My morning did not have the best start when I took one-year-old Lyla to her gym class, a soft play paradise of squishy blocks, sponge balls and hula hoops. This was payment to her mum, Tamara, for the trip she took us all on to the Jelly Belly factory. Lyla is the sweetest little girl, but was very tired and wanted only to cling to me in an attempt to nap.
After some success getting her to throw hoops over a cone I got onto a trampoline with her. Cue the arrival of the gym instructor. "This is actually for the kids," I was told in a pleasingly patronising manner. "We try to deter parents from using it."
"I'm not a parent!" I was about to scream back in the manner of a petulant toddler, but thought better of it.
After delivering Lyla home, where Tamara was teaching the village pre-school kids about the letter d (for dinosaur and, coincidentally, David), I met up with Elliot, Dana, Moran, Anat and Daphny for the aforementioned lunch.
We wandered down to Jimmy Beans, a fab street cafe just a short walk from the village. There we seated ourselves around the largest table and proceeded to discuss life, love, art, politics...all the things that our poor partners are missing out on. "I can tell you're a European," Dana commented as I polished off a glass of white wine. I'll have to switch to bourbon.
The post-lunch entertainment was Moran and Sagy's wedding video which arrived as a Rosh Hashanah present. They got married in Tel Aviv after Sagy was accepted to Haas. It was a quiet affair, with only 400 guests (down from their parents' original list of 700). I have never seen anything like it. Next time I get married, it'll be in Israel.
The lonely partners. From the left: Elliot, me, Anat, Dana, Daphny, Moran
Heading back to the village - no rest for the wicked.
Moran, on screen and off.
