speedometer tipping just over the 110km/h mark (in a stretch of 100km/h road).

Somebody's just told me that it's a straight 1000 shek fine plus points on my license. Anyone can confirm this? Feckin' steep if you ask me, considering I was only 12/13km/h over the limit, but I guess the Israeli police need all the money they can get what all those parties celebrating Benny Sela's capture...

[ Filed under: another reason to get rid of the school down south asap... ]

Nighty night

Where the 'eck am I?

50 big ones

Tonight it's the draw for the 50 million shekel lottery (bastards have a Russian site but no English). Fantasies abound, I have to admit. It might not sound quite as much in Blighty pounds (around 6 million), but hey, give me 6 quid and I'll be laughing.

I even signed up for a lottery subscription recently, around 60 sheks a month, but haven't seen a shekel. After speaking to someone last night who has had a subscription for 30 years and never had a result, I'm quite tempted to dump it. But it's all luck, right? Either you've got it or you ain't.

Anyway, first thing I'd do with 50 million - I'd rent out the most expensive, luxurious hotel room in Tel Aviv, pamper myself and the anglosaxy tribe with endless trays of exquisite foods and beverages and then get a financial advisor to come in and plot with me how to throw it all away!

What's the first thing you'd do with 50 mill?

Funnelhead

Ride past me and you too can have strange objects growing out of your head...

The Familia

The one bonus of these sleepless nights is my accessibility to the reruns of The Sopranos. I never caught it previously, though it was always one of those series that I quite fancied but always just missed out on.

The other night I was strewn dozily all over the sofa with juniorette plonked on my chest when I suddenly woke with a start (and a line of dribble down my chin). I grabbed the remote and flipped through a few channels, before coming across the intro music to The Sopranos. Checking the programme's info, I was delighted to see it was the very first episode, followed by the next four episodes. Never mind that the last episode finished at 4.45am, I was watching 'em all.

And watch them all I did. Now we're still only on series 2, but I'm hooked. And never mind the fact that I'm knackered, because each episode gets shown 3 times a night. This often means I watch the first few minutes at 11.30ish, fall asleep until juniorette's next feed, watch another few minutes during the second screening before konking out, and then grab the closing moments during the next feeding at 4-5am.

Yep, this is my life at the moment, but don't worry, it's only temporary [ kneels on floor praying... ].

Bleedin' good series and I don't think you can get better casting than James Gandolfini. He scares me when he gets pissed during the show, he's one big fecker...

The situation is...

...that Down Sowf, things aren't going quite as I'd like.

It's proving hard, if not impossible, to replace Bitch Teach. My requirements aren't too demanding, an English speaker with a pulse would be fine, but they are proving hard to come by. Loads of willing Ruskies abound, while the odd, and I do mean odd, native speaker turns up and astonishes me with another crazy life story. Really, and I don't mean this to sound nasty, but why do all the fuck jobs seem to end up Down Sowf? I'm not looking for perfection, but the teachers that have come my way scare the shit out of me, I know I wouldn't be too happy leaving my kids in their hands...

And because of my failure to sign up a teacher, both schools are suffering. I'm splitting my time between the two locations (plus Corridor Land of course) and what with constant 13-14 hour days, no longer have the time or energy to concentrate on flyers, marketing, phone calls etc...

Which means that I'm coming to a point where something has to give. Because sooner or later my body is gonna konk, especially with sleepless nights thrown into the mix. I'm coming to the conclusion that I have to sell the school Down Sowf if a teacher doesn't turn up in the next month or two. Which saddens me, because, after all, it is profitable and has potential.

So does this make me a cop out who can't handle the pace or a smart businessman who knows when to get out...?

The Irish bar(s) will have to wait...

The anglosaxy tribe will be returning to Tel Aviv...but not for another two months. We got an extension on our current place that gives us another two months, which actually helps us out A LOT. So homeless and yad2 have been given the cold shoulder for the moment, but I'm sure we'll be back there at the end of this month. Though from what I saw over the last few weeks, it's going to take some work to find the right place...there are some seriously shitty places out there going for a whole lot of dosh...

Babysitter 4 Hire

I know I shouldn't really do this, but fuck it...

Irresponsible adult seeks babysitting work.
Guaranteed to leave your kids 'home alone' until 2am while secretly going to the pub. Can also leave your sleeping infant with total strangers while in search of a cup of coffee. Additional options of pipe smoking and ouzo intoxication (for your infant).

For further information, contact anglosaxy's father-in-law.

Sleepless in Smallsville

Aaaand he's back...After a total of 1 hours sleep over the last 2 nights, I'm on a strong diet of Turkish coffee this morning. Plus chocolate chip cookies.

I won't tell you how wonderful it is to be a Dad to 2, because, quite frankly, it's hard work. I won't even mention the first week of juniorette's arrival, with myself and junior disgustingly sick (lots of seriously smelly nappies...and that was just me...). Only the mother-in-law kept us going those first few days. I know, hard to believe, but those mother-in-laws come in handy sometimes.

