Heading to the East End Ain't I

Just, you know, chillaxing with the graf

One whinge too many

I almost despise holidays.  The only time they are good is in the build up of excitement before the event.  Then the event itself is touch and go.  It can be amazing - totally exceed expectations or it can totally suck.  We've all been there.  You end up hating your kids and husband so much you want to slit your throat.  Or theirs - but then it would be mass murder and you would spend your days in a strait jacket behind a door with one of those slider windows. Your hair would be all greasy and any visitors on Sundays would get really edgy around you - like if they made one false move they'd be a goner as well.  You'd try to explain - "I'm not going to kiff you ok, it was just one road trip too many", but it wouldn't make a difference.   On the other hand, if you do yourself in, then everyone would cry and say things like "Whhhhyyyyy?  She was so young, so full of life".  People would gaze at pictures of me smiling and think "If only I knew what she was going through - I would have bought her a solo train ticket in first class and a bottle of whiskey.....".  

This guy's struggling too

But back to vacations......so you come home, regardless of good or bad and it's all over.  For who knows how long?  Nothing to look forward to.  I'm telling you, it's not worth it.  Massages are in a similar vein for me.  You look forward to a massage, you anticipate the pleasure of it - and then while it's happening you know it's going to be over and you'll go back to normal life - i.e. not being rubbed nicely with oil in a soothing room.  Its too much to bear.  I'd rather not have one at all, I'm just anticipating their finish.  When they move to the legs, it's like - "Oh God, No - the legs.....fuck, now the right one - it's the final stage - I can't take the drawn out ending, just finish it already".  Meanwhile the massage therapist is thinking "Oh great the right leg, just a quick chop chop up and down and I can stop touching this slippery random with no undies on".  I can feel their happiness as the end draws nigh, while my misery grows ever more with each passing squeeze, and I don't like it I tell you.  Not at all.

But it was with high expectations for my three nights in London that I slid into a taxi at 7am bound for the airport.  Just me.  The ratpack left behind to fend for themselves.  No matter what, I love going to the airport.  Generally I despise the crappy process that comes after you pull up at the curb - but the driving to the airport is thrilling. I got my first little kink in the itinerary  when I received a phone call to inform me that my kids would not be able to spend the first night where I had originally planned.  This was an issue, seeing as I only agreed to the sleepover because I had no other options.  Basically I spent an hour ringing everyone I knew trying to sort my shit out.  And had no joy.  Perhaps a responsible mother would have backed up through security and sped home to rescue her little blonde bundles of love.  However, I have never claimed such a title.  I love my children with every fibre of my being, but I am as selfish as shit, so there was no way that was happening. I rang my husband - who was in London already - told him of the situation and prayed he'd be more effective than I was, as my boarded my flight.  

I feel for him, I just don't want to feel him

As I checked in I was informed that the flight was full, and that because I hadn't reserved a seat I had a middle one.  I assured the check-in lady that I could take the heat.  Secretly I was crying inside.  Ever since we ran out of airline points and now travel only in peasant class I regret we ever went up in the first place.  You should only ever move up, never down.  Don't go up unless you can afford to stay there.  The slide down is painful, physically painful.  To board that jam packed line with the rest of the rif raf, to be pushed from behind, and in turn and shove others past all the lounge chair beds with giant screens, and know that once you had a tiny taste of that good life....? It's hideous.  And to finally realise that you actually are rif raf yourself, and you were only posing in somebody else's life of privilege.......it's like a break through and a break down at the same time.  At this point I usually start screaming for a champagne until somebody slaps me and I slide into my seat and take 2 Valiums and pretend the world around me doesn't exist.  Unfortunately I neglected to take those previously mentioned oblivion pills this time round.  As I approached the back of the plane I noticed a morbidly obese man spilling into the aisle from his seat.  The kind of poor soul who really should have booked two seats.  I thought to myself "Well, then, there's my seat".  And of course it was.  Only it wasn't really mine.  It belonged to my companion's right thigh. He was so uncomfortable as well - like really jammed between the arm rests.  It took him a good 5 minutes of hard core heaving and puffing to stand up every time I needed to go to the toilet (and of course it was a lot of times - I like to hydrate during air travel). 

