What?! You do this every week...??

Impressed by the weekly shopping exercise...

* Taken with phone cam

The Cure

Juniorette has gone down with a nasty case of laryngitis. Coughing and baying like a she-wolf, she only needs a few extra hairs on her back and she'd easily get a role in a werewolf movie...anyway, we went to the doc to make sure she was OK, and were delighted to hear that apart from fixing this scary (and fecking noisy!) ventilator like thing to her face (she really could get a role in a horror movie...), the only real cure was to take her for a 1/2 hour night drive along the seafront with the windows open...so, there I was, driving along Tel Aviv promenade (3 times!), windows open, trying to breathe in salty sea air but finding my nostrils filled with barbeque-like aromas and diesel fumes from the taxi in front...

Not too sure about this one, doc...

It ain't over til the large-boned one sings...

I peeked at the half-time scores this afternoon, and it didn't make pretty reading - the Arse were 2-0 down and down to 10 men. I have to say, I was inclined to write off their title hopes. But then, football's a funny old game innit, and a stirring fightback resulted in an unlikely last minute winner. Just the way we like 'em.

I know I didn't mention last week's loss to Chelski, but that was mostly down to mrs anglosaxy's sudden allegiance to the blue ones because of a certain Israeli. Her whooping and "Go Avram, Go Avram!" cheering at the end of the game had me feeling physically sick for a few days...

Let's just say that the race is still fairly open, though first things first, I'm looking forward to the upcoming triple header with Liverpool...it's got to be down the pub for the Champions League games, with the missus, but no blue and white scarves in sight, please darlin'. And I thought I had her well trained...

Turkish? It must be summer...

So earlier this morning Israel officially moved into summer time. We lost an hour's sleep, but never mind, the sunsets will fall later now...and what's an hour's sleep when you have a coughing and spluttering juniorette all night...

Many people have their own "first signs of summer", such as spotting fruit in the market after a long winter break, or perhaps the need to no longer switch on the boiler for a hot shower...me, well, my body dictates when it's summer, in particular my taste buds. Not sure why, but my body demands Turkish coffee in the summer and tea in the winter. I just can't touch tea (without milk, of course) in the summer, while Turkish coffee in the winter just doesn't do it. And this week, I've had to move over to Turkish coffee for my caffeine fix, so it really is official, summer is here!

A man's ketchup...

I splash it on all over...

The kind of Bar you always wanted in your kitchen...

* Bar Refaeli, of course. Shiver my timbers, she's a fine lass. This is her in a new campaign for mini bars (purified water only), just in time for the recent heatwave. It just suddenly got hotter...

Aba Ima Harta

Something I've been experiencing lately is the Israeli parent. And, to be quite honest, there's room for improvement. A whole lotta room. I don't pretend to be an amazing parent myself, and what with the time I spent at my little school rather than reading bedtime stories the last few months, I should maybe shut the fuck up...

But...when you have an "Open day" at the kindergarten and all the parents do everything to get that precious snapshot of their little darlink, it gets a bit much. By everything, I mean they'll forget just where they are, and on whose little boy they are treading on and knocking over. Just as long as they get that shot. And when anglosaxy gets all pissy with them, they wonder what all the fuss is all about...I have to say I was a little shocked at the total disregard for others, and especially other little darlinks, just as long as they got what they wanted. Perhaps I shouldn't have been shocked, what with my experience driving on many an Israeli road...it's just that this is the next generation of Israeli they're rearing, and nothing really changes, does it...?

And then there are the parents who park outside the kindergarten (where parking is at a Tel Aviv premium) and make sure that noone else can park there. Because, well, as long as they're awright, then everything's awright, innit. Being the superDad that I am, I often have to carry two little packages of joy screaming and kicking into/out of the place, and let me tell you, it ain't easy, carrying them plus their backpacks, and then when I see one of the parents' cars blatantly taking two parking spaces, and I've had to park 200 metres down the road, I get feckin' mad...

Note the lack of a mention of the parents of some of my students...a post forthcoming...

Lady in the window

My favourite Friday cafe outdoing itself for Purim...

* Taken with phone cam

Hot as b'stards out there!

Don't want to rub it in for those of you in cooler climes (Blighty's snow flurries hee hee!) but yesterday (Saturday) Tel Aviv hit 34, today it's on for 36. Looking at this little UK forecast for my "home town", the renowned "suntrap of the south", that makes a difference of some 31 degrees between here and the UK. That's quite a difference, don't think I've ever seen quite a gap...

So, the big question for us anglosaxies, should we bring our pink thermal undies when we fly over next month? And while you ponder a response, you'll have to excuse me while I go and cut my shorts even shorter...

Getting dressed up for Purim

mrs. anglosaxy's Purim look. Or maybe the new sexy dummy for my favourite fur shop...

