The party pooper

Part 5 - No one likes to be criticised. I know I don't. I take it as a personal offence. An affront. An assault on my integrity. What's worse, my reaction bears no correlation to the magnitude, scale or scope of the criticism. "There is a speck of fluff on your trousers" is as bad as "You are a bloody idiot". My first reaction is to get hurt. Badly. Let's call it the Can't Take Criticism Syndrome or CTCS.

Imagine my surprise when, on hols, I discovered new levels of CTCS previously not known to man. Or, at least, to anyone who has been away from Israel for a while. I am not even going to tell you about MOB who started signing his emails to me as 'Spoon' after I suggested he may be human in an earlier post. Or MLB who said: "I don't do offended. Don't know what it feels like". Yeah. Right.

You see, in the UK CTCS is a passive reaction. In Israel CTCS is active. Take my cousin-in-law H. She is the nicest person you'd ever meet. Gentle, sensitive and warm. She wouldn't hurt a fly. If she accidentally did she would give it a proper burial service and send white lilies to its family. And still, when I jokingly called her a party-pooper when she said she may be too tired to go out at midnight on a work day, she didn't really take my comment in the spirit it was intended. At this point I should mention that H, whilst glamorous and fun-loving, is not necessarily of the Keith Richards school-of-partying. Midnight on a work day is not necessarily her thing. Anyway, at a quarter to midnight she stomped authoritatively into our flat, slammed a bottle of fizzy on the coffee table, and said: "So you call me a party pooper!? I am staying 'til sunrise. You'll beg me to leave!"

So, for all of you planning on going to Israel, remember: if it's not a hagiography it must be an insult; and if you insult someone, expect a reaction. And as it is in Israel, often it would be slightly disproportionate.

PS August 13th 675km down. 325km to go.