I was thinking that there was a chance for salvation, as the window seat was empty, and was just planning to make the transition across and allow poor Tubs to lift up one of those arm rests and let it all go.  Then of course our other row friend arrived.  This was a young dude who looked pretty much exactly like Borat, and stunk of BO.  It wasn't pretty.  His charm wasn't enhanced by the fact that he took his pants off mid flight.  I'm not exaggerating in any way.  The dude removed his jeans, and sat there in his underpants before finding some kind of Thai fisherman's pants in his backpack and slipping them on.  That incidentally involved some unappealing manoeuvring to get them over his bum.  I could not have shrunk further into myself, it's like I became a quarter of my size.  I had flesh sweating all over me on one side, and a thinly veiled penis air-thrusting on the other. Plus a migraine from wondering how Vali and Cordi were going to drive themselves home from school, get in the house, make their own dinner, run a bath, go to bed and take themselves back off to school in the morning.

This is typically what they do when no adults are around

But it's nice to know that all shit things come to an end as well as the good ones.  I said goodbye to Fleshy and Underpants and off I went into the buzz of good old London.  A fucking brilliant city.  I discovered on arrival that Cordi's guitar teacher was babysitting my children that evening.  A lovely lovely guy - but also a complete stoner, heavy metal guitarist with long hair and a possible aversion for baths.  I was unsure if he knew how to make toast, so wasn't quite confident in his ability to cook, dinner, do bath time and bedtime and teeth etc.  But he is really lovely and caring and the girls knew him - so that counts as a win in my book.  The girls had a blast - they were like "We stayed up so late and watched two movies and had two stories".  Ah, the good times when you're five.

The Ace hotel really is ace

It was good times for me too - staying in Shoreditch - which reached it's pinnacle of cool quite some years ago, and is now possibly on the decline (as evidenced when 40 year old tourists find out about it and roll up to stay in some 'too hip to be true' hotel).  I didn't care.  It was better in staying in some rip off piece of shit hotel in the centre and shoving for french toast at the breakfast buffet with grey haired seniors from Greece.  I felt so totally cool in the Ace Hotel on Shoreditch High Street, and I'm not ashamed to admit it.  Maybe I was 15 years older than the majority of the guests and my husband didn't have a beard and one of those giant ear lobe things, but with make up, sunnies, boots and tight jeans, I was fucking awesome.  Well at least in my own head I was, and that's where it counts everyone. 

Cray cray

I want to eat these and have sex with them

Smash

chillin'

Besties

Cruisin'

Busy

This flat white is genius dude

Shoreditch and Hackney have a reputation for being the hipster capitals of Europe.  Which leads me to a relevant form of discussion - hipsters. What are they, and do they actually exist anymore?  To call someone a hipster these days is basically an insult.  Hipsters don't want to be hipsters - they just want to be into the shit they're into.  The word hipster assumes a lack of credibility - who was that rapper that said 'you're just not passionate about the stuff your into'???? At some point in the last few years, the definition of hipster changed.  It used to be a term for a counter culture collective of young dudes living in Williamsburg, New York - and Hackney too. Now 'hipster' has transitioned into a term for people who 'looked, lived and acted a certain way'. The Urban Dictionary defines hipsters as "a subculture of men and women, typically in their 20s and 30s, that value independent thinking, counter-culture, progressive politics". But as I said before, now it's pretty much an insult. I read recently that 2014 was peak beard year (and I did notice that the 'mo' was huge in East London this time round) - so will hipsters cease to exist soon?  There's a theory that there's a certain delay before people realise they're all wearing the same clothes (and facial hair).  Apparently this delay is what causes a trend to form -  and ultimately - then self-destruct. "Each trend is self-destructive by its very nature, the only reason it becomes a trend is because people haven't yet fully caught on that we're all wearing the same clothes".  Hipster has simply become a word which means the opposite of authentic.  And nobody, especially hipsters, wants to be one.