I would have posted more pics, it's just the computer at home has gone on maternity leave...the bastard. So no Internet for a couple of weeks, except for the couple of afternoons when I was teaching in Smallsville.

Anyway, 'tis good to be back. Things will hopefully be getting back to normal round here pretty soon, just a teeny slice of patience and I shall be flooding with you with useless daily posts and pics. Coz I have a lot to say and show...

Because you're gorgeous...

Oh Gawd, I'm so mushy at the moment...

Ella, 1 day old

Hello darlin'!

After a long couple of days, I can finally say "It's a girl!"
Mrs. anglosaxy, you truly are a special lady! Now, where's my dinner?
Pic to come...

Dry run

Contraction spotting hit a peak last night, every 5 minutes and getting more and more painful. So we legged it over to Tel HaShomer hospital. After taking note of the receptionist's "You're going to need a lot of patience tonight, we're completely chocka...", and after chatting with a 10 month pregnant woman who had been waiting 2 hours for a bed, we promptly legged it over to Beilenson Hospital in my favourite town. After a quick check up, we were sent home. But I guess Wee Lassie is on her way...and I feel like this dry run has got me ready psychologically because up until last night it hadn't yet hit me...

15 things in Israel you won't see elsewhere...

• Bank managers wearing t-shirts, jeans and sandals.
• Schools breaking out to the sound of "Eye of the Tiger", rather than the ol' school bell.
• Motorcyclists wearing bicycle helmets.
• Shouts of "AltiZaken" from Arabs in VW Camper vans.
• 13 year old kids smoking nargilas in the neighbourhood park.
• Lone scantily-clad women walking the city streets late at night.
• Old men with open trays of pollution-infested delicacies at busy junctions/markets.
• An alarming plethora of very hairy backs and shoulders at the beach.
• Tottering pensioners working as security guards.
• Market stall vendors shouting at their customers not to buy all the best produce.
• Motorcyclists waiting to cross pedestrain crossings.
• No dolphins at the local Dolphinarium (Tel Aviv).
• Policewomen filing their nails and talking to Ma on the phone while on duty.
• Tiny 18 year old army girls walking down the street with M16s slung over their shoulder.
• Thousands of Israelis, everywhere (OK, I forgot about Khao San Road...).

Hunting high and low

Looking for an apartment in Tel Aviv and its suburbs ain't easy. And what with Wee Lassie about to join the anglosaxy ranks (contractions have been spotted this weekend...) and our contract coming to an end at the end of this year, it's starting to get a little tight.

I think we've settled on the area we want, it's just finding the right place. Preferably before the hordes of homeless / yad2 readers get wind of it. It kind of goes against my religion, but [ spit, spit ] we're even thinking of paying a [ spit, spit ] real estate agent to find us a place. When I say "find us a place", I mean, of course, to sit on his or her arse and do absolutely fuck all, but still charge us a month's rent for his/her services.

I know, I know. But I'm a busy little bee these days, and mrs anglosaxy isn't running about too speedily, so we've got a little desperate. By the time we spot something on homeless / yad2, it's long gone. So, yes, we may become friars, or suckers. What's an anglosaxy to do...

Very portly

My next port of call...

Remember remember the 9th of November!

Oh, Happy Birthday to me!
Day off work, some beers, some sushi...
Gotta love the ancestors, they sent over a big box of these little beauties...
[ chomp, chomp ]

Tel Aviv meets Petah Tikva

Threeway with a celeb

Did I ever tell you about the time mrs. anglosaxy and myself shared a lift with a superstar footballer? Yes, here in Tel Aviv, in one of the city's premier hotels, a few years back. Let's just say that he now plays regularly for England, though was possibly just outside the England ranks when we rode him. I mean rode the lift with him. It was just the three of us but I didn't realise who it was until he got out in front of us. I should have stamped on his foot when I had the chance...
Name that man.

Jeroosalem

I've just got back from Jerusalem, after a quick trip sponsored by Corridor Land. 'Tis a bit nippy up there in them hills. Almost had me shivering in my T-shirt.

I have to say, I always liked the look of Jerusalem, I just never know where to go (and always end up getting lost trying to find the exit to Tel Aviv...). Anybody want to recommend a good spot for a day trip, easily accessible and easily managed by junior and a large whale-like mrs anglosaxy?

Take a look at this picture and tell me you don't want to puke...

I'm sorry, I know I don't go political, but this is making my teeth grind...

This is the wife of Yigal Amir (the guy who assassinated Yitzhak Rabin), who has just come out of prison after some conjugals. OK, human rights are human rights, but surely when you murder someone in cold blood you kiss most of those rights goodbye? She just seems so happy and fluffy, as if nothing ever happened...though I guess she got a good seeing to as Yigal hasn't seen much action in the last 11 years or so. Fucker.

The Beach

As the rains start to fall (yep, it's a Guy Fawkes kind of day, a freezing, blustery 24 degrees outside), it's time to pull up your deckchair and remember a sunnier day...

