Mood:  not sure

Well I guess all the headlines today will be about that Bhutto cow. I would like to make it clear that this incident has nothing to do with the box of Milk Tray I sent her before she went back to Newham...they may have been a few days pass their prime but they've never blown up before.

Anyway, some of you lot have been asking what I really did over Christmas. Did I spend it in a smoky East End Boozer with the remnants of the Firm? Was I out trailing some dodgy Arab lining him up for a head shot? Or did I do an extra shift at the Bagel Bake? Well, I was actually the on call agent over the last few days, you never know when some old Nazi concentration camp guard is going to emerge from the woodwork, or whether Kirk Douglas is going to need a couple of tickets for Fulham. So I didn't really get the chance to relax...getting hold of tickets for Fulham can be a real pain in the arse.

OK, I'm actually back at work now, and I'd better plug this geezers life support machine back in before I have some explaining to do.

Shalom

Mood:  d'oh

F*ck Christmas! That's what I say...I spent all f*cking day checking out that package that was left under my mug tree yesterday for red and blue wires... and what was it? A f*cking ten year old gift box set of Hai Karate that Mrs Mystery Man had found when we moved to the new safe house earlier this year...dozy cow...she should have written 'Not A Bomb' on it...then my keenly tuned Mossad reflexes wouldn't have kicked in. On top of that...that fat bastard Santa Claus never delivers the order I put in. For the last 40 years I've been asking for an engraved knuckleduster...but do I ever get it...no I f*cking don't! The Israeli Air Force didn't even ask me to do a Christmas day bombing of the Gaza Strip this year...I'm f*cking pissed off...next year I'll do all of my shopping online.

Even the c*nts at the hospital didn't get me anything, and I turned in for an extra shift to see Rolf Harris and Noel Edmonds fighting over who gets to see the sickest kid in the childrens' ward. I feel sorry the little bastards...it's bad enough having Green Monkey disease or whatever, let alone having some f*cking warped Australian using your X-Rays as that board thing he uses  and singing a song involving bondage and some jumping animal. Sick f*cker should be locked up for that...and don't even get me started on Rolf Harris!

Still I'm back home now, I've found a box of stuff that I can hang on the wall and impress any visitors...there's the letter that Neil Armstrong sent me from the Moon, an autographed picture of Golda Maier, and my favourite...my gold membership of the Tufty club...now there's an organisation that'll toughen the lazy fat bastard kids up I can tell you. Only the elite get gold membership and it's a short cut to joining Mossad, just remember that when you fill in the form to join.

Shalom

Mood:  don't ask

One of you w*nkers pointed out it's Christmas not Hannakauh or whatever it's called...why do you lot have to be so f*cking picky. OK then c*nts...Merry Christmas to you all, and I hope Santa got you the Reg Holdsworth calendar you were so desperately seeking...I haven't opened the mysterious package under my tree yet...I'm still looking for the red and blue wires.

Shalom

Mood:  not sure

See the message below from Benny, nice of him to think of you lot this Christmas wasn't it. He reckons that's an up to date picture of him, I must admit he looks different with a moustache.

Anyway I've got my fingers crossed that even though I'm Jewish, Santa will still find time to shove a nice polished Uzi down my Chimney, as well as that authographed picture of Valarie Singleton I've been after for years.

Anyway for all you gentiles out there, don't get too drunk, and keep the abuse coming.

Happy Hannakauh

BENNY SLIBOWITZ AND ANNE SCHLUSS 

WISH ALL OF YOU

A MERRY CHRISTMAS AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR

Mood:  irritated

F*ck, F*ck, F*ck...I spend most of yesterday writing out some really good f*cking stuff for the Queen to read out on Tuesday and what does the dozy old bat go and do...get one pre-recorded written by some ponce who is almost certainly a raving queerboy...I could say more but I can't afford the court costs.