Shoreditch may not be as 'hip' as it once was, but let me tell you, it is still bloody brilliant.  I had such a good time there and I recommend staying there to everyone.  The markets, the street art, the shops, the restaurants the atmosphere.  It kicks big arse.  Plus, when you want to go into the city you just jump in an Uber and off you go.  Or a train - but I'm really lazy and am 100% obsessed with Uber.  It's so easy - and so cheap.  You have to ask yourself, how are the regular black cabs coping with the massive price difference?  Who the fuck would ever take one, when you can Uber-it for peanuts?  I basically took an Uber to cross the road - and whenever my phone fucked up (because I chewed through my data by 'accidently' watching cat videos posted to facebook), I would have almost an hysterical break-down about how I was going to call my little Uber friends to pick me up.

Love this one

And this

Don't love this soooo much, but she sure is sparkley

Definitely love this shiz

Of course I ate some seriously delicious food.  As I had been on that shitful cleanse for a week beforehand, I really lost my mind over the grub.  I had no idea I was so sick of the sight of hummus either.  Somebody mentioned going to a Lebanese  restaurant and I almost threw up all over them.  I wanted fish and chips, baked beans, bacon (even though I'm a vegetarian), pims with strawberries and mint and shit in it, sticky toffee pudding......all of it, all the time.

Had totally forgotten how much I missed these suckers

  

Hi Vicky

The London shops were so good - I needed it because I'm terrified I'm becoming Israelised in a fashion sense.  I first got my suspicions when I bought a leopard print jumper dress last winter and started wearing leggings as pants, and it's just been a further decline ever since.  For instance today I'm wearing short shorts that are verging on too snug and a t-shirt with food stains on it.  And not just round the house either - I went out for breakfast looking like this.  I haven't brushed my hair for a couple of days either.  It was so good to glam it up in London - go somewhere normal (no offence Israel), and see normal shit.  You've got no idea. 

Plus I saw friends too, and by god didn't I feel all international and awesome saying "Yes, I'm just going to catch up with friends over there in London.  Yes, yes, I have friends every where actually - you name it, I have friends there....Nigeria you say???  Well, perhaps I do, and if I don't I will have after I visit there so fuck off smart arse".  Seeing you buddies is tops.  One of them lays claim to the fact that she set me and my husband up - I'm not sure what's she's angling at there but I think she wants some credit for the existence of my children.....the other one saved my sanity when we worked together at a demented job with even more demented work mates in Tokyo.  Both of them are aces, and we had serious amounts of good fun.

Love her so much, and am starting a petition to get her to Israel

Another close friend of mine

The lovely Mishka

The hoof shoe collection

One highlight was seeing the Alexander McQueen exhibition which really was quite something.  Although, I was a little intoxicated after downing a couple of glasses at lunchtime, and I got the giggles something bad while all the other people around me were trying to be all serious and talk fashion.  The man is a genius - that much is true.  It was unbelievable to me that not only did he have such incredible visions - but that he could make those visions into something tangible that now can be marvelled at and appreciated long after his sad demise.  However, with some of the really out there stuff, I started cracking myself up, imagining my friend wearing this giant feather gown and head piece to work, or just nipping down the shops for some bread in a metal frame an a piece of barb wire wrapped around her head.  And once I get the giggles like this, I cannot stop.  So basically me and my ex-work mate chum spent the entire time thinking up scenarios when she would wear a couple of baby alligator heads on her shoulders and the like, and wetting our pants laughing.  My other friend seemed to be keeping her distance from us, which was understandable...... I didn't blame her at all.  You really had to be there, but it was hysterical I promise...... 

This was our choice for her first Tinder date

Her outfit for her graduation dinner at Oxford

Office wear

Just get out of the lift buddy

One morning I was going up to the room from breakfast to quickly get my phone when the doors of the elevator opened on the ground floor.  There was a man in there.  But instead of getting out he just stood there staring.  He was totally hot, yet creepy looking.  I was turned on and terrified at the same time - and over-riding this, was a feeling of familiarity.  I said to him "What? You're not getting out".  And he replied simply "No".  The doors closed.  We were alone.  He cleared his throat, and then replied, "I accidentally went down so now I'm going back up".  It seemed a reasonable explanation so I answered "It happens I guess".  Really I wanted to ask him why he had a bath towel in his hand but my floor came too soon.  All the while I was reeling from his glorious Irish accent.  And as I got out of the lift I suddenly realised "He's that bloody actor guy - what the fuck is his name??!!??".  I was so excited, and I went back down to tell my husband.  He was far far less excited, and replied "Listen you don't even know who it is, so why do you want me to be excited".  I was like "It's the creepy, hot guy - you know him you know him!".  Then finally I had a movie to place him in - Batman!!!!  No, not Christian Bale, the scarecrow guy - the one with the hessian bag mask and the poison gas - you know right?? Cillian Murphy - that's who it was.