Facing your fears

The last face.

Face off

* I think he spotted me snapping...

Put your Face on

You two Faced...

Facing the music

David Beckham: coming soon to Shuk HaCarmel?

"Eww David, when I cut it, all kinds of stuff oozes out of this donna kebab thingy!"
"No Posh, it's called a shwarma, and you hold it with your hands..."

I shall eat my blog if this happens...

Face down

She's a star!

Wow. What a day!

This morning I was on my way to a friend of a friend's photo exhibition. Didn't really think too much about it, but mrs anglosaxy's efforts in helping out with the exhibition had got me just about interested. But arriving at the building in which the exhibition was taking place and walking up to the second floor, I was completely gobsmacked to see that the exhibition was actually mine!




Yep, mrs anglosaxy, the little minx, had gone and organized an exhibition of some of my photos (yep, you'll probably recognize some of them from the blog)! I was in shock for a good few minutes, but especially when walking up those last few stairs to be greeted by a grinning horde of camera wielding friends and family.

Apparently, for the last 2 weeks, my missus has been printing out and enlarging some of my photos, while arranging the whole shebang on the quiet with a few of my friends and her family. What can I say? Without a doubt, the nicest thing that anybody has ever done for me...guess I'd better keep her! She's an absolute star, an absolute must-have in any home!

The whole thing was an early birthday present, as she's due to give birth to juniorette in the next 2 or 3 weeks and wasn't sure if she'd last until my birthday. God bless her little cotton socks!

All in all, I think around 70-80 people turned up (including two of my favourite Israeli bloggers Lisa ('s'about bleedin' time we met up!) and Liza - cheers very much for the books ladies!) and I actually sold 3 (could be 4) photos!

Bloody hell!

OK, back on auto-pilot with the pics...

Face the facts

Let's Face it...

Face value

As I'm going to be very busy over the next week or so, I'm going to spam you, starting today, with lots of pics.

Today we launch the face series, portraits of various Israeli faces, some of whom are responsible for my introduction to ouzo and chewing gat leaves (wtf is that all about?)...all of these were taken spontaneously, not posed, I just love the character ingrained on some of these faces...

Piggy in the middle

I have a middle name. Yep, a splendid little fellow, going by the name of J****.

So that makes me Anglo J**** Saxy. And this full name is printed out on all sorts of IDs - such as my credit card, my health card, my ID card.

But why do people in this country, when confronted with one of these items, insist on calling me J****? If they called me Anglo or Saxy, I'd understand, but J****? They just can't get their heads around this middle name concept, eh?

Holy Shit!

There's nothing like a train shitter.

Planning is everything

Corridor Land sent a proud email to everybody last week, declaring that a few of its employees would be in the Azrieli Stair Race (1300 stairs in this big boy). Yeehaa!

The next day another email was sent, requesting Mini-steppers to help the guys with their training. The race is next week.

They crack me up round here...

What the hell am I? #18

Is Vic there?

I love it when stuff from the Old Country comes up trumps. Last night junior suddenly woke up with a hearty cough, and just wouldn't settle. Nothing worked. Then "BING!", I remembered the Vicks Vaporub the ancestors had brought over with them last year. There I was, explaining that Daddy grew up on the stuff, five minutes later he was snoring his little head off. Sound as a bloody pound. Though a little stinky.

Bloggin'

Time for one of these bleedin' meme thingeemajibs...

Do you like the look and the contents of your blog?
Too bloody right! Though I would like to go with more amazing pics, just can't find the time to pic like I used to pic.

Does your family know about your blog?
Yes.

Can you tell your friends about your blog? Do you consider it a private thing?
Most of them know and some of them even comment here. Corridor Land, and anybody I'm vaguely friendly with in C Land, don't know of its existence, of course.

Do you just read the blogs of those who comment on your blog? Or do you try to discover new blogs?
I usually drop by to see those that comment, if they include a link. The blogs I read regularly are on the sidebar, though some, especially some of the Israeli blogs, I hardly ever visit, sorry. I am always trying to find decent blogs in my beloved Far East, but that is proving harder than it seems.

Did your blog positively affect your mind? Give an example.
Nope, that'll be the Tuborgs.

What does the number of visitors to your blog mean? Do you use a traffic counter?
I do have a stats thingy, which tells me how many people visit anglosaxy, and from where they cometh. Which I occasionally look at. But to be honest, I have that referral thing on the sidebar, which lists the sites that are linking to me and saves me looking at the stats site. It's very inaccurate, though lets me know if someone new is linking to me.
I'm not that bothered about the number of visitors dropping by, it's usually a steady 100-150 per day, but did get into the 500's when the war was raging in the summer. Really, this blog is for me, to post pics I like, to write about stuff I like, and if it keeps some of you off the streets for a few minutes, then that can't be a bad thing...but I admit, if I had 5 visitors a day I would probably throw in the blogging towel...

Did you imagine how other bloggers look like?
Not really. Though if they sound like a koosit (babe), it can pique my interest. And how does one sound like a koosit? Mmmm, that would be telling.