Mine was a work of art, started off with the line "A Long Long time ago in a Synagogue not far away" now some of you c*nts are going to be thinking I nicked that line off of that piece of crap called 'Star Wars'. Well let me tell you...that geezer Eric Lucas nicked that line off of me...I reckon Sophia must have given it to him after one of those crazy parties we used to have with Ronnie, Reggie and the boys in Stepney. Those things were even better when Fulham/Chelsea had won. Anyway I'd gone into great detail about how Mossad had done a great job decorating that house of hers in London, and how she gets pissed off trying to be nice to f*cking African despots. "Not what we want" is what I was told...I'd even chucked in a line about a special thank you to all the underappreciated NHS trolley pushers. F*cking royalty...you can shove it where you can't put a Bagel.

Talking of Bagels...well OK something fairly kosher...the powers that be have decided to run a contest to find the new Rabbi...something like Z Factor or whatever it's called. They're thinking of calling it something original like Search for a Rabbi. I'm a bit worried about what they're looking for...seems biased toward people interested in religion to me...no wonder the place is so f*cking boring.

No doubt you've all been reading about the NHS patrols round London scooping up all you pissheads out there. I wanted to do a spell in the field hospital thing they've set up at Liverpool Street station, but the wanker that runs it didn't seem keen on my idea of doing a bit of open heart surgery while we had it running. Dozy c*nt...with my experience of MASH units during the six day war, and the Notting Hill carnival I'd have been ideal...serves them right.

OK, tomorrow the last one before you gentiles celebrate Christmas...Benny reckons he has a surprise for you...we shall see.

Shalom

Mood:  lazy

Going to keep this brief today as I've got some business to attend to. There I was minding my own business and reading 'Secret Agent' magazine when the phone rings. Well you could have knocked me down with a stale Bagel...it was the long lost Benny Slibowitz. Now I'm not going to go into detail about our conversation...suffice to say he's managed to get the writing scoop of the year, but he doesn't know what to write.

Anyway to get to the gist of it, he thought seeing as I'm so good with words he asked me to help him out. So when you lot sit down and watch the Queen's speech this year, you'll be hearing my words. I'm fed up with the usual bullshit about family and The Commonwealth, so expect this years speech to be a bit more entertaining than usual. I'm thinking of a couple of references to the Raid On Entebbe and that night me and Reggie went to The Earl Grey pub in Whitechapel and made out we didn't recognise 'Nipper' Read.

So it's pen to paper time, I've only got a day or so to get this together, don't even have time to bring you up to date on goings on at the Synagogue.

Shalom

Mood:  not sure

Sometimes when I sit down to type this crap I don't know what to write. There's some stuff which I can't include for security reasons. Other stuff gets left out because while I was friendly with some of the leading lights in London's underworld, a couple of them might still try and come and kneecap me if I reveal what they did with Ronnie Kray's pet python and a tub of Vaseline. Of course there are also the occasions when life is so f*cking boring because all I really am is a lousy hospital porter who is working undercover for an elite Israeli security agency and don't have anything to say.

Still those times are few and far between, and as I sit here with a warmed up buttered Bagel and my latest Christmas card for Sophia Loren and John Wayne I can think of a few things which are cleared for public consumption.

The Tel Aviv hotline which rang as I was working on this wasn't anything of major importance. Some f*cking retard there still thinks I work part time for Tescos and wanted to tell me he'd spotted one of their shopping carts in the car park at Jerusalem airport. One of life's great mysteries is how shopping trolleys end up where they do, but I think I cracked that one ages ago. They are so f*cking useful, I normally take one with me where ever I go, although it's a bit of a bastard having one strapped to your parachute when you're doing a HALO drop over Iraq for instance. What about the wonky wheels I hear you ask...Israeli Army issued shopping trolleys have been specially designed to combat that problem, however that's a state secret so I can't tell you what they did. So give it a thought...all those shopping trolleys you see lying about might just be leftover from some sort of clandestine operation masterminded by Mossad...in which case we're very active in the UK at the moment.