I hated him so much in this movie

Just one more picture.....

Just to make sure I wasn't deluded, I asked at the font desk if Cillian Murphy was staying there - the guy behind the front desk (yes, he had a large beard and a giant ear hole thing), replied "I dunno, and I really couldn't tell you if he was", but all the time he was denying it, he was nodding enthusiastically and winking at me "I get it dude, alright, I get it - stop winking at me".  So there we go - I was in the lift with Cillian Murphy and all I could manage to do was accuse him of not getting out at the ground floor.  What a wasted opportunity.  If I had my time again I would have got him to participate in a selfie where he would have his hands up as if to strangle me from behind, or maybe I could have got him to do a Dubsmash with me.  As anyone who's seen my instagram account lately realises, I am totally obsessed with Dubsmash (although I think I've moved on in the last week, so that's a good thing).  Basically I've been dressing my kids up in outfits and making them do it with me.  One of them is more obsessed than I am - but she just doesn't like the outfit part because they are not exactly right.  For example when I made her be Mugato from Zoolander she got all pissed off because she had to wear a black curly wig, when really he had white curly hair (I showed her the original clip to get her in the mood).  Just go with it love.......

So no, I didn't find any servants in the UK (as planned and discussed last time), but I did eat myself stupid, drink myself even more stupid, buy a few new clothes and face products (got ripped off by one of those pop up beauty product shops - the dude could spot a sucker from a mile away), go to bed late and sleep in for hours, swan around like I owned the place and chillaxed with my new celeb pals (and my regular chums I guess - but who needs them now I've got Cillian??), saw an exhibition by one of the greatest designers there has ever been and basically had 3 nights and four days of freedom.  And by the time I got back - my own children had transformed into servants anyway (see my Dubsmash video below) - so all was not lost after all. But now to come down to regular life.  I'm telling you, no matter how good it was, it's way over now, way over.....maybe I should get a massage......

Sadness, Celebration and Servants

I recently heard that blue icing can give you electric blue poo

Naturally I'm behind the mark this post - but my constant life necessity is the phrase 'better late than never'.  You have to wonder though, can it always be applied?  I guess not in the situation of someone drowning, and you rushing back with a life-ring just as they sink to the bottom.  It's best nobody ever knows there was a life-ring on hand in the first place in that instance.  However, I would say with presents - yes in all situations.  I would rather get a gift 6 months after my birthday than not at all. Unless it's a shit gift, and in that case give to someone else.   And with blog posts.....? - well it's touch and go, some maybe think "Yes, write it long after the point of interest, you're so cool and funny Emily"; but the majority may think 'Don't bother dude, in fact fuck off completely would you....."  Harsh - but I guess that's your prerogative.

Ye olde olden days

So I've been milling this latest entry over for a while - a post about Yom Ha'Atzmaut (Israel Independence Day).  I feel a trip back into the history files is necessary to explain just how it all came about.  It is interesting for sure, but complicated - and worse, it's not particularly amusing.  Especially for the Arabs.  In fact Yom Ha'Atzmaut is known as The Nakba - translation: The Catastrophe.  Fair call really.  The good times didn't really start there I guess.  But would they have started well otherwise?  This area was part of the Ottoman Empire until the first world war, and then it was divided in Syria, Lebanon, Transjordan, Iraq and Palestine.  And let's face it - shit is super bad in all the other countries right now - to give the understatement of the year - 'Oh yes, they're not exactly a jolly bunch of folks are they? Tallyho!' - with the exception of Jordan, as the King made some airtight agreements with the United States during the dividing up, and also with Israel down the track.

