So we returned for the third and final time to the ice cream ‘parlour’ (fab term, not used since 1958, but delightful) and had my third and final flavour. In ‘Golda’ (the name of the store) they do ‘one scoop, half’n’half’. In fact they all do in Israel. Showing either the ultimate in civilisation, or the result of having a terribly indecisive population. Either way, I went ‘Belgium chocolate and coconut’ on the first night. Lit-er-ally, to DIEIEIE for, dahling. The next night I had Belgium chocolate and ‘chocolate almond caramel’ and it was even better, so whether that is to ‘die again for’, or perhaps, ‘to die in agony for’, possibly just ‘to die more for’, I don’t know. And the third night it was… some other combination of those 3 because why would you fuck with perfection?

Then we came home. Well, we gave it our best shot. Whether we arrive home together, with our luggage, with covid, within a week of taking off, or at all, depends on the flight crews, baggage handlers, air-side teams, unloaders, stackers, shifters and a whole host of other variables which remain seemingly out of the control of the airlines and the airports. At the time of writing this. Which is at 40,000 feet above sea-level, traveling at 560mph, approaching Munich from the south-east but in a strictly non-Top-Gun way.

Tel Aviv airport is a fabulous place, rebuilt 10, 15 years ago into a bright, airy, fabulous testament to feng shui, karma and wonderful stone. And I love it there and always get a great feeling arriving there. But in the years since my last visit, in this ‘post-Covid’ era, they seem to have had a new redesign, by Dante. Because all roads there now lead to HELL. Endless queues, seven levels of security, the eternal damnation of passport control, to spend all of forever having your bags scanned only to have to go back, remove your belt, take off your shoes, empty your fucking pockets and DO IT AGAINNNN…

Post Script.

We sailed through Heathrow. Never quicker. From touchdown to leaving, with ALL our bags, just under 30 minutes. Passport control was empty. We went to the baggage carousel, expecting to wait a few weeks, and three bags appeared 30 seconds later. 2 of them ours. I mean, WTF???

Very happy Thursday, good to be home. Where’s the fucking beach gone?

A xxxx