Now I have no problem with people being direct. In fact, people often form a less than desirable first impression of me because I am so direct. I pride myself in an honest approach that cuts through all of the crap and gets the job done, and so I figured that if I came across people of similar thinking, I would be both happy and comfortable.
And then I came to Israel.
I'm no stranger to this land. I have family here, took part in a one month long tour of the country when I was 16 and even worked as a presenter at an off shore radio station back in the early nineties. So I have always known that the locals can generally come across as quite short with people when actually, it's just a language thing.
It seems that the English language is actually quite polite. We say "please can I have a pint of beer if you'd be so kind bartender?" where other parts of the world will simply say "beer" and get the same result. They're not being rude, it's just the way their language works.
But then we need to factor in some other things. Tel Aviv is a city of some half a million people. Not bad for a country which has only been independent for 60 years. Trouble is that the roads are so full up with cars, busses, mopeds and bikes that driving there is not so much a means to an end, but more a true measure of just how big your balls are. It is bloody terrifying. Woe betide you if you don't move away from the traffic light the nano second it turns green. Indicators? Well they're a nice idea but surely a car darting into your lane is indication enough isn't it? Speed limits? I did see some numbers on the road but clearly they're more of a guideline than a rule.
And you think that's bad? Try walking on the pavement, where it seems that the same blatant disregard for personal space is in full effect. If you can make it down one stretch of road without bumping into someone, getting clipped by a bicycle or generally pissed off at just how many people are in your frickin way then I reckon they whisk you straight into Mossad to put your special skills to good use.
And so the question remains. Do they all appear rude and impatient because of a language barrier, or has a lifetime of having one's personal space invaded actually made them rude and impatient?
I have thoroughly enjoyed my time here, but I am ready to go home and enjoy a nice leisurely walk down the street with nothing but the voices in my head for company.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Thursday 28 October 2010
Monday 18 October 2010
You get what you pay for
Well here I am coming up on the half way mark of my Easyjet flight to Israel and so far, everything is going pretty much as expected.
In other words, not that great.
Not that I am one to complain. Actually, that's not strictly true; I am THE one to complain, but only when my expectations are not being met, and in this case, I made a point of setting my expectations low, and so far I am doing rather well.
Saga number one was being advised by the airline to arrive 3 hours before the flight, as opposed to the regular 2. When we arrived, we were told that the systems were down so we would have to wait an hour and then check in. Brilliant.
Saga number two is that the family travelling with us made a point of checking in online in order to speed up the process. Whilst we waited to check in, they waited to drop their bags off. Their queue was much shorter than ours. We arrived at the front at the same time.
Saga number three was that the flight was delayed by an hour and then as we waited on the Tarmac, yet another hour went by before we finally took off.
The queue it seemed, was made up primarily of whingers. People tutted and moaned and voiced their low opinions of Easyjet and do you know, that was actually the thing that annoyed me the most.
I've flown with this airline on numerous occasions. I do so because it is cheap and because it strikes me that anything under 5 hours in the air really doesn't need meals, movies and all the other frills factored in to the price of my ticket.
The fact is that it is extremely rare that a flight with them goes completely smoothly. To show up at the airport, whisk through security, find my plane waiting, board, relax and fly - all on time, is a luxury I have come to accept as close to impossible.
So why moan? Why bother having a pop at the people who work here? It's rarely their fault. People need to vent, I certainly get that, but come on, you're about to go on holiday. You've got days of sun, sand and sea ahead of you and all you have to do is wait a couple of extra hours. Whack on a smile, suck it up and try and focus on the positive here.
We were hoping that young Felix might like to sleep on the plane. Well no such luck. He is wide awake and in desperate need of entertainment, and the Peppa Pig on his MP4 player is wearing a little thin.
None the less, I am on holiday and feeling good. Of course, if the hotel isn't up to scratch, then I am ready to get medieval on them. Hmmmm.... Pick a fight with an Israeli, I am not sure I fancy my chances.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
In other words, not that great.
Not that I am one to complain. Actually, that's not strictly true; I am THE one to complain, but only when my expectations are not being met, and in this case, I made a point of setting my expectations low, and so far I am doing rather well.
Saga number one was being advised by the airline to arrive 3 hours before the flight, as opposed to the regular 2. When we arrived, we were told that the systems were down so we would have to wait an hour and then check in. Brilliant.
Saga number two is that the family travelling with us made a point of checking in online in order to speed up the process. Whilst we waited to check in, they waited to drop their bags off. Their queue was much shorter than ours. We arrived at the front at the same time.
Saga number three was that the flight was delayed by an hour and then as we waited on the Tarmac, yet another hour went by before we finally took off.
