I notice a couple on a third floor balcony of the Royal Beach having sex. We watch the distant, bobbing figures for a while.
My mother’s in hospital to have a toe removed. Is the operation called a toe-ectomy? A toe job?
Outside the Kabbalah Centre, by Diezengoff Square, a man eating a felafel approaches me. He has long, wild hair and a huge, wild beard, like Ben Gunn, or Roy Wood from Wizard. He has, obviously, never been convinced by the merits of conditioner. Much of the tahini from his lunch has been redistributed in his… Continue reading Beggars’ banquet
Many, many, gay men and women in town. More, even, than usual. Rainbow flags everywhere; hanging from balconies, flying from lampposts, in café windows. If this isn’t the gayest city in the world it is, at least, trying to be. After breakfast at the Nahat I walked to Meir Park, off King George, where it all… Continue reading Pride
My new friend Isabelle, who owns Lechem Vechaverim on Bograshov, the café where I go for coffee and a croissant every morning, is helping me. She’s a Paris-trained baker, which you can tell from her baguettes, which have a very satisfying crust. She tells me she imports the flour from France. We talk about her… Continue reading Butter