Wild goose dog chase

After putting up countless posters throughout smallsville, a few people have called, adamant that they've just spotted Z. Queue a quick rush to the car, jumping in through the window Dukes of Hazzard stylee with a squeal of wheels as we speed off...

One thing I've learned after this weekend is that kids think all dogs look the same. They have no perspective of a dog's size or color, they just see a dog, connect it with the poster they just saw on the corner, and call...bless 'em, but they're gonna drive me nuts.

This morning (7.30) I was at the local holding station for lost dogs. Z wasn't there. But what a heart-breaker, seeing all those dogs, all jumping up at me as I walked past their cages. All looking for a home. Quite a tear-jerker, I'm not shy to admit.

Anyway, the search goes on. And so does life, because there comes a time when we're going to have to say "fuck it", if he comes back he comes back...

Seeking high and low

Still searching for Z, without much luck. It's now been 3 nights and still not a peep. I keep imagining I hear him creeping up the stairs to slink under the bed, or barking outside at some ragged ol' puss. But it ain't him. I keep looking at his bowl of food with a few scraps still left from his last meal and his leash hanging up in the entrance and it hurts...

Good and bad

It's a bit of an emotional mix up this morning. Hungover after celebrating Arsenal's safe passage through to the Champions League final (yeehaaa!) last night, I'm going round smallsville sticking posters up wherever I can...

Yep, a lost dog. It's been 20-odd hours already. Buggar was out on his tod all night. Probably having the time of his life. Gotta love the smallsville vet department: "You'd better find him before we do, otherwise we'll fine your ass...", or words to that effect.

A new breed

As summer rolls in (we'll ignore last night's spitting session), it's time to get those ol' flip flops out. Yep, I'm a true flip flopper. Even out and about at night you'll often find me in flip flops. But for this summer I've been looking for something a little extra, that has that je ne sais quoi...and I think I've found them. I've just bought myself a pair of these (see below), from the same company that makes these, which I absolutely hate (and aren't they everywhere in this country?). A tad more expensive than regular flip flops, these are very feckin' comfortable! And I really went to town with my choice of colour - pearl and turquoise. Flip-pin 'eck!

What the hell am I? #6

Rest assured, this didn't come out of my nose.

Homo Sapiette - April '06

Time for a bit of Michal Zoharetz.

Channel 1's only slice of eye candy. Channel 1 is Israel's national TV channel that nobody watches. The only programme I've ever watched on this channel is the show Michal fronts early on a Friday evening. Oh, and The Simpsons. Somehow she radiates a cuteness and charm that could only suit Channel 1, if you know what I mean.

She is also the oldest of the Homo Sapiettes, even older than moi. But we won't let that get in the way of her being April Sapiette, will we? We were also surprised to hear her recently plugging a plastic surgeon on the radio, but after seeing the pic on the left below, we decided to forgive.

She originally started out as an actress in a couple of fairly successful Israeli movies, then moved into the theatre, loveys, before venturing in to modeling and Friday night TV hosting. She was also a candidate for a new late-night show about fishing, but her captain co-star decided that her smile was cuter than his (only just, as you can see from the pic below) and pulled the plug. No, neither do I have a clue what this picture is all about, made me smile though.

The coolest Arsenal supporter

Wearing his lucky sunglasses, junior anglosaxy has everything crossed for tonight's game. He may in fact be asleep during the game but he'll be dreaming about a 3-0 win. That, or becoming a ballet dancer. His Dad will be lining up the pints in a pub in north Tel Aviv while screaming at a big screen...

Nice to see ya, to see ya nice

Ahh, the wonders of the long weekend. Really feel like my batteries are recharged, despite not getting an amazing amount of sleep. Just to step away from the routine, and see and feel something different did the job. We're hoping to put in a repeat performance this coming weekend.

Got a few days off work as they always close down over Pessach (Passover). So decided to take another few days off, 1) because I need a break, and 2) I have a lot of shit to sort out. Ah, and Corridor Land's idea of a present for Pessach? A DVD of last month's company day I posted about here. Pretty decent present, if you're a complete twat. Would you believe an inmate at Corridor Land actually filmed the whole day's proceedings and then spent time editing out the shit (leaving, er, 2 minutes worth of film), adding effects, music etc. Jesus feckin' Christ* is all I have to add.