Do you think blogging has any real benefit?
Well, from a personal perspective, it stops the world from being taken over by even more anglosaxy juniors.

Do you think that the blogsphere is a stand alone community separated from the real world?
Yes and no. Some bloggers out there clearly live in cuckoo land and obviously have way too much free time. While other bloggers clearly do a great job of raising awareness of things that the mainstream media might miss.

Do some political blogs scare you? Do you avoid them?
Yes, some of 'em scare the bejesus out of me. Some Israeli bloggers, for example, clearly are fucked up and spout a lot of evil crap, believing they have some kind of Cybercop role. And some pro-Palestinian/anti-Israel bloggers have obviously been puffing away at something or other for way too long. Sad bastards, all of them. And if they think they can come and comment here, fuck off.

Do you think that criticizing your blog is useful?
You criticize me, I'll 'ave you. You and yer mates.

Have you ever thought about what would happen to your blog if you died?
Yes, of course, after an international blogger day of mourning, mrs. anglosaxy would then publish my unfinished masterpieces to the world (there are always one or two in the pipeline) and anglosaxy would then become a blogging tombstone of sorts. If I remember to give her the user name and password. If not, then just remember to leave lots of nice comments in my last post, because I'll still stop by to check on them. Promise.

Which blogger had the greatest impression on you?
I think there is only one possible candidate - Shawn, initially at Korea Life Blog (only some of his archives are available, his site has been cutely hijacked by an advertiser) and then on his other blog, China Life Blog. He kind of inspired me to start blogging and it was a very sad time earlier this year when he left us. I never met or contacted him, apart from the odd comment, but his blog was one of those blogs that dragged you in deeper with its personal accounts. Just the way I like 'em.

Which blogger do you think is the most similar to you?
I don't think there is an Israeli blogger out there like me, what with my celtic bloodline and distaste for Corridors.

Name a song you want to listen to?
OK, I think it's got to be something like The Icicle Works' "Birds Fly (Whisper to a scream)". Eh, eh, am I good or what? Who remembers that one? Bloody classic.

I don't tag others usually, but I do think ss, smiler and the mad parrot need to spill the beans.

Again, blame the shlemazl for this one...

Like mother like son

O would have been proud of me.

This week I organized a Corridor Land pool session (that's smoky bar pool, not wet and jumping in pool), with the last of the C Landers that have an ounce of life left. Not many left actually, seeing as over 20 people have left C Land this year alone. Most of those were here for the last 6 or so years, or even longer (suckers!). And some of those were pool aficionados.

So the list was smaller this time, but hey, any excuse for a beer and a flirt with the waitresses.

I know I'm not truly British anymore because...

• I lean on my horn way too much.
• I've worn a tie once (my wedding day in Blighty) in the last 15 years.
• I don't drink pints, I drink half-litres.
• I don't give way to just anybody...you've got to indicate!
• I don't just tag on blindly to a queue. I ask, I charm, I show junior off (always works).
• I've not worn a suit since I left my job in England back in 1990.
• My accent - nobody ever guesses I'm from England anymore. It's always South Africa or Australia.
• I hardly ever use a knife AND fork.
• I have never seen an episode of Big Brother, X-Factor, Strictly Come Dancing...
• I have never known a British TV set with more than BBC1 and 2, ITV and Channel 4.
• I never have milk with my cup o' tea.
• I no longer jump in the sea (the Med) in December...or November.
• I don't moan about the weather during the winter.
• I have never owned a brolly in Israel.
• I buy more than "half a cucumber" at a time (usually a kilo or 2 - they like 'em small in Israel).
• I "zed" my "esses". Like in specialize, realize...
• I never eat cereals (Weetabix/Corn Flakes/Shredded Wheat etc) for breakfast.
• I'm no longer 6'4, I'm now 1 metre 95.
• I had to google Richard 'Hamster' Hammond, upon hearing of his recent accident.
• I usually fart from my ass, not my arse.
  

“Being British is about driving a German car to an Irish pub for a Belgian beer, then travelling home, grabbing an Indian curry or a Turkish kebab on the way, to sit on Swedish furniture and watch American shows on a Japanese TV. And the most British thing of all? Suspicion of anything foreign!”

Birthday boy

Friday saw birthday celebrations for the father-in-law, who hit 70 this week.

Of course, hitting 70 is good enough reason to get the whole tribe together, rent a coach, and surprise the ol' geezer with a trip up north to the Druze village of Osefiyah. A lot of work was done by mrs anglosaxy on producing a programme of events, complete with loads of scanned pics from way back, when he was a nipper and pre-marital - ahh, aren't we all fine specimens before getting bogged down into marital bliss...

So thought I'd treat you to a quick video of Friday afternoon, which was fueled by plenty of Ouzo...the father-in-law is the guy in white dancing, while the little lad in the foreground headbanging along to the rythm is, of course, junior.

