Chutzpah...

Is defined, according to one wag, by the following:

A man kills his mother and father. He is tried, convicted and awaits sentencing. He is invited to say a few words by way of explaining mitigating factors before the sentence is handed down. He stands, clears his throat and stares the beak directly in the eye.

'Your honour,' he begins. 'I must ask you to consider, by way of mitigation, the fact that I am now an orphan...'

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I just did something shameless.

I wrote an article for a local publication, one that some of my neighbours subscribe to. I wanted to stop at the newsagents this morning to see if it had been published today, but was in a bit of a rush and forgot. So, I get home, wondering whether it was worth my while to turn back on a potentially pointless expedition when I see the publication in question. Sticking out of my neighbours letterbox. Delivered, this morning.

What would you do?

Of course, to extract said publication and check there and then is the pragmatic thing to do. And it isn't as if I'm not on speaking terms with the neighbour. But I know for a fact that there is no way in hell I would have done that, standing in front of his letterbox and leafing through his newspaper, before I moved to this country. No way at all.

It was worth it, mind. My piece wasn't in the publication after all, and I would have wasted 15 minutes on the round trip to the newsagent.

Off for the weekend now, to the Galilee. Food, family and fun. See you soon.