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...