I also made a big decision about the Synagogue...I think I'm going to lie low for a while and either not go or go elsewhere. To that end I'm just filling out an application for to work in some upmarket Scottish restaurant at weekends. If I'm successful just mention this Blog next time you go to McDonalds and I'll make sure you get a good table.

Shalom

Mood:  mischievious

Well sorry I'm a bit late today, there's been ructions down the Synagogue and we're not talking about someone dropping a 50p piece on the floor either. First off someone brought up the subject of repairing the window I smashed through the other week. The general opinion seems to be that I pay for it...bunch of c*nts...I do them a favour for a week and this is how they repay me. Anyway I got that sorted after I threatened to make public their Mossad files...seems like a few of them have something to hide as they quickly backed down. Anyway the Window Cleaner geezer stepped forward and reckons he knows someone who can get it done on the cheap...problem solved.

The big drama though is Goldberg's sudden disappearance in circumstances which are even murkier than that councillor who was forced to quit a while ago (Not allowed to mention his name...orders from the top). Seems like he took the collection plate with him, and that came to a pretty shekel. I have offered to send a death squad after him, although how current Frankie Fraser's passport is I don't know. Tony Blackburn's off to the caribbean for a couple of weeks soon, maybe he'll do it for me. In the meantime though we are without a Rabbi as we can't even afford to rent one now. Nobody wants me to do it again even though I'm full of interesting tales, and to be honest some of the Muppets who want to do it don't impress me...they all have the religion bug. I suppose we'll end up trawling the streets looking for a circumcised tramp who'll do the job for the price of a cup of Tea, although having seen how much a cup of tea is these days I don't think we can afford that.

Blimey, it's all action ain't it, I've got to cut this short...the Tel Aviv hotline's ringing and it might be important...more tomorrow.

Shalom

Mood:  lazy

My head f*cking hurts. I was so upset about all the stick I got for my performance at the Synagogue yesterday that I opened a tin of Mackeson last night...that stuff has a kick to it I can tell you. Things ain't be helped by the Mossad Hotline going off all the time with angry callers. It seems Hanna Kah ain't an Israeli pop singer after all but some kind of religious festival, and that a Menorah ain't jewish slang for the men's bogs but some fancy form of candlestick. How the f*ck am I supposed to know that? I only had the operation so I could join that elite Jewish security organisation and get the discount at the Bagel Bake.

Talking of Bagels, I don't even fancy any of them today, that should tell you lot that I'm feeling dead ill. If I don't get any better, I can see myself pulling a sickie tomorrow at work...don't think I've used TB as an excuse for a while...might be time to pull that one again.

As for the box of goodies I mentioned last week...well let's just say that it looks like that James Bond geezer gets all the good stuff. My box had nothing in it but f*cking balaclavas that can be turned into lethal weapons, and a little tin to keep your Milk Tray from melting...in other words it was a pile of shit...mind you I should have guessed something when I saw what was written on the box...mentioning no names as such but it began with A and ended in M.

Anyway I'm off to a darkened room to do some comfort polishing of my Uzi barrel.

Shalom

Mood:  not sure

So there I was, lying back on my Israeli Army Camp Bed, dreaming what it must be like to wear proper Y Fronts, instead of these Khaki things that Mossad give me when the phone rings. It was Goldberg telling me he'd been stranded in the Caribbean by a palgue of locusts or something so could I fill in for him today. Now you're probably wondering why he just didn't get on the phone to Rentarabbi and get a stand in for the day. Well he has only so much of a budget for things like that... plus he knows I'm a cheap bastard. Anyway my passion for speaking is renowned and I leapt out of bed as quickly as that morning when I was resting after the Tour De Vicki Park when someone said the dope testers are coming.