Supersized Ego

Here at Open Spacey I've stumbled into a situation that I've not come across before. Here I am, with all my years of experience, suddenly the junior writer, the tea boy. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't exactly looking to get into management or a senior position when I took this job, but I did realise pretty early on that I should play the rosh katan (the "don't look out of the box")employee, otherwise I'd have some serious ego clashes with my maestro.

Basically everything's OK, but I think that's because I just let things pass me by...I could go on about some of the crazy styling issues implemented here, or the new 400 page guide I'm creating that should have been written by someone else, or the 6 month wait for promised software...but I think I'll just tell you about the requirement for me to say "Mornin'!" and "Evening!" to my maestro whenever I arrive/leave, just so he knows when I come/go, just so he can ensure my hours are met...never mind that the maestro never says "Evening!" to me when he goes and often sneaks out earlier than me...coz, well, I let it pass me by, innit...

Management bollox.

Purim!

A round of applause please!

Today it's Purim! Well, at least in my kids' kindergarten it is, all the kids got dressed up this morning, very fine and dandy they were...and if you weren't sure, Junior is dressed as a dalmation and Juniorette as a clown...my turn to dress up on Friday night.

And here's a close up of mrs anglosaxy's makeup job on Juniorette...

Phone just doesn't stop ringing...

...but not with potential students on the other end, unfortunately. I'm constantly getting bugged by companies wanting to sell me their services, whether it be SEO specialists working with Google, or companies leasing out automatic drink machines, or crappy little newspapers wanting me to advertise with them. It's got to the point where every 2 days I'm getting bugged. And these fuckers are persistent...I'm not sure whether to admire their thick skins or their never say die attitude, but however nicely you fob them off, they'll try another angle...I don't tell them to "fuck off" but it's getting near to that point.

These pesky little companies don't seem to realise that I'm holding down a job in the mornings while building the business, so every minute of my working day is spoken for...and when I'm fielding calls left, right and centre every morning, you can hardly blame my maestro at Open Spacey for seething...

What the hell am I? #45

A fair crack

I have a geezer at Open Spacey who scares the bejesus out of me. Or perhaps I mean just grosses the bejesus out of me. Especially when he bends over. Because, you see, he is a "big-boned" bloke and always seems to wear very small sized tops/t-shirts, plus low-cut jeans/trousers. Which means his top rises up every bleedin' chance it can, forced into submission by a huge (I mean feckin' huge) beer belly, exposing a rather healthy portion of plumber's cleavage.

At first I thought it was funny and imagined throwing all kinds of things down that crevace (a pencil, maybe a bottle of water, possibly even my laptop...)...now, it's just got feckin' disgusting. I try to steer clear whenever I see him walking in front of me, but there's nothing you can do, your eyes are automatically drawn to that valley of death...

And then, yesterday, he managed to outgross himself. In the middle of a meeting, he took one of the board markers used by everyone, stretched out and put it down his back. He then started scratching, with the marker...the green marker, the green marker, I must remember...surely I wasn't the only one who noticed???

I'm sorry if that just put you off your breakfast/lunch, but I thought you should know that it's not all sex, drugs and rock'n'roll in my world...

"Restornt" or "Why there'll always be work for English speakers in this country..."

Shimmy: "Hey Moshe, I'm just fixing our new awning, I guess we'd better cater for those bleedin' English speakers, just on the off-chance they might be persuaded to enter our shitehole establishment...so how do I spell Restaurant?"

Moshe: "Their mothers' pussies *nothing like a little Arabic swearing*...OK, I guess it's just how you hear it. At least that's what Moshe junior was telling me last night when I was helping him with his homework...so, it must be REST-OR-UNT."

Shimmy: *starts writing* "OK, so that's R-E-S-T-O-R...shiiiit! I don't have room for the U-N-T, what am I gonna do?"

Moshe: "Never mind! Just leave the U out...besides, it's not like anyone is ever going to notice or take a picture or something..."

...and continuing with the bureaucracy

...I got a slip from the Post Office this morning, letting me know that I had registered mail to pick up. So, anticipating that it was the pink lacy underwear I ordered online last week (om: how the feck did you know about the pink undies?), I headed over to the local post office.

And waited in line for 20 minutes. And opened the door to help an old bid with her bags of shopping get out. And was generally very nice and charming to all. Until I got to the counter. Because, when I got to the counter, the postal office lass kindly informed me that my mail hadn't actually arrived, and that I should come back on Sunday. Obvious mistake, really.

Please please please, explain this one to me. I mean, why would you inform someone that they had post, when they didn't really have post...? If it wasn't going to be there until Sunday, surely the note informing me should have been sent on Sunday? And I'd understand it if this was a one-off, but this is the second fecking time! Could it be that the Post Office is now over efficient and is actually anticipating your getting post? Naaaahh...

Going postal. I think I'm beginning to grasp the concept.