I don't know where or when, but it looks fucken cool

That's the trouble when you just mark a few lines on a map and go 'I name this new country Lala-land", you forget about the pesky people.  When we crossed over the Israeli border into Jordan last month, there were lots of Palestinian and Jordanian people visiting their families who had ended up over the other side when the fences went up.  It's not easy popping over the border to ask your sister if she can babysit your kids for a few hours while you get your roots dyed.  Plus it's expensive with the border taxes, and also time consuming.  And you definitely want to make sure you've scrubbed the skids off your daks on the way home, as the Israeli customs officers take out the contents of your entire bag in front of the entire immigration office, and test it all for explosive materials. 

Just some light reading on these here rocks

But back to Israel's 67th birthday.  Partitioning Israel wasn't just a case of bringing in all the Jews in 1948, drawing the lines, and the Jews kicking out the Arabs.  It's funny, because the way that many people talk about Israel, it seems this misconception is fairly popular.  For a start, the concept of establishing a homeland for Jewish people - where they could be free from persecution so they wouldn't get murdered by the millions - was tossed around in the 1800s, when the idea of Zionism was introduced.  Of course this part of the world was the obvious choice considering it was their homeland of origin.  Jerusalem, and a desire to return to the Holyland was, and still is, in the prayers of the people, repeated daily for thousands of years.  Interestingly though, when it became a serious consideration in the 1900s, the World Powers actually thought about setting up the homeland for Jews in The Kimberleys! (In Northern Australia). Also Uganda was also a possible option at the time.  Imagine that - the mining companies and the Australian government could be kicking the Jews out right now instead of hounding the Indigenous Australians out of their homes.

Nice Fez dude

Best headwear ever

Having a fish

I'll just pose over this ancient tomb

A dollar per km dude?

In the late 1800s there had been increased Jewish immigration into the Middle East (where very few numbers of Jews already lived), and it continued in the early 1900s.  Jews being the kind of people they are, brought with them innovative techniques in farming this crazy desert land - the increased arability of the land saw widespread immigration into the area from both Jews and Arabs.  The presence of the Jews started pissing off the local farmers, as the Jewish farmers would buy land to farm from the wealthy Arab landowners - who had poor Arabs farming that particular land, and thus they were subsequently out on their arses, while their former landlords counted their gold.  So the trouble between the Jews and The Arabs started long before the state of Israel was partitioned by the UN.  And many might say - well, the trouble between the Jews and Arabs has been going on a lot longer that that - try thousands of years.  It is truly a tribal conflict - which is hard to understand for a whitey.

Anti-Jewish terrorist groups actually started in the 1930s.  There were a few bombings as well.  I guess those Arabs sensed what what coming - partly I guess to the Balfour Agreement of 1917 which had been drawn up by the British, who had full control of the region after the Turks were defeated in WW1.  This agreement outlined the plans for a Jewish homeland here, until the kaibosh was put on it (again by the Poms), only for it to be resurrected as a viable option for what to do after the widespread murder throughout Europe by those charming Nazi's during WW2.

Pretty incredible photo really

And then in 1948, Israel and Palestine were officially partitioned by the UN, and Israel became a country.  The Jews were stoked, the Arabs less so.  Three days later the Arabs went bananas, and Israel was attacked by all the surrounding Arab countries - Syria, Jordan, Egypt, Lebanon and Palestine.  That made a total of 43 million Arabs against 600 000 Jews.  Against all odds the Jews won, expanded their acquisition of land from 56% of the total land mass, to 77%, and secured their borders. This left Israel with a state and Palestine without one. This creation of Israel, plus the following war and further expansion of the borders, is what saw the displacement of about 700 000 Palestinians who either fled, or were driven off the land into the surrounding Arab countries.  However, at the same time, 850 000 Jews were expelled from, or left the surrounding Arab lands (mainly Yemen), and came to Israel.  The difference is that the Jewish flee-ers were given citizenship immediately in Israel, while the Palestinians were treated as refugees, and were not given citizenship in any of the other countries (and still have not to this day - hence their continued status as refugees; as well as their offspring, who due to special refugee status are also considered refugees).  Many descents still live in refugee camps in Jordan, Syria and Lebanon, which have by now become cities, and now 7 million claim right of return to their lands of their ancestors.