Down to you misses Robinson*

What a pile of tosh.
I can't believe I cancelled a lesson to actually sit and watch this "live".
All I can say is Bring Back Sven.
No, no, we can get better. Can't we?

*OK, I nicked the title from The Sun. Was pretty funny though, even for them.

Bricks and blocks, Israeli stylee

OK, the first two are modern pieces of "art", but can anyone explain the "ledges" above the windows in the third pic, which shows a more typical Israeli apartment block? What are they for?

The Lesson From Hell

I'd had misgivings about this lesson from the moment I'd heard about it. The school down south's previous owner had let 3 siblings (aged 6, 10 and 11) attend the same lesson, with their mother sitting to one side. And to top it all off, they were, and still are, paying peanuts.

OK, so the first lesson or 2 had gone OK, enough to get me familiar with just how to cater to their 3 different levels, plus an interfering mother. However, Thursday night's lesson was a real shocker.

It started reasonably well, with the promise of a game at the end of the lesson ensuring the 6 year old knuckled down to work on a worksheet, together with his mother. As I reviewed some basic verb exercises with the other two, I tried my best to keep everyone happy, occasionally taking a peek at the 6 year old's sheet and helping him out. But every time I went back to the other two, the littl'un would grab my hand, way too firmly for a 6 year old, pulling me back in. After being a little firm with him in return, he then grabbed my face with both his hands to point me back in his direction (we're all sat at the same largish table). I laughed this off at first, but after he pulled this trick again and then again, I was about ready to slap the little shit. Did his mummy have anything to say? Did she fuck.

Anyway, the other two siblings were going through a quick test of the verbs we'd gone over, but the 10 year old's whining, and then actual bawling, because his sister was doing the test a little faster than him, was starting to really wind me up. In the end I had to move on to the game because everyone was getting upset, pencils were being prodded in arms, and interfering mothers were doing absolutely fuck all. Oh, no, sorry, she was doing something - she was correcting me for translating the word 'joy' wrongly in Hebrew - I'd used simcha and she corrected me with ahana. I still think she's wrong, but hey...

Well, game time came, and after getting a warning from me that if anyone broke any of the game's pieces, I'd break them (yes, really, those are the words I used, mother or no mother), they decided to go ape-shit. Dice were rolled all over the room, pieces thrown at pieces...and then the little 6 year old decided to slam his fist on one of the pieces. I looked at him and his mother and said: "Right, your game is over son!". And he went fucking mad - running around the classroom, bawling hysterically as he tried to grab more pieces from the game while trying to evade his mother as she tried to grab him. The lesson ended in a mass of tears, bawling and confusion.

I just sat in the class after they'd gone and said out loud: "What the fuck was THAT??".

OK, so I might not be perfect at classroom management, but surely this interfering mother is undermining any chance of authority I might have. For the price they're paying (I dare you to guess), it's really not worth my trouble. And if the mother insists on being there and correcting everything they and I do, why bother with paying for a teacher? I have a feeling this class might have to go take a leap...and mightily quick...

The word is...

...pooped.
Utterly and completely pooped. Which also means that a variety of viruses have found their way into my bod. Yesterday it was "wipe out" time with a fever, today the ol' WC has been my friend (and savior) on at least 5 occasions. I'd steer well clear of this blog if I were you...but come back soon for a tale of the English Lesson From Hell...

Oh God! No!!!

I amost caught myself posting a big pic of junior on the desktop of my Corridor Land computer.
Please, God, don't let me turn into one of those parents...I always swore "it'll never happen..."

And yes, the pic of a sun setting on a Thai beach is still my desktop pic. For how much longer, eh, how much longer?

YK 2006

My favourite Yom Kippur pics, better late than never.

WYSIWYG

Now, don't get me wrong, I like my in-laws a lot. They accepted me into their tribe a long time back, pretty seamlessly, I have to say. And for that I have a lot of respect for them. But spending 30 hours with them under the same roof and being subjected to an attritional half-jokey, half-serious digging at my not fasting, at my not going to the synagogue, at my not joining their marathon Rummikub sessions, well, a man can only take so much...

I fucking hate being digged at like this. I'm not Jewish, I probably won't ever fast on Yom Kippur and may well never play Rummikub. I'm sorry if this offends anyone, but fuck it, this is me, like it or lump it.

You thought it was safe...

Yom Kippur hits these parts later today, which means no TV, no radio, no cars on the road, no eating, no drinking, no nuffink*.

You'd have thought that with no cars on the road it'd be safer on the streets, right? Ha! You didn't take into account the kamikaze kids on their bikes! Like packs of Mad Max desert bikers, with bottles of water strapped to their backs, they'll hunt you down ,baby, HUNT YOU DOWN! So be careful out there...

I'll be stuck at the mother-in-laws, though am taking the bike so I can run away at some point. This year's excuse: I'm on a photo mission to catch some street shots. Nice one, eh? Well, how would you like to be stuck for 30 consecutive hours at your mother-in-laws? Exactly, I didn't think so.

* Of course, if needs must, you can always raid the fridge, swig a cold one, pop a DVD in the DVD player, switch on BBC Prime and Sky News...

