2007 in a nutshell

memories of a Christmas trip to Blighty, byebye to junior's nanny, househunting in Tel Aviv, a super-sized sickie that lost me 5 kilos over 10 days, moving back to Tel Aviv, Israel v England in Tel Aviv, shakshukas from Yuval the Confused One, problems with the school down south and finally good riddance, getting some super-sized cahoonas and handing in my notice at Corridor Land, interviewing my replacement, discovering Knafeh, nurturing a serious addiction to the Sopranos, the end of Thierry as a Gooner, getting paid for taking some pix, chicken pox city, junior hitting 2, handing in my Corridor Land car, upgrading the smallsville school, my new gig at Open Spacey, redundancy cheques from Corridor Land, birthday cruise to Turkey, joining Facebook, juniorette hitting 1, coining it on the lottery, hitting my targets at the smallsville school, an unChristmassy Christmas in the Holy Land.

Aye.

Happy New Year to you all! And 'scuse my language, but I have a feeling 2008 is going to be a fucking cracker! And watch this blog for some changes...coming real soon, like tomorrow...

It's all about the money...

I got offended a couple of days ago. Not sure why, because it was only the words of a 9 year old. But he got a little pissy with me when I tried to quieten him during the lesson (I promise, I didn't have my hands round his neck...) and then he uttered: "You only care about the money, at least that's what I heard...".

I really shouldn't have given a shit, but fuck that, I found it offensive. Maybe I'm too sensitive to be a Donald Trump type businessman, but these were words he obviously picked up from somewhere...maybe his Mum, maybe his Dad...maybe somebody isn't happy with the service I provide, but fuck it, I can't get paid for my services? I can't worry about getting paid from some of my customers? Because believe me, I have probably the most flexible payment structure around (which I realise is becoming too flexible, going to have to lay the law down soon).

Personally, I think I (and my other teacher) give a good lesson, not the best in the world, but I can see from the referrals that I must be doing something right.

End of the year target was 50-60 students, I have 57. Not too shabby.

Winter surf

Tel Aviv seafront, Christmas 2007

Sun's up

Sunrise from the balcony (can't spot any reindeer...)

Happy Christmas to you and yours!

The words we all dream of hearing...and I heard them this morning!

"Hello"
"Hi, is that anglosaxy?"
"Yes"
"Hi anglosaxy, this is the National Lottery (Mifal HaPais). We'd like to congratulate you on your winnings..."

Life (at least the fantasy life I'd always dreamed of) flashes before eyes.

"...your winnings of 5000 shekels."

OK, an extra 0 or 2 would have been veryyyy nice, but fuck that, what a Christmas pressie! Yeehaa, I think it's going to be a very Merry Xmas...!!

Street dining

Crimboless

I find it hard here during Crimbo, without a doubt. Nobody's putting up trees, nobody's complaining about Christmas shopping (by the way, 700 shekels to send 7 very small parcels - I'm talking packets of Bamba - to England, would you Adam 'n Eve it!), no Christmas classics blare out from the radio...

I have a party lined up later today (Friday), with the same band that played at the party the other week, but it's not a seasonal Christmas party, not one of those classic Christmas office parties. Yep, I miss it all, badly, despite the blatant commercialism of it all.

Some of you are probably fed up to the back teeth with Do They Know It's Christmas banging out from the supermarket tannoy, but I'd love a splash of that right now. I challenge you to go one Christmas without any of the trimmings and then tell me you enjoyed yourself. It can't be done, I tell you, it just can't...believe me, hankerings for Blighty haven't half got strong this last couple of weeks...

Now, if someone could tell me where I can lay my hands on some bleedin' mince pies, the situation could improve drastically...

Product Placement

Tel Aviv seafront

What the hell am I? #40

What the hell am I? #39

Buggar of a week...

Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in...

What a week I have lined up. Thanks to the end of the teachers strike over here, my main teacher, who works for a high school, now has one hell of a backlog of hours piled up and can barely come over to teach at my place. That means I have to take over most of his hours, which totally screws up my day. Because I have to work at Open Spacey, of course. And, of course, they have one enormous release going out this week, meaning lots of last minute additions and changes. And with Christmas just round the corner, my planned shopping escapades, both online and bricks and mortar stylee, are going to be limited to about 35 seconds per day...this year mrs anglosaxy might have to be happy with a packet of 5 pitot and maybe some humus...

I was almost tempted to write something a few days ago about how the teachers strike was affecting me, because business is booming thanks to a few worried parents. And my teach is a good teach, I like him a lot, it's just that now I may have to let him go because the hours he can give me just ain't gonna cut it...fuck, was I pissed on Thursday when he told me his new schedule...

Here we go again...

Fab?

I'm not too sure there's anything to get excited about with Mr Capello's impending appointment as England boss (though this list of things to consider might whet your appetite, to tell you the truth, it does nothing for me). I'm fast losing interest with the national side and their shitey little boy racer superstars. I would love to believe that it could all change, but something tells me these spoilt little fuckers need more than someone telling them they're fat and overpaid...