Fighting in Jerusalem 1948

Israel was however, the only country to give Palestinians citizenship.  I'm not dumb enough to say that life is totally swell here for the Palestinians in Israel, they are basically a minority in what was once the lands of their ancestors.  But compared to the hell that is going on in Syria and Iraq, life in Israel doesn't exactly suck.  They have equal citizen rights (officially speaking), they have representation in the government, they work alongside Israelis in many sectors of the economy.  They can make a good living and raise their families in some kind of peace. In my opinion that kicks arse over being beheaded and having your family killed.   Of course I'm not talking about the 2.6 million people who live in Gaza or the West Bank - that is another story.  And definitely not a happy one.  Israel has had to do some truly shitful things in order to ensure the safety of it's citizens, and the Arab leaders have pissed peace deal after peace deal up against the wall.  It's always the people that suffer at the hands of the government, and this is true the world over.

Trying to get their message across

But don't look to me to make sense of the issues here.  They are far more complicated that I can even conceive. It's a troubled region so say the least.  Adding to this, is the social inequality that saw the streets of Tel Aviv erupt two nights ago, with Ethiopian Jews protesting against the shitty deal they get here.  The violence broke out in response to a young soldier of Ethiopian origin getting bashed up by the cops.  Fucking cops.  All the world over so many of them are nothing but bullies and thugs.  Anyway, this was the tipping point and scores of protesters went nutjob (blocking the streets, and smashing stuff and looting), while the cops used a significant amount of force to break them up.  Many people were injured.  I don't blame them for their anger - they are pretty low on the food chain of society, and they see nothing of the opportunity and progress that is going on here for so many. 

So sad it turned violent

Yes, it's the sun

But apart from the human misery going on around me, this is by far my favourite time in Israel. It's nice to be some. You just wonder sometimes why you got so lucky don't you?  The almond blossoms are well and truly out, the weather is warming up, and the sea gets extra sparkly.  It's blue skies now until October and there's a atmosphere of expectation and fun.  Can you imagine knowing that for the next 6 months there won't be a drop of rain?  It's incredible.  You can plan outdoor events - like a showing of your favourite water colour artwork in the park, and know that it's not going to get trashed by any pesky water droplets.  You can wear suede head to toe, gather cats together, bring out your Gremlins (faced with that shitty list of things that can't get wet, I decided to Google-search the issue and came across some disturbing articles about vaginas).  Let's now compare Israel with say, Tasmania.  Tasmania has only one climate - grey skies, intermittent drizzle, and cold wind.  It's like that all year long.  You may get some random day when it's sunny - could be spring, summer, autumn or winter (it's all the same anyway) - and the whole place erupts with unbridled joy.  People Instagram themselves sitting in the sun going 'hey everyone it's sunny", while Facebook is full of posts about how the sun came out.  My mother texts me especially to tell me that it's 17 degrees and sunny.  It's sad really.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again.  Israel may be a hotbed of violence and civil unrest, surrounded by countries that want to blow it off the face of the earth, while simultaneously being despised by the rest of the world - but it's worth it all for the climate.  I'm not lying.  It really is.

So, about a week before Israel's birthday, a couple of sombre events are commemorated.  Yom HaShoah (Holocaust Memorial Day) is marked by loud sirens throughout the country at 10am. Every single person - whether they are walking or driving or working, stops what they are doing and stands in silence (apart from the sirens) for a minute.  We were driving on the highway at 10am this year.  And all cars stopped.  The people got out and we all stood and remembered the horrors committed at the hands of the Nazi's, and the heroism of the people who survived.  It's a very powerful thing - to all experience simultaneous grief as a nation of 7 million people.  Once I asked my husband how people could go on believing and praying to God, when it was for their religion that 6 million of their people were murdered.  He replied that the Jews getting a homeland of their own after centuries of persecution and exhile, in some peoples eyes, was worth anything.