What the hell am I? #17

Call me Lord, Land-lord

New tenants moved in to our place in Tel Aviv a couple of weeks ago. The week after that the plumbing went, so we had to fork out some serious dosh to fix it. But as they are paying an exorbitant sum, makes sense to keep them happy. We actually went over to see the place a few days ago, as they'd raved about the paint job they'd done. And they were right, I was almost tempted to serve notice and move straight back in!

But we're going to have to wait a little bit longer before we're actually back in Tel Aviv. Should happen by the end of this year though, because by then we'll have to be out of our place in smallsville. Looking forward to it.

92%

Mmm, 92% of Israeli businesses break labor laws? Why am I not laughing?

Guess I balance it out, what with more than 92% of my time spent breaking Corridor Land employment laws...

Are you talkin' to me?

Anglosaxy garden, September '06

Wet t-shirt

Kfar Kasam, September 06

Sick as a dog

Bleedin' 'eck.

Yesterday I spent approximately 2 hours out of bed all day. I don't think I've ever felt so shit, really. Not sure it's down to stress, but my workload sure hasn't helped over the last couple of weeks. Guess my body is trying to tell me something, especially after the shit I've been feeding it the last few weeks. I think I might have eaten 5 bananas and a mango over the last few weeks, with maybe the odd tomato and few slices of cucumber. Not really that impressive, eh? My on-the-go diet mainly consists of fairly crappy sandwiches (not the M&S type)...that might have to change...yeh, and I can't beg mrs. anglosaxy for a nice hot dinner, because she's flakers most evenings.

But back in Corridor Land today, infecting the inmates. Mwahaha!

Happy New Year!

Eh?

Ah, right, it's time for a Jewish shindig.
I'm actually a bit disappointed this year, only a small gathering of the tribe for tonight's (Friday) big family meal. Last year's 60-odd has been whittled down to about 15. How will I cope?

As for the schools, a few of the kids I teach down south surprised me with a hearty "Happy New Yar!" (yep, "yar"!) at the start of their lesson on Thursday. Very cute.

Now if only junior and the missus could remember what I looked like...

Anyway, a Happy Jewish New Year to you and yours. Bring on the wine!

Left arm. May I introduce you to your right arm?

A few days ago I finally returned my Depeche Mode tickets in order to get the money back. Of course, things are never that straight forward...

"It hurts me to do this, but I'm returning these..." ^Hands over 5 tickets^

"No problem".

"I actually bought a sixth ticket, but I don't have that ticket with me. I did call you a couple of days ago and someone told me all I need is the ticket number to - "

"What?? No!! You have to bring all the tickets in order to get the money back on each one".

"But someone in this office told me that if I don't have the ticket, because it's probably in Thailand on a year's vacation right now, all I need is the ticket number and you'll be able to confirm I paid for it via credit card..."

"Again,..." ^adopts a smarmy bastard smirk^ "...you need ALL the tickets to get ALL the money back".

"But..." ^anglosaxy adopts a pissed consumer smirk^ "...why would someone tell me that all I need is the ticket number? You're now telling me that I can't get my money back on the sixth ticket?".

"That's right. No ticket, no money".

"I see. So after telling me it was OK, and bringing me all the way into central fucking Tel Aviv, you're now telling me it's not OK?".

"Yes. But there isnt an expiry date for a refund. If the ticket is returned in 2 years time you'll still get your money back, we don't even need you to come in with your credit card, the ticket holder will get the money".

"Well that's fucking good, isn't it. You see, I sent the girl (it's O's ticket) here just before she left the country and she was told that because I paid for it with my credit card, only I can get the money back. That's why I called, to check..."

"I don't know about that..."

^stare of disbelief^
"Oh FUCK OFF! This is a fucking waste of time..." anglosaxy, shaking and possibly about to lose it, seethes as he signs the credit card confirmation and stomps out of the office. I might even have grunted something rather nasty at the person I bumped into at the door, but hey, fuck it...

I just love my meetups with Israeli service "technicians".

Long and hard

Yesterday was a 6am start thanks to junior, a spot of Corridoring until 2, then a drive down south to teach until 7. At 7 I interviewed a Ruskie for a part-time position, she seems OK, though not mother-tongue - not sure if the parents are going to accept her accent... Then a drive back to smallsville, where I upped the posters on the mall shop window, with the help of the brother-in-law. Finished at 11pm. The shop in the mall now looks (like a) class, I'll post some pics soon.

A long day, but I have to say, I really enjoyed teaching the kids down south. They are mostly of Ruskie origin, but very keen to learn and very cute. Say what you like about the Ruskies, and they generally get a bad deal in this country, they treat education seriously and are generally a pleasure to do business with. Whereas with almost every Israeli parent I have to barter and chase.

Oh, fucking loving James Dean Bradfield's "Still a long way to go". Song of the moment.