Talking of Passover, I have a question: do any of you anglos read the Haggadah at the big family meal? And if so, in English or Hebrew? I never used to bother because the biblical Hebrew always killed me, but the last couple of years I've started reading the English version. At least it gives the natives a laugh because I'm usually half-cut by then and I let 'em have it with a luverly British accent.

* Well, I had to have a reference to Easter somewhere in this post.

Where the streets have no name

Aye, Pessach (Passover) is calling again, that means loads of family fun. Good excuse to get drunk though. I shall be thinking of you all tomorrow night (during the traditional family meal, or Seder) as I down copious amounts of alcohol. For those of you who don't know: beer is officially off-limits during the next week or so, so it's Holy Water for me. Ah, and don't forget to stuff yourselves with some of this, an annual weekly binge that I always enjoy.

Thursday on I'm incommunicado as I settle in at a meditation center for the weekend. Speaking is forbidden for 3 days, and alcohol is absolutely frowned upon. I have my white hippy pyjama suit ironed and pressed, though my chant needs some practice. I might have something to report back to you on Sunday.

So, Happy Passover!

And, by God, you won't be able to name the street below. Will you? Click to big, if you need.

Scrub a Dub Dub, contd.

So, I'm a "smelly European", that's for sure. Someone you wouldn't want to share a lift with, someone with flies buzzing permanently overhead. I wasn't always sure when passing people in the street, but now I'm constantly aware of fingers been clasped around nostrils and silent stares that quite obviously translate to "Phew, what a bleedin' stench!"...

How did I earn the title of "Smelly European"? Well, I sometimes miss my evening shower. Yes, I know, disgusting. Quite how this came about I really don't know, but, hands up, I'm guilty. You know how it is, after a long, hard day, stuck at home with junior and a few afternoon English lessons. Never mind that it's winter outside (OK, not really winter anymore, but you know what I'm on about) and there's about 30 seconds worth of hot water, I really should have a shower. To wash off all that muck and grime accumulated all over my body. As I said: D-I-S-G-U-S-T-I-N-G.

Listen, seriously, I know when I need a shower, I'm not a kid. I know that after a long day on the beach, like this past Saturday, there's probably a fair few grains of sand stuck in places I've never even seen with my own eyes. So a shower makes sense. And, of course, during June-August, the shower becomes one of my best mates. Israelis, however, seem to believe the shower has some kind of unique, special power that will wash away any troubles and make you, yes, YOU, sexually attractive in the eyes of your chosen partner.

So, please, less of the guilt invoking lines that make me maaaaad:

"You'll wash away all the negative energy accumulated during the day..."

"You'll feel like a new man..."

and, of course, the classic:

"I guarantee you won't be sorry..." [ nudge, nudge, wink, wink, comes out of shower to a snoring mrs. anglosaxy ]

[ swats fly buzzing overhead... ]

Scrub a Dub Dub

I have a question for you. Please take a minute or two to answer because a marriage is at stake.

How many times a day do you shower? If it's once, do you shower in the morning or evening?

If it's none, then you're no good to me as you're obviously French.

What the hell am I? #5

Glory

Yessss!!!

Nice little 0-0 draw last night. Arsenal through to the semis and with quite a good chance of actually going all the way. Fan-bloody-tastic! Watched the game with about 30 other gooners in a pub in Ramat Gan, a few mature ex-pats mixed with a noisy bunch of Israeli teens. I'll have to get some pics next time. Even mrs. anglosaxy enjoyed herself.

Nice to hear the old classics - "The referee's a wanker!" and "Oo to, Oo to be, Oo to be a, Gooner!" - while I also got to learn an Israeli chant, which should be sung repeatedly when the opposing team is making a substitution: "Ben Zonna yotzeh ver Ben Zonna nichnes!" ("Son of a bitch goes off, Son of a bitch comes on!")

Ah, footie and beer, life's simple pleasures.

Gooning for it

Tonight will see a fairly large amount of alcohol pass my lips as Arsenal take on Juventus for the return leg of their Champions League quarter-final. Mrs. anglosaxy will be joining me in a pub full of gooners. Poor kid. Fingers, legs, and anything else long enough, are very firmly crossed. My prediction: a tight game, Arsenal will lose 2-1 but still go through thanks to their heroics in the first game.
Come on you GOOOOONERSSSS!!