A few days after Yom HaShoah, is Yom HaZikaron (Memorial Day for the soldiers and victims of terrorism).  This a particularly heart wrenching day. Probably because so many people are still dying - on both sides.  The sirens sound again - at 8pm the night before, and 11am the morning of.  I was out walking at 11am, and I must have accidentally stood under the largest siren in the city.  It was so loud that it was physically painful.  So unfortunately during that entire minute I was only thinking about myself and how much my ears hurt, not the soldiers at all, which was pretty self centred - but I thought it was maybe unacceptable to block them with my hands.  It felt like it went on for 5 minutes.  Seriously the loudest sound around.  There's no missing the sirens if the bombs start coming that's for sure.  The evening before, big groups of people gather in squares to commemorate their soldiers, while some gatherings are also for the both the Israeli and Palestinian victims of war and terror.  I haven't been myself, but I hear it's all extremely emotional and intense. God knows how many more people will die in the future as well.  It's a horrible realisation.

Wave those flags kids

As the sun goes down on that day, the celebrations start to break out.  The whole country erupts in a display of patriotism unheard of. The unbridled joy started for my kids at school a few days before.  I received a lot of photos in my inbox of the children celebrating the coming of Independence Day.  I've never seen more Israeli flags in my life.  Making them, sitting on them, waving them, wearing them.  There was also a lot of pita, hummus and falafel eating.  However, there was one particular video that reeked of indoctrination into the Israeli army.  My 5 years olds, along with 30 others - standing on chairs, wearing blue and white, waving the shit out of a bunch of flags and being coached to scream "ISRAEL" over and over again.  They seemed to be enjoying it though.....

Flags and Caps

Whipping up some Israeli salad

Yay Israel

.

Pumping

I went to a thumping street party the night before the big celebrations, and got predictably mashed. This was on the tail end of nasty case of alcohol poisoning the week before.  Then the day of the Yom Ha'Atzmaut BBQ was obviously a no holes barred exercise into the depths of piggery.  Apart from eating my body weight in cream cheese icing (I was just scraping it off the sides of the cake after most of the guests went home), I also had to deal with issues such as my kids spraying the entire contents of their "Yom Ha'Ayzmaut Snow In A Can" (which turned out to be noxious chemical foam) all over my sister in laws herb garden.  I then had to cart buckets of water to the garden and clean each individual leaf.  Chemical soap really sticks to organic herbs..... Once this day passed, I decided that a juice cleanse was probably on the cards.  I love the concept of the cleanse.  It's much much better than a diet. When you're on a diet, people have no respect for you.  They're secretly thinking "She's on a diet?? Loser - like it will work", and then to your face 'Go on, have a marshmallow, they're fat free".  The truth is I've never been offered a marshmallow in my life dieting or not.  But when you're on a cleanse people have respect for you.  They're like "Wow, you're so healthy".  You feel superior that's for sure. You're like "Yeah bitches, I can not eat for a week and almost crap my pants on occasion, fuck youse all".  No wonder Gywneth Paltrow has her head up her own arse.  I feel you Gwennie, I feel you love.

Watching

Happy

Snoopy is Jewish

Spray those chemicals my love

Looks happy enough

I'm off to the UK on Thursday.  No kids either.  God I'm smug.  But three nights of bliss - who wouldn't be slightly conceited?  Listen, I love those little Shithawks more than I love my own limbs, but I just get so sick of them fucking up my life.  They really just suck all your dreams away and shit in the black chasm that remains.  Plus, why are they so bloody filthy? How many times can a person resentfully clean the same mess.  And when you ask them to help they're like "I'm not your servant".  It's true, sad but true.  And what is more sad is that you are their's.  Bring back child labour I say.  The kids of today are so whiny and resistant to being forced into slavery.  God knows how I'd get mine up a chimney, or pounding bricks for 15 hours a day.  I'd have to lie and say there was a packet of candy at the top of the chimney, or a My Little Pony figure hidden inside one of the bricks.  I think I would like a servant of my own though.  Cleaners are no good.  They only come once a week and you have to clean up anyway before they come so they stop picking up toys and move into the toilet arena.  I want someone who lives in the house in a small room and comes out without me ever seeing them and keeps my life gleaming.  I think my one chance for finding a servant could be in the UK.  They had great servants - I've seen Downton Abbey.  Plus the class system is still alive and well.  I want one like Anna, she was really nice, and seemed to love her job.  It's settled then, I'm going servant hunting - wish me luck.

Nobody else will do