Take a number. And another...and another...

Phewwww!

Call me a masochist, but yesterday I went for glory. Not only did I make it to the Transport Ministry, I also made it to the Ministry of Interior! With Juniorette in tow. The two most dreaded places in an expat's world (if ever there were places designed to make you feel inferior, these are the places), all wrapped up in one glorious bureaufest, complete with a biscuit infested littl'un. Howsabout that then boys and girls? Call me a sucker for bureaucracy but I managed to do the following:

• Add Juniorette to my and the missus' ID cards



• Get an Israeli passport for Juniorette (Ingerlund here we come!)



• Get my Israeli passport extended



• Renew my Israeli driving license (surely the lamest money-making exercise in the book?)

And I even managed to piss off a local by apparently pushing in line. Not that she was in line, of course, she was stood to the side. But hell, there was no way she was giving up her 30cm of potential queuedom without a fight. And she had a pram too. For one second I envisaged this pram tussle, with Juniorette reaching across and slapping the bejesus out of the other wee one. And Juniorette would have won, hands down. Fuck me, this country has made me way too aggressive...

Hoops

Neighbour hoodhoops

Sorry seems to be the hardest word

I used to be able to say "Sorry" so easily, so quickly. Now I find it much harder. Is that because I'm becoming a grumpy ol' bastard or because I've been in Israel too long...?

March's Homo Sapiette - Galit

OK, so Homo Sapiettes Season 2 continues with an experienced old hand, a face that you'll have seen a lot of on TV over the last couple of years. If you live in Israel. Yes indeed, Galit Gutman (Hebrew wiki link).

She has a stunning bod, no question about it, especially considering she's pushing 40 and has 2 kids. And can look scrumptious, especially when made up and pouting for the cameras. It's just, as mrs anglosaxy puts it, why does she have to open her mouth...?

She's modelled for most of the big fashion brands in this country, as well as appearing in a number of TV shows/soaps. She's probably most famous for her role as host of the Models reality/competition show (which for some very strange reason occupies the prime time viewing on a Friday night) and also appeared in the last series of Our Song (HaShir Shelanu).

Apparently her marriage to world renowned photographer Ziv Koren (some good shots there me old china!) is over, I just can't believe that 357 people were that bothered by this story (Hebrew link) that they had to comment...so guys, scrub up if you fancy a looker with a whiney voice, you know what you have to do...

Should I start biting my nails?

Booked tickets to England this week. All 4 of us, the complete anglosaxy set, will be popping over to the motherland during Pessach. Little juniorette's first meet up with her grandparents. Trouble with Pessach, of course, is that every Israeli and his dog wants to travel, hence resulting in exorbitant prices. So, and here I take a big long breath, I decided to go for a charter flight.

The big bonus with the charter flight, apart from the obvious saving (over $500), is it lands at Gatwick, the closest airport to my parents, who will be putting up with us up for the duration of our stay. Bless 'em. The big drawback with the charter flight is that it's with a complete shite operator, the service will be shite, legroom will be shite and it's a shitey charter flight. Apart from that, it should be OK. Right?

Pricey pickup

Just when I thought nothing was more pleasurable than getting a parcel from abroad, the local postal service goes and does this...just thinking how much those Christmas parcels would have set me back...ouch! They want 35 shekels per item - does that mean I now pay 35 shekels per Dime bar, or per box of Dime bars...fuckin' nuts!

Fab Fab

We love the Arsenal! Just so you know, they are the first English team to ever beat AC Milan at the San Siro. Yeehaa! Not sure why I didn't accept Kinky's offer of watching it at his brother's place, complete with 60 inch HD Plasma screen...

*boilk*

Ouch.
Why is waking up after 4 or 5 whiskies (and a beer or 2) the night before getting harder and harder...? Out with the O and the G last night, got my botty absolutely whipped at table football. I'm sorry ladies and gents, but Argentina beat England 5-0. *hangs head in shame*
And Juniorette didn't have to scream like that this morning, the little terrorist. She simply has no respect for the half-dead, I'll have to find that cane...

Operatic

Opera Tower, Tel Aviv

Calls 4 free

OK, so you saw that Open Spacey isn't exactly open and spacey, rather more rabbit warren-like. But it still means I can hear every single phone conversation that goes on in the next few cells...including the constant calls to home, the calls abroad, and even the 3 hour calls to granny. Yes indeedy, a 3 hour session with a granny, who was quite upset that her grandson had thrown something in the bin. Despite 3 hours (I'm not kidding) reassuring her that he hadn't meant to throw it away, me, and the rest of the office, weren't convinced.

I guess this is another big difference between me and Israelis. I would be just plain feckin' embarrassed to make those types of calls, it just doesn't even enter into my mind that I could/should. I waste company time in other ways, believe me, but this way just seems so public, so full frontal...

What the hell am I? #44