Now, if it had been Jose - and however much you dislike the man you gotta admire his manmanagement skills - I think that could have been very interesting...

Nightynight

Taken from my balcony. Spot the moon.

Up and up and away

The Christmas tree went up.
And down.
And up again.
And down again.
And up...
I think you get the picture...
I'm thinking of setting up a barbed wire mini-fence to protect the tree from junior and juniorette, who are a little keen on all those dangly bits...

Men of the World, Unite!

Me, I is a modern man, innit, a man about the house, a man whose work is never done, a man who is handy to have around. Yes indeedy, I know my way around the washing machine, the oven, even the dishwasher, and am a dab hand at sterilizing the baby bottles...but I digress...

Why is it that my t-shirts have disappeared into the black hole known as the laundry basket? Why have I had to resort to wearing my 1990's fcuk t-shirts to work, the ones every modern man back in Blighty now probably uses to clean his car windows...?

Could it be that mrs anglosaxy is in charge of the laundry? Yes it could. After a long glorious campaign, the keys of the laundry powder casket were recently handed over to the fairer sex. And we ain't impressed. Early promise has given way to feeble excuses. At this rate, I could be going to work clad in only my Mr Men boxers. In fact, once mrs. anglosaxy reads this, that possibility could well become reality...

But guys, we really know what goes down, don't we? We know, right? And before you slink off back under your thumbs, don't forget to take the rubbish out. And clean the frying pan. And pick up the kids' toys. And...and...and...and...

MixMatch

Tis the season...I rushed back from Open Spacey earlier this week, just in time to light the first Hanukkah candle, say a little prayer and stuff my face with a glazed, yet unoozing one. And then mrs. anglosaxy reeled off a couple of holiday songs, which Junior actually managed to sing along with (primed by his kindergarden I guess). And then she sighed and told me it was a little sad that I wasn't joining in with the singing. Never mind that if I knew the words I probably wouldn't have joined in...

I guess these are the woes of a "mixed" marriage, the holidays. With Christmas just around the corner, and me pining for it badly, my turn will come. OK, the missus enjoys Christmas, but she really has no idea about all the side dishes - the music, the food, the long build-up, the shopping, the alcohol what floweth, the decorations etc. For her, it usually means a fun afternoon in Tel Aviv (if she gets home early from work) or a trip to Blighty. And she probably doesn't really understand how I feel, especially when hearing Christmas choirs in the background when ancestors phone during their Christmas shopping splurge...

Now with the kids starting to understand what's what, especially Junior, I really want to show them what Christmas is all about. I can't really tell them about Hanukkah or Pessach or any other Jewish holiday, I think that task belongs to the missus. I'll celebrate with them of course, but won't be leading the chorus...I actually think the kids get the best deal out of it, they get double the holidays, double the presents from two sides of the family. Nothing wrong with that. I won't ever push religion down their throats, that's not my style, and when they're bigger they'll always have the right to choose not to celebrate any holiday they don't want to celebrate...

So this Christmas we might not be going home for Christmas but I'll be doing my best to make sure the anglosaxies have a great time and that Santa comes to visit...and - shhh, don't tell the littluns - after all these bleedin' Hanukkah doughnuts, I might be able to pull off a very fetching Santa...

Yep, I feckin' love Christmas...

Welcome to Haifa

I'm a doughnut

This week it's doughnut week here in Israel. You should know - the spelling of "Donut" is officially fattening. "Doughnut" is a much more healthier way of spending the Hanukkah week. And attempts to shorten words by 3 letters are taking the piss, so are now prohibited. And while we're on the subject - is it me, or are Israeli doughnuts just extremely tight-assed with their jam injection? I can remember many a Brit doughnut dripping with jam as you sunk yer teeth in...

I'm contemplating getting a huge tray of these buggars for my students today/tomorrow, I'm just scared I might end up scoffing any leftovers...

FisherKing

Hey Shiri...

OK, OK, so I didn't make it to the Depeche Mode party. Rumours of the place being packed to the rafters and with my anti-queue policy still holding fast, me and the missus decided to skip it. We somehow ended up at some exclusive birthday party down South Tel Aviv way, complete with a few Israeli celebs. There was maybe 60-70 people there, but everybody seemed to be a musician of some sort. And very gay. Girls going off into toilets two by two, while a posse of gay guys chatted harmlessly with the missus...we were probably the curiosity act, being straight and not musicians...

The great live band was constantly changing as drummers swapped, bass guitarists switched and singers came and went. One moment, there I was, swaying (note: not really bopping) along to the band, stood next to the Eurovision goddess Shiri (I think she might have bumped into me, the little stargazing strumpet), with Beetleman (the guy who plays the piano on the Israeli A Star is Born) on synths, while the singer from Portait belted out his one and only hit "Ver he akol mevina", one of my very favourite Israeli songs...A quite surreal moment. And yes, Shiri did belt out a few tunes, even a couple in English. Bless 'er.

Been a while since I last stopped out til 4 in the morning drinking my arse off, but it was a good one even without a Depeche Mode tune to be heard...