I did it my way?

 

As I sit here, my packed rucksack behind me, two songs came to mind.  One had to go, so Peter, Paul and Mary, you were the weaker link; goodbye (it is just as bad in Arabic, by the way), even though your bags were also packed and you were ready to go, a taxi waiting outside the door.  Frank, your Mafia mates really scared me, so you won – by a horses head.  I did do it my way, to the delight (and sometimes hilarity) of some of the students.

It is a song I cannot mention without a humerous anecdote.  Radio one had just taken over from the pirate stations and I was still callow enough to like the sounds, there was a request programme and someone had requested this for their granny’s 90th. birthday.  The first few words are: Änd now, the end is near, I face the final curtain.”   I have been called sick for seeing the funny side of it.

I also did it my way with Hasna, Waseem’s sister – and neither a rectum nor anal sphincter in sight (or sound).  I transcribed another description of the large intestine for her (and even got most of the funny sounding medical/biological bits almost right), wrote a fair copy in my best handwriting – and she couldn’t read it.  As arranged, I went to see her last night to check that she had decoded it but there was no-one there.  Fortunately I bumped into Waseem this morning, said goodbye and checked; she seemed ok with it.

My little Hamlyn entourage escorted me to the roundabout and made solemn farewells – they are all about 14.  I have wanted a photo of the imposed gates to the village and yesterday managed a couple as I got off the bus (seeing no soldiery I hopped off a stop or two early for just this reason)- which was fortunate as the soldiers were back on duty, lounging against their LandRover this morning; it would not have been opportune.

One thing which has been niggling at the back of my mind is why the fire service where DPM.  They drive a big, red fire appliance with flashing lights, it’s not as if they want to creep up on the flames and catch them unawares.  However, the hose thingy on the top does look suspiciously like a water cannon; I wonder if they serve a dual purpose.  Whatever, I thought a photo would look nice, and was just getting my camera ready when I looked up the road – and noticed two heavily built and beribboned firemen walking towards me.  That one may wait until the next time. 

The small world syndrome has struck again.  I have written before of the French teacher, she whose family live close to where I drove by last November.  We discovered, whilst speaking of France, that she has an auntie who lives in the same commune as the cottage.  Just in case, I established that she is neither Madame Fleurie nor Jojo’s wife, Christianne.  That really would have taken the biscuit – and been a custard cream at that, although a Bourbon may have been more appropriate.

There is quite a Derry air to many place names – not only written in two or three languages, but having two names.  Thus it is with Al Khalil (Hebron), a sorely divided city with settlements almost dividing the Arab quarters into separate entities – and large numbers of soldiers to guard the settlers.  As a final tourist action I have booked two nights in Bethlehem so that I can visit both places.  Al Khalil on Friday is not best planning but a shop I sorely want to visit will be open, I have checked.

So, to Bethlehem now, then on tomorrow but back in the evening.  That should allow me to pad around Bethlehem on Saturday morning and still manage the airport in time….. despite, Qalandia check-point, shabbat, Old Uncle Tom Cobbley, Old Mother Reilly, her cow, her dog, Spot, a sausage roll and the proverbial bottle of pop. Inchaállah.