This might be hard for those of you who "don't understand", but I'm finding it very hard to concentrate this morning. My stomach is doing the equivalent of pre-first date nerves...

Finding Teach

So, I'm looking for a teacher to help out around my school. In fact, to basically take over teaching the kids, while I concentrate on the adults and getting the school more 'out there'. I've been a bit disappointed with the responses so far, though had one nice woman who seemed to fit the bill. Trouble was, her English wasn't mother tongue, though more than good enough to handle the kids I have.

And there lies the dilemma. Do I take on a teacher who doesn't have MT English but is great with the kids? Or a MT-er who will surely meet the requirements of demanding parents? I'm more inclined to go with the MT-ers, because it gives my school a certain qualitative edge, but somebody decent is proving hard to come by.

And while we're on this, do people give a shit what they send via email to prospective employers these days? I mean, OK, my school isn't yet a prestigious cornerstone of the Israeli education system, but it's still a job. I'm finding it quite hysterical looking at some of the replies to my ads. Is it acceptable these days to just send an email with a CV attached, without any cover letter, note, text, nada...? Call me old fashioned, but I'd like to know why you're emailing me...

Look at this reply to my ad, this was actually one of the more wordy ones:

"Reply to your ad for english teacher. Lots experience. Please call me."

I don't think you mean "call me" mate, I think you mean "delete me, immediately".

I have a feeling this is going to take a lot longer than I thought...though if any of you know anyone who might be interested, drop me a line at the anglosaxy email address, over there on the right.

Big R

The last month or so I've been popping over to Ramat HaSharon to teach Big R. As you may be able to tell, R is a BIG geezer. A guy with a booming voice, crewcut-style grey hair, and pot belly balanced precariously on his belt buckle. But a nice guy.

Until he starts on politics. As some of you may have noticed, it was election time in Israel last week, and R, being a former member of the legendary Likud Central Committee, was half-listening to me, half-listening to the TV throughout our lessons the last couple of weeks. With the odd "You see!" boomed out across the room to his wife. You see, he happens to be a loyal Bibi Netanyahu supporter and believes that his mentor was assassinated by the media. R told me that he burnt the midnight oil with Bibi on many an occasion, just him and Bibi as they thought up further ways to haul Israel out of its (previous) financial mess. His favourite (and Christ, does he repeat them endlessly) two words to describe Bibi: phenomenon and genius. His favourite expression: He saved the country.

I decided to keep my mouth shut about my own voting tendencies.

But fuck all that. I sit in his posh house every Sunday evening, and am awash with fancy cakes and pastries and tea. Should have charged him a lot more, what with the spanking new Merc parked outside, but he is very connected so maybe it'll pay to keep him sweet.

Mortal

Take a seat, grab a beer* and let me tell you something about having kids.

If there's something that I've felt very strongly over the last few months, it's a strong feeling of mortality. Like suddenly I'm not going to live forever, that one day this ride is actually going to end. Those days of never really thinking about the future, because well, the future is so far away, suddenly end. At the same time, despite feeling mortal, there's also a sense of continuance in that this little boy will hopefully carry on the chain of life and the anglosaxy genes.

Shhhllackkk! There he is, this screaming bundle of joy, bawling in your face, totally reliant on you for everything, totally invading your space and dreams. And no, I wouldn't swap him for all the gold in China (though if you ask me if I'd swap him for an Arsenal victory in the Champions League final, I'd have to seriously ponder). It's just that you have to adapt. Change. Realign your priorities.

I'm not suggesting that you give up on any of your dreams, because I think dreams are hugely important. Shit, I still have lots of dreams, lots of things that I want to and intend doing. Lots of places I still want to visit, beaches I need to sip beer on. It's just that now I feel the clock ticking rather more loudly in the background.

Some of you might say "About time, the git is maturing...". You might well be right. Though frankly, because the clock is ticking, because of the new being, I also feel that this is the time to realise my dreams, to work my butt off, to start getting my life in order.

So, mortality is good. Kicks you into a new phase. And as it's pissing down outside, and I've got maybe 3 or 4 hours until the next bawling session, I'm calling it a night. Mortal or not I need my beauty sleep.

Tick. Tock.

* By the way, I'm beerless now for some 8 days, this is surely some kind of record for an Englishman.