The queue it seemed, was made up primarily of whingers. People tutted and moaned and voiced their low opinions of Easyjet and do you know, that was actually the thing that annoyed me the most.
I've flown with this airline on numerous occasions. I do so because it is cheap and because it strikes me that anything under 5 hours in the air really doesn't need meals, movies and all the other frills factored in to the price of my ticket.
The fact is that it is extremely rare that a flight with them goes completely smoothly. To show up at the airport, whisk through security, find my plane waiting, board, relax and fly - all on time, is a luxury I have come to accept as close to impossible.
So why moan? Why bother having a pop at the people who work here? It's rarely their fault. People need to vent, I certainly get that, but come on, you're about to go on holiday. You've got days of sun, sand and sea ahead of you and all you have to do is wait a couple of extra hours. Whack on a smile, suck it up and try and focus on the positive here.
We were hoping that young Felix might like to sleep on the plane. Well no such luck. He is wide awake and in desperate need of entertainment, and the Peppa Pig on his MP4 player is wearing a little thin.
None the less, I am on holiday and feeling good. Of course, if the hotel isn't up to scratch, then I am ready to get medieval on them. Hmmmm.... Pick a fight with an Israeli, I am not sure I fancy my chances.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Sunday 10 October 2010
The best laid plans...
Well here I sit on my sofa, desperately trying to recover from a half marathon for which I was woefully undertrained. Yes, I did finish it, thanks for asking, and I am actually quite pleased with my time.
As soon as my knees stop feeling like they've burst into flames I can start training properly for the 2011 London Marathon as the sadistic gits who organise it have given me a space. Oh well.
You get a lot of time to think when your mashing your feet into two useless slabs of meat and bone. As soon as you stop thinking about how far you've run or how far you still have to go, you can find yourself taking stock of your life.
You see, I had a dream. I mean, we're not talking Martin Luther King levels here, but none the less I had a dream. When I turned 39 last November I told myself that I would be a full time voice artist by the time I turned 40. It's not that I don't like my job or the people I'm forced to work with, it's just that I have aspirations that transcend the nine to five and, after having tasted a small degree of success, certainly felt that I wanted more.
So I built the website. I did email campaigns. I blogged. I tweeted. I even sometimes just picked up the phone and cold called people. I genuinely felt that I was making all of the right moves but sadly, one year later, and I will still be going into the office tomorrow.
What I have realised is that I have not been realistic about my efforts. Being a voice over is not like being an actor. You have to view yourself as a business, and as a business, just how much work do I expect to get by promoting myself for a couple of hours every month? Exactly.
I know now that it is time for me to get real. To use every spare moment of every single day promoting what I can do and just how well I can do it. The waiting world is not looking for me, I need to go and look for them.
The plan is simple. Go on my holiday, switch off from the pressures of the world for ten days, and then come back and take this business forward at full throttle.
To any agents reading this, I'm totally up for representation, but only if you work like a dog with a rag in its mouth!
I will keep blogging while I'm away in Israel so stay tuned.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
As soon as my knees stop feeling like they've burst into flames I can start training properly for the 2011 London Marathon as the sadistic gits who organise it have given me a space. Oh well.
You get a lot of time to think when your mashing your feet into two useless slabs of meat and bone. As soon as you stop thinking about how far you've run or how far you still have to go, you can find yourself taking stock of your life.
You see, I had a dream. I mean, we're not talking Martin Luther King levels here, but none the less I had a dream. When I turned 39 last November I told myself that I would be a full time voice artist by the time I turned 40. It's not that I don't like my job or the people I'm forced to work with, it's just that I have aspirations that transcend the nine to five and, after having tasted a small degree of success, certainly felt that I wanted more.
So I built the website. I did email campaigns. I blogged. I tweeted. I even sometimes just picked up the phone and cold called people. I genuinely felt that I was making all of the right moves but sadly, one year later, and I will still be going into the office tomorrow.
What I have realised is that I have not been realistic about my efforts. Being a voice over is not like being an actor. You have to view yourself as a business, and as a business, just how much work do I expect to get by promoting myself for a couple of hours every month? Exactly.
I know now that it is time for me to get real. To use every spare moment of every single day promoting what I can do and just how well I can do it. The waiting world is not looking for me, I need to go and look for them.
The plan is simple. Go on my holiday, switch off from the pressures of the world for ten days, and then come back and take this business forward at full throttle.
To any agents reading this, I'm totally up for representation, but only if you work like a dog with a rag in its mouth!
I will keep blogging while I'm away in Israel so stay tuned.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
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