I'm the boss

Yesterday I had a 2 hour meeting in Corridor Land, of which approximately 3 minutes was relevant to me. Never mind, they're paying me for sitting there yawning and going over school schedules in my head, I can live with it. The most interesting part was at the end of the meeting - where we had been discussing my department's 2006 goals and their current status - as the boss decided to claim all the goals we'd discussed for herself and let rip at us all for not initiating any of them. She even mentioned me (I thought I was untouchable...) and my main project, stating that she was upset with me for not negotiating a better deal with the company we are working with. I just bit my lip. Utter management bollox.

I won't mention the project I'm working on, but let's just say she had never even heard of the term which describes my project a year ago. That was my doing, I'm afraid. As for the negotiating, if she'd have asked, I would have jumped at wasting a few shekels, believe me. She was the one who decided the price was too high and kept on at them to lower it.

I would never expect a teacher of mine to negotiate with students/parents, it's just not their domain...why the fuck should it be mine in Corridor Land? I thought a boss was supposed to be a boss and "manage", but maybe I'm wrong...

My daily shit

This little lot is the shit I carry around, every day. Very manly collection of bits and bobs, if you ask me. I'm especially proud of my bag, purchased in China, though must admit it's getting a tad on the small side, what with me becoming a big businessman. Some have called it a bus conductor's bag, others simply a handbag. I just like to think I'm a modern man. As you can see, there's an Underworld CD, a wallet (stuffed with cash that rogue teach didn't get her grubby hands on), some keys, my mobile, some sellotape, a tape measure, a sunglasses case, rechargeables for the camera, and a couple of school flyers. Not quite so obvious are the salary slips (under the phone), my Corridor Land security tag (next to the keys), a letter from the bank (under the sunglasses case), and last, but not least, my Israeli passport (just above the keys) - always handy when you need to do a runner. Also missing is the camera I took the pic with, not always in the bag but I carry around it 50% of the time.

You can all blame shlemazl for this post. Hee hee.

Management Probs, part II

I don't think it's particularly professional to do this in public, but I am completely shocked and a little confused.

Yesterday I tried calling teach a few times and she didn't answer her mobile. So, again, I had to cancel all the afternoon lessons. Fucking embarrassing, and I'm sure I look amateur beyond belief. And I also had a hunch that something bad was going down. So I drove down south to the school. Wasn't sure what I'd find - perhaps an empty table where a new printer should be sitting - but everything seemed OK. Then I looked in the cash box, to which only she and I have the key. Nada. Empty as a Chelski footballer's head. Which was funny, because she'd mentioned putting in a few hundred shekels she'd received earlier in the week. A few choice words were uttered. I did a quick calculation - seems like the sum I owed her almost wrote off the cash box notes. So, I presume she (and her husband) decided that she'd help herself and have nothing more to do with me, as long as her salary was covered. I've also realised that she's stolen at least one student, but the rate she was paying, she's welcome to her. Just the idea that she has obviously nicked one of my students is making my blood boil...

I really don't know what to say. Except that if she had been an Israeli, you could say "Hutzpah!". But this was a fellow Brit, here for only a few months, and despite her owing me nothing, isn't there this unspoken loyalty or "stand by your fellow countryman" in foreign lands? I guess not. Not when there's an Israeli husband involved.

This is all a real shame, because I don't like to play the "big boss". I guess the next teacher is only going to suffer from teach's actions, because I'm going to have to tighten up things...

Time to change the locks.

Management Probs

Am I that much of a fuck?
Come on, be honest.
Because there I was, thinking that you respected and appreciated me.
At least that's what you told me.
I agree, the 2 hour gap between lessons yesterday was too much.
But it was a one-off, that much I promised.
And you happily agreed to come in.
Understanding the situation and wanting to help you told me.
Living 15 minutes away by foot, I really appreciated your effort.
And your proximity.
So why the no-show?
Why let down the students, their parents and me?
Oh, let me check my messages.
Ah, it's your husband.
He doesn't seem happy that you return home...
And then go back to the school 2 hours later.
Understandable.
But why leave the message 30 minutes before lessons start?
And couldn't you call?
Especially after you agreed it was OK.
Why why why should I still stick with you?


I say throw teach out on her ass, what say you?

What the hell am I? #16

Kofiko City

I've been in this country for some time, as you know, and have come across some kofikos * (for the sake of argument, let's call them "chavs") in my time. Not that I haven't been a bit of a cheeky monkey myself on more than a few occasions! But a couple of nights ago, kofiko city! Me and the missus went out for some ziva (Yemenite morsel, if you've never tried it, do!) and Heineken in Kfar Saba. We found a nice little cafe/restaurant, complete with a quiet comfy sofa corner. Quiet it didn't stay for long, as it soon started overflowing with some pesky teenage feckers. Feckers with the way way way overspiked hair and sleeveless t-shirts, you know the ones...

