TWENTY-FOUR hours into life in Jerusalem and I'm no nearer thinking up a new name for a blog. With two tiny people in tow, I saw scope in the Wailing Wall or something about needing to Settle them in our own little corner of one-time Palestine. Then there was the Advent Adventure we'll be having come December. That's "we" as in my very own Angels in the Holy Land (son #2 is a Rafael after all).
But all those, and others, lacked the neutrality I sought as the unofficial plus one of a BBC producer. (It's an unaccompanied post, so we're not really here.) Not that Auntie exactly has a reputation for detachment in these parts. I swear the immigration guy was about to wave us through until Daddy J mentioned the "B" word. Then it was all, "Why were you born in Istanbul?" and "What was your father doing there?".
So babieswhobrunch it is, and will remain, although if the evidence of last night's shopping foray is anything to go by then babieswhofast might be more apt. Admittedly it was 10pm in a posh mini-market in one of the city's better-heeled neighbourhoods, but £6 for a box of Weetabix? The good news for Louis is that henceforth he'll be able to have olives for all three meals rather than just two.