Now those of you who regularly read this shit will know I've complained more than once how boring the Synagogue can be. Goldberg rattles on about some religious bullshit when all we really want to do is go and grab a kebab. So today I thought I'd liven it up a bit...a quick phone call to an Underground car park in Balham meant my helicopter was up and running in no time. I'll cut this short but basically I made my entrance dressed all in black, crashing through the window and abseiling down a rope at the same time. That got their attention I can tell you. I have no idea what everyone expected after that, so I just told a couple of stories about when I went drinking with Reggie Kray and what a dopey cow that woman was to name that f*cking teddy bear Mohammed...Abdul or something would have been a better choice...she probably didn't want to get it mixed up with the bloke who run the corner shop or something.

I'm sorry to say the reaction has not been good, everyone kept mumbling about someone called Hanna Kah...I can only guess that she's some sort of Israeli pop star or something and that's who they were expecting to see. Someone even complained that I didn't light the candles on the Menorah...again I don't have a f*cking clue what he's on about...I used the trap in the gents afterwards and all the lights were working...what do I want to waste f*cking candles for? So I suppose when Goldberg finds out I won't be asked to fill in for him again...no loss...can't say I fancy getting the black outfit dry cleaned every week.

Shalom

Mood:  not sure

Well normally I'm normally full of things to say, but this morning I'm really stumped for words...nothing going on...the Tel Aviv and Milk Tray hotline are dead quiet.

Anyway we still have that acting Rabbi standing in for Goldberg, and he's about as straight as a hospital trolley with a bad wheel. I'm not too keen on the crowd he attracts either. Going into the bog for a dump is not a pleasant experience, it seems there are more blokes than normal in there, in fact it's so overcrowded I noticed the other trap had to be occupied by more than one geezer at a time. They must have been pretty ill too judging by the groaning noises I could hear. This has also lead to an outbreak of vandalism...some c*nt has put a hole in the panel between the traps...now while they may have been acceptable at the Mossad academy, I don't think it's right for the Synagogue. Hopefully Goldberg's return will see things back to normal.

It was nice to get home after all that, all the f*cking traffic on the roads with all the Christmas shoppers about, this is where I have a leg up on all you other c*nts, because of the circles I move in I get access after hours...not that it does me much good...not many places sell those knitted Uzi warmers which keep the polished barrel nice and warm and ready for action.

Anyway I have a little box full of stuff  which my masters in Tel Aviv want me to check out, so I'm going to grab myself a warm Bagel and get on with the job in hand.

Shalom

Mood:  irritated

Mossad HQ, like you lot no doubt, gets lots of f*cking shit sent its way. It wastes time as we try and decode everything, just in case someone is sending us Osama Bin Laden's address in a council flat in Stepney for instance, or even better has come across a seasonal discount at some Bagel shop somewhere (Yes we're loyal to the Brick Lane place obviously, but a deal's a deal). So what really pisses me off is those c*nts from Burkina Faso who keep offering me some wonderful deal where I'll inherit millions from some other f*cker who died in some disaster somewhere.

I think I need to make this clear to my yellow overall, rubber booted friends.

I don't know anyone who has died in a f*cking Tsunami, although the roof did blow off of Benny's shed once when it was raining, ruined his porno collection but that's another story.

I don't know anyone who died in the World Trade Centre (at least that's the official line...got to maintain some degree of secrecy).

I don't know anyone who has died in a plane crash either, I might fly all over the place but I've always been able to take over the controls before we've hit a mountain or something. The only guy I know who has been killed in a flying incident was Corporal Liebenstein during the first Gulf War...and that was because the stupid c*nt put his sleeping bag in his parachute bag...bought a whole new meaning to a HALO drop.

I think what I'm trying to tell my Russian based African friends is F*CK OFF YOU C*NTS...stop wasting our codebreakers time. In future Mossad HQ have given me the OK to copy and paste these e-mails received on this page...then we'll show the world what a bunch of c*nts you really are.

OK, rant over, not much else to report, still got the gay rabbi this week so no new message will be forthcoming, and with the decadence of Christmas coming up I've been asked to test drive a few presents for the undercover Mossad operative in your life...more on that in the future.