Anyway, to grab the waitress's attention, who up until that point had been a sweetie, they decided to bang their menus on the table and chant "Miri ya zonna, Miri ya zonna!" (Miri, you whore!), which then became "Miri ya sharmoota, Miri ya sharmoota!". WTF?? At first I found it mildly amusing, but after a few repeats, I just gave them a steely glare, being their mightily superior elder and all. Can't help feeling that I should have said something...In the end, I was just glad to get the fuck out of there, but couldn't help feeling for the waitress. If she'd pulled her Uzi out (she looked army age) and shot them to pieces I would have been delighted to be a witness on her behalf.

Mrs anglosaxy, who had been powdering her nose and missed all the action, didn't believe it when I told her when walking back to the car...but then again, she's living in a time warp where Tzvika Pik was a fresh-faced thirty something and Zehu Zeh ruled prime time TV. And this sort of thing never happens in her rose-tinted Israel...

The yoof of today, eh? Not an ounce of fuckin' respect, the fuckin' feckers.

* In Hebrew, kof = monkey, while kofiko could be best translated as "cheeky monkey" and is actually the name of a famous kids TV character.

*Instinctively shields tackle with hands*

Another world ago

5 years on, eh?

I was in England, just a couple of weeks before myself and the missus were due to get married (we had to be there a month in order to register for a right royal knees up wedding). We'd actually had a fight that morning and were each sulking in the corner of my parents' living room. I switched on the TV and the BBC was babbling on about something happening to the Twin Towers...unity on the anglosaxy front was restored within minutes, followed by an absolutely spine-chilling afternoon in front of the TV.

Still gives me goosebumps re-watching the scenes of devastation...

If you don't laugh...

Thought I'd give you a taste of my Sunday morning:

6.00: waaaaaggghhhh! bottle for junior, back to bed.
6.15: waaaaaggghhhh! play time with junior as I stagger blindly round the house.
6.30: drop the only key to the back door down the back of the air-con (don't ask), is irretrievable.
8.00: call the nanny, but she can't come in on her day off, bollocks.
8.05: nappy leak means brown smudges all over the floor, bollocks.
9.00: attempt to call bank, password not accepted, bollocks.
9.15: finally get through to bank, am told to change password before they can discuss my details.
9.20: try to change password, junior bawling in ear thwarts first attempt.
9.25: second attempt fails, my ID no. is now refused.
9.30: third attempt makes it to tech support, junior decides to bawl.
9.40: bank calls me, but I can't take the call, junior is testing the ol' eardrums.
9.45: teacher from down south calls, bawling, her nanny has died.*
10.00: start calling students to cancel lessons.
10.30: potential new student calls, junior bawls, I can't even hear her, she promises to call again, she doesn't.
11.00: junior sleeps, but for a measly 30 minutes.
11.35: sleep deprived junior slips and cuts his lip, blood and tears everywhere.
11.45: fruit brunch is thrown all over my leg.
12.00: pissy mother from down south is upset with me for cancelling her cherub's lesson.
12.20: junior has some serious shitting issues today, another nappy gingerly thrown into the garbage.
12.30: can't connect to the internet, looks like my ISP has smelt junior's packages of joy and is out for the count.

The fun continued long into the afternoon, including a packed full of noisy kids class in the smallsville mall. Can't knock the interest though, the kids seem very keen...

Ever had one of those mornings when your head was going to explode? This was the one...

* I'm not sure if I'm being a totally insensitive mo'fucker, but WTF? Her nanny? She's only been in the country a few weeks, how can she be that attached to her nanny? And her kids are 8 years old plus...not quite sure what the hell is wrong here but it ain't good for my business, I'm looking for a reserve teacher as we speak...

Freedom!

This is what escaping from Corridor Land does to some people...that's O heading for the lilies, somewhere in Thailand...


Shamelessly stolen from O's flicker collection, I hope she won't mind.

Shuffle shuffle

When does a shuffle become a step? Last night Junior did us proud, standing up and making that first shuffle/step all on his tod, me and the missus were both there to witness it. Now if only I could find the dog leash...

Call of the Big City...

The anglosaxy reign in smallsville is coming to an end. We've had enough of closed kaspomats (cashpoints) and the limited dining/drinking options (pizza, pizza, or, er, pizza). And as my business is now standalone in smallsville and no longer based at home, we are no longer tied here. So, a couple of days ago we gave notice to the cheapskate landlord and will be moving out within 4 months. And it looks like Tel Aviv is going to be home once again...aah, I can already smell the Irish bars, sushi, and Giraffe noodles...

A photo tribute to smallsville coming soon...

Oh, and if you want to waste your time like I did yesterday, this game is for you. Bloody great! But if you get past the Bossman let me know how...not that I have any, er, time to waste...

A fresh new look at the season

Oooohh, being cut off from civilization down south, the fact that Arsenal finally got rid of Cashley Cole and Reyes completely passed me by. And with the purchase of the Beast and Gallas, I'm a fairly happy gooner. And I don't care what you say, Arsenal won the transfer deadline day contest, closely followed by West Ham's double Argentine swoop (doesn't this make West Ham Chelski's bitch?). I see good things happening this season...including the demise of Moaninho...

Holiday snaps