Two very different stories for this week's blog, differing experiences of the final few days of my summer holiday in England.

Last Saturday, whilst Paz and the girls were meeting friends and doing 'girlie' things over on Ilkley Moor, I took the opportunity to nip into town and bag a bargain in what are somewhat laughingly referred to as the 'End of Summer Sales'; not that we saw very much summer sun during our three week visit! T-shirts and shorts are not really in demand now that people are looking a shade morosely ahead at stocking up on winter woollies.

Leeds ' main street is a pedestrian area called Briggate and on what actually turned out to be a fine afternoon the place was packed with shoppers and day trippers. Bang opposite the House of Fraser store and right outside Marks & Spencer, a stall had been erected that immediately caught my eye as it had a two metre banner featuring captive Israeli soldier Gilad Shalit strewn across it. 

I ambled over, under the assumption that the stall was manned by members of the Leeds Jewish community supporting the campaign to persuade Hamas to release Shalit from Gaza, and was quickly pounced upon by a smartly dressed, well spoken young guy in his early 20's who asked me if I knew who Gilad Shalit was. I told him that I am Israeli and am very familiar with the Shalit case, and his eyes lit up.

"Hey guys, this fella's Israeli" he called out to his fellow volunteers, who spontaneously burst into a cringeworthy round of applause. I'm sure it won't come as any great surprise to learn that being identified as an Israeli citizen in Britain is rarely greeted with such a positive response.

"We all love Israel" he told me earnestly, "and would love to visit some day". He went on to explain that his friends are Christian supporters of Israel and seek to encourage Christians to see Israel's side of the Middle East conflict and forge a closer alliance with the Jewish people. He said he wanted to ask me "loads of questions" but I felt a shade uncomfortable at the attention caused by the applause that had attracted a number of onlookers, so told him that I was in a bit of a hurry, but was delighted that they were raising awareness and supporting such a worthy cause. 

My departure elicited another ripple of applause, to which I responded with a rather embarrassed presidential-style wave and headed of up the street, slightly bemused at being popular for a change, but happy to have met them.

My reverie didn't last very long as 100 metres further on was a stall manned by supporters of the Socialist Worker newspaper who were quite commendably collecting donations for an anti-Nazi rally due to take place very soon in Bradford, a city with many hundreds of thousands of Muslim residents. Less commendably however, they had taken the opportunity to make the perverse comparison between the treatment of Israeli Arabs (no, not Palestinians) by Israel, and the annihilation of the Jews of Europe by the Nazis in World War II. I thought about pointing out the ludicrousy of their banners, but after taking a look at the people involved realized I'd only be wasting my breath.  

Now, as Monty Python would say, something completely different, and utterly English; the Thorner Village Show. This is a contest between residents of a beautiful but sleepy Yorkshire village at which, in time honoured fashion, prizes are given for the most beautiful home grown vegetables, best Victoria sponge cake and most delicious jams, amongst other things. The locals take it all very seriously, and I was briefed by my close friends and village residents Emma and Adam Glazer, not to snigger or make any untoward comments.

It turned out that last year, (according to the Glazers), there was a major incident at the show when the perennial winner of first prize for the 'Best Homemade Jam' found himself having to settle for the second place medal! Such was his disgust at the decision, which he insisted was based on a friendship between the winner and the judge, that he threatened to bring his shotgun and shoot the winner, (who's jam, he insisted, hadn't even set!) if the placings weren't reversed. They weren't, and the vicar had to intervene to avoid any bloodshed and avert Thorner making national headlines for all the wrong reasons.

Staring at over-sized cucumbers, cabbages, carrots and peas wouldn't normally be my idea of a good afternoon out, but the comical side of proceedings, highlighted by the seriousness with which all contestants appeared to have entered into the competition, made it all worthwhile. The tart comments on the floral display section being almost priceless; 'Mrs Shuttleworth's summer bouquet would have been better received if she had sought to balance her carnations with the hyacinths on the left hand side. Rose in right- hand corner noted to have one slightly wilted petal'.

The competition for the best egg yolk caused me to almost fall down laughing, as both Emma and I realized the unintended chuckle factor of my somewhat sarcastic appraisal of the winning egg – "looks like a cracker to me".

On leaving the hubbub an elderly lady in front of me was overheard receiving commiserations from another on only finishing second in the "Best Onion" category. Noting that the winner's onion had not been purchased at the subsequent charity auction, the defeated 'onioner' (is there such a word?), declared with some pride, that the lady that bought her winning specimen last year had managed "to get 15 meals out of it"!

And who said that standards of British cuisine aren't up to much.

Over such things do some Britons still take considerable pride.   

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

 

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