Shalom

Mood:  lyrical

Strange kind of day yesterday, where all my troubles seemed so far away as my mate Ronnie used to say. First off a trip to the Synagogue where Goldberg had apparently threw a 'sickie' and hadn't showed up. Now far be it from me to criticise anyone, but those stand in Rabbis from Rentarabbi don't really cut the mustard, and I'm f*cking certain that they haven't had the Mossad background check done on them. Yesterdays schmuk was a geezer calling himself Norton, and I'm pretty certain he was batting for the same side as Ronnie used to. Seemed a little too interested in male to male relations for my liking, a f*cking gay rabbi...never saw them in my day...just shows how bad things have got...he didn't even have a beard. The upshoot of this is that this c*nt doesn't have access to the top secret Fisher Price code book, so the next part of the message I'm supposed to get from Tel Aviv never got to me. Once Goldberg gets back from the Bahamas rest home he's gone to I'll have to chase him up.

Once Synagogue was over, it was up on the bike and a quick trip to St Georges hospital in Tooting where it was the hospital trolley expo 2007. Even though this current undercover mission was not of my choosing, I like to make sure I'm up to date with the latest goings on in the trolley world. This years must have accessory for your trolley is a GPS system which is built into the handle, means you'll never get lost and take someone to the Mortuary instead of Physical Therapy for instance. It's pretty old hat to me though, many years ago Mossad scientists implanted a microchip in my brain which is GPS enabled...I never get lost. Benny reckoned it did have side effects though which is why it never became standard practice, I disagree though...to me fluent bullshit is one of the most up and coming languages in the world...I'm an expert.

OK, time to hit the Bagel Bake, I might even get a few extra to take into work tomorrow, not to share with the lads though...a stale Bagel makes an excellent spare tyre for a trolley, and with NHS cutbacks we've quite a few trolleys with flats hanging around...makes them a bugger to steer.

Shalom

Mood:  not sure

Well what a week that was. I see England managed to f*ck up the chance us Mossad boys had given them after last weeks victory over the KGB select. What a bunch of overpaid c*nts. Mind you with that twonk McClaren having done the decent thing and got sacked, there is now a job opportunity that might get me out of this rut I've got stuck in here at the NHS. While the Underground railway somewhere in London might not have appreciated my leadership skills, I think I'm just what the FA ordered. So on Monday I'll be down at Soho Square with a shaped charge and a helicopter - would use the VW Beetle but parking is hell down that way this time of year, and I don't want to pay the congestion charge - and I'll be leaving my CV on that bloke who runs the FA's desk, I'll even throw in a box of Milk Tray as an extra sweetener. Of course I'll want to bring in my own backroom team, and I'm glad I've got on Mad Frankie Fraser's good side, he's agreed to be my motivational coach. It's nice to know after all these years he can forgive my siding with the Krays, plus with Mossad's expertise at getting information we'll have every teams game plan in the draw well before the game. Only sticking point I can see is that I expect everyone to be circumcised, Goldberg's primed and ready for that job, not sure if those overpaid ponces are ready though.

So this week I've been doing a lot of PR work building up my reputation. I even pushed a few extra trolleys around so I could bend a few more peoples' earlobes. I even have some of the press on my side...the West Bank Times will be running a Jewboy For England campaign...as soon as I've dug up some incriminating evidence on the editor of The Gaza Strip Sun. No problem, be amazed what Mossad can achieve with an inflatable Pig and a stale Bagel.

Anyway, better get off to the Synagogue, I'm really pumped up for it this week, I feel like after all these years in undercover exile I've finally found my calling.

Shalom

Mood:  lucky

Well what a surprise at the Synagogue yesterday, Goldberg actually put in a large size TV so we could cheer on our mighty football team against those commie c*nts from Russia. What a game...and it was free pickled herring all around once the match was over. My mood was dampened though by someone pointing out that England would now probably qualify for something that's happening in Austria/Switzerland next year. Normally I couldn't give a f*ck about the English team, but the prospect of some drunken football supporter pissing in the entryway of my Geneva apartment building doesn't please me. I'll get the wall electrified for the tournament I think.

With all of the excitement, Goldberg didn't make any speeches or anything, luckily though, using all those lock picking skills I learned while living in London's East End, I got into his office and found what I was looking for. "The Horse ran on the course" . I'll have to do some heavyweight decoding there I think, maybe I'll sit down with a warmed up Bagel and chew the matter over.

Some of you have asked why I don't mention what's going on at the hospital much these days. Well it's the new NHS gagging order that's stopping me, some bullshit about patient confidentiality or something. I'm pretty insulted to tell the truth, over the years I have been responsible for some of the world's biggest secrets such as the formula for Coca Cola, and the design of the Sinclair C5, have I ever let any of this stuff leak out...I don't think so. Apparently though some of my descriptions of certain people would allow some of their identities to be revealed, the straw that broke Mick The Miller's back, being the big eared w*nker from that Kent seaside town. I don't know how anyone could work out who I was talking about from that...there must be lots of big eared people down that way, probably because they're a bunch of inbreds. I've also lost interest in the NHS, ever since they turned me down for the elite paramedic cycle squad...c*nts.

OK, well it's a day of eating Bagels and talking to various agents from around the world on my agenda today.

Shalom

Mood:  lazy

Do you ever check out the guestbook on this site? It quite clearly states that only tip offs and other information that Mossad might find useful should be left on it. Well it's not exactly been swamped with information to tell the truth, but some f*cking oddball from Finland decided it was the ideal place for a political rant. At least I'm assuming it was a political rant, and not some extra long coded message. All I know is that I can't make f*cking head or tail of it. Still if any of you c*nts want to have a go at it you're quite welcome to, the policy of Mossad HQ is to leave all comments up for everyones pleasure, unless of course it is obviously a breach of national security...like the PIN code of Rabbi Goldberg's cashpoint card.

Also I think I should take this chance to clarify something that appeared on the BBC website this week. I am NOT the person who was up in court this week for f*cking his bike. I know I may talk about my two wheeled friend in more than glowing terms on occasions, but I'm not into it in that way, and besides the pedals would probably tear the bedsheets, and the gears would leave oil stains that are a bugger to remove.

Off to Synagogue in a minute, but I'd rather watch Israel play Russia at football. Unbeknown to you lot, it's actually a bit of a grudge match. Most of the Russian team are ex KGB, and the Israeli team are all undercover Mossad officers, so you can imagine all the ill feeling between them. I feel sorry for the managers to be honest, how the f*ck do you keep your gameplan secret? Should be a good game, and once I receive the Mossad DVD I'll give you lot a match report.

Shalom

Mood:  not sure

Good day to you scumbags, I'm sure many of you have scurried downstairs into your secret bunkers, in eager anticipation to find out what Goldberg said yesterday in the hope you can work out what he was on about before I do...more of that later.

My secret bunker is of course state of the art seeing as Mossad just put together this safe house. On the wall are pictures of some of the more famous kneecapping victims from the days I used to hang around with the Krays. There's also a class picture from the Mossad academy, but I can't work out who's in it as we are all wearing black balaclavas, I'm sure I was in the centre though seeing as I came top of the class. Since then, I've been working undercover so have tended to shy away from the camera, if people like James Bond want to be so unprofessional as to have their picture splashed all over the place, that's their business. My favourite touch though is the built in fridges for the Milk Tray and Pepsi Max, which means the chocolates won't have melted by the time I've broken into some womans bedroom, and have you ever tasted Pepsi Max when it's warm? Tastes likes Cat's piss...how would I know that...well that's a story for another day. I would tell you about the computer, but that's classified information and specially constructed by Mel the computer whizzkid back in Tel Aviv.

Anyway what about yesterdays synagogue visit I hear you ask...well I don't seeing as the bunker is soundproofed. Well you lot know I don't take much interest in what's going on, I drift off wondering how the hell I've never heard of these Torah Wilcox songs that Goldberg keeps quoting from, I mean he's never mentioned "I wanna be free", which thinking about it is the only one of her songs I can remember. Goldberg's quotes obviously come from her religious phase. My keen hearing always picks up when he slides in the coded message so when he said "The Grass is Green" I made a mental note. Pretty obvious that one...our informant obviously is the seasick guy on the boat that got lost in the fog, it's a message telling me not to line him up in my sights when the time comes.

OK, Bagel time then I'm off to put my feet up and watch some Water Polo from the Gaza Strip on the Telly.

Shalom

Mood:  lazy

I've often wondered what goes through the minds of you c*nts who read my weekly dispatches. Some of you are convinced that every week this whole thing is just a heavily coded message to Tel Aviv as we continue marching on to the day when us Jews will dominate the world, others seem to beieve that overall these are just the ramblings of a rather pathetic ex-mossad operative, who is full of wonderful stories to brighten up your dull lives. Well believe whatever you like, but when a blog can claim to have some of the most powerful people on the planet reading it - like the chief baker at the Bagel Bake for instance - there must be something in it.

Anyway what's been going on...not much to be honest...my whole week has comprised of pushing trolleys around corridors in a rather filthy hospital, spending lots of time talking to people (my favourite part), and keeping some old African dictator under watch until we work out whether to bump him off or not. I've always been good at keeping a low profile, so I'm well suited to this kind of work. It does mean spending many a lonely evening on my specially painted black bike trying to track someones movements by looking through a cardboard bog roll tube. I do get some strange looks, but if they can't work out what I'm up to then I must be doing my job well.

Synagogue today and you regulars will know what that means the next part of the coded message is due. It's all coming together slowly but surely but I've always been a more all action type of agent rather than one who gets information drip fed to him, but this must be one big f*cking operation for the details to be dished out like this. I'm pretty pleased to have been selected for it.

 Shalom

Mood:  not sure

There I was yesterday dozing off as Goldberg rambled on about something religious when my keen Mossad trained hearing picked it up "The Frog sat on the log". My first instinct was that I knew the French had weird habits when it came to using the bog but sitting on their crap was taking it to extremes. Later though when analysing the thing properly, I realised that I was merely to look out for a frenchman sitting on a wooden bench. Now putting this together with last weeks message it's all beginning to make sense, although I don't know how many wooden benches there are in that seaside town on the Kent coast. I'll have a look at woodenbenchesinseasidetowns.com later on, maybe they'll have the numbers.

After I left the synagogue I was at a bit of a loss what to do. I haven't received any money off coupons in the post so couldn't go shopping, the bike tyres are nicely pumped up, my trolley at work is nicely polished, and the end of my Uzi is gleaming. So I decided to take a ride around and see what was going on and nearly got knocked off my bike by a bus that had ladders sticking out of the window. I haven't seen that bloody window cleaner in ages and the bastard didn't stop. I'll certainly be using my contacts to find out where he lives now, I think we need words.

Today is the anniversary of one of the darkest hours of my Mossad career when I failed to prevent the assassination of Yitzhak Rabin. I believe this story is one of the things that Benny has prepared for the website, but the lazy c*nt hasn't got round to putting it up yet. In my defence I will say that Bagels taste better when they're warm, and the microwave was playing up a bit, my slackness was in no way a result of me listening to the lottery results on the radio, although it was a rollover weekend and the jackpot had reached 25 shekels. Anyway I was in the Mossad doghouse for a little while after that, I wasn't allowed to get any black cars out of the carpool for a month, the bastards even made me buy my Pepsi Max from Waitrose instead of Tescos. The increased costs almost sent me under.

Shalom