French men, eh. What to do! So charming. I think it's the way they kiss each other g'bye, on both cheeks. They are also rather pretty. There are a ton of French men in Israel, which means my French is improving in leaps and bounds while my Hebrew grammar is all awry. If only I'd paid better attention in French GCSE instead of experimenting with how long it takes, on average, to get thrown out of class every Monday morning.

My mum rang me earlier to say shabbat shalom, asked all the usual questions, had a nice family catch up. Then she asked me if I was happy - as if she wasn't sure. It hadn't occurred to me that my parents might actually wonder if I was happy here. Even though every day as an Olah I encounter obstacles, frustrations and really, really weird people, I haven't regretted my decision for a second.

Well, it's official. I'm an Israeli citizen - I have an ID card, the longed-for Teudat Zehut; I can vote in the next election, I have immigrant rights, can buy a car tax-free, get 6 months of free Ulpan, and come to terms with everything it means to be an Israeli. I'm already becoming skilled in elbowing, shrieking "ani rishona!", tapping my foot impatiently and interfering in other peoples' business. I've negotiated the Post Office, the Ministries of Absorption and Interior, opened a bank account, acquired Health Insurance and eaten my first Kosher McDonalds' as a citizen of medinat Yisrael. And now the really tough stuff begins.
There are 25 years of cultural references to catch up on. There are political parties to read up on, weigh up and discuss, but just one to choose. There are decisions to be made, like whether to serve my National Service or skip it and only semi-integrate like so many other Olim will do this year. I am an Olah Chadashah - a new immigrant. I live in Jerusalem, ir Hakodesh.

I have had conversations with female taxi drivers as to how to bring Moshiach, I have been taught new phrases in Hebrew with cab drivers that are so excited you're an Olah Chadashah they practically drive you to their home and throw you your own personal party. My religious level has been questioned by a driver or two, and another turned up his music for me so loudly that I went temporarily deaf. I have attended a brit milah in Geula, the heart of Charedi-ness, and gone to the Dublin pub for a drink. I have walked through the Shouk on erev Shabbat, taking in the sounds and smells and elbows in the ribs, the brilliant mix of kipot and female head-coverings. I have bought rugelach from Marzipan and sheets for my dorm room from a lady who invited me to call her "if i need anything at all. Israel is for all the Jews. Welcome home."

Last night I made my first visit as an Olah to the Kotel. When I was more religious, I would cling to my siddur, walk slowly across the plaza, sit down and and start to make my way through Tehillim, gradually getting physically closer to the wall, to where He can hear me better. I've become distanced from Him. Last night, I ran to the wall and buried my face in it, amongst the notes written to him in so many languages. I hid my face and said Thank You. How lucky am I, how blessed, to have made it here. To have had a dream that I was able to realise! How often does that happen? I said thank you for my wonderful family, who helped me to get here, and for the friendships that so often overwhelm me. I cried tears of gratitude. This is my HOME. I live here, I live in Israel! I have made Aliyah - I am home, at last.

I've just come back from a most hilarious, London-stylee party. These things make me not want to leave the country, but luckily I realise it was great fun because I never actually attend these do's, so when I do it's super and novel. One of my favourite flicks, The Wizard of Oz, is being re-released this winter in a new digitally re-mastered version and because of its new technicoloured wonderfulness, it's being shown in cinemas up and down the country. Hurrah for big fans and big gay people everywhere! The evening was hosted by the curzon Soho, and sponsored by some lovely bakery called Kondit&Cook who, it turns out, make utterly scrummy cakes and confectionaries. The Wiz was funnier than the last time I saw it (not all that long ago) - perhaps because it was introduced by a tall man with a beard, dressed in the tallest red glittery shoes i've ever been lucky enough to see, a floaty green dress and suspenders. Exactly what a girl wants to see after a terribly long, boring and frustrating day at your desk. Work worries flew out the window and the campety camp madness began! Man in green dress and scarily high shoes went on to introduce the new girl playing Elphaba in Wicked from January - tres exciting! a celeb in our midst! who we asked to sing, but refused. Then there was the show (I still can't bring myself to look directly at Her Scary Green Witchiness.. I definetely saw that film too young) and then along came the party and treats. I was most excited by the treats, can you tell from the stream of consciousness?! Surprise gift boxes, containing a perfectly square yellow cake with Wiz related icing on - mine was of the Emerald City, although Dan confidently told me it was a Christmas tree before we realised they were all film-related. ha! - a little yellow Lego block (highly confusing until it was explained by manly-tranny in green dress that Lego piece could be swapped for a free drink!) a gingerbread man with 'Jolly' iced on his chest (i think the evening was called 'Jolly' but still cant figure out the relevance) and a little box of biscuits. Going home pressies rock! Oh I do love The Wizard of Oz... it's so magical and fantastical and has a whole bizarre moral message to it.

"Only bad witches are ugly" - Glinda

Meanwhile, it's v.late and I must to bed but I'm all whirlwhinded from seeing my favourite film up on the big screen, it was fantastic. I wish all the Yayas could have been there, it's totally our film, seeing as we 'did' it so well on Purim. Perhaps I can persuade whomever I end up cajoling into marrying me to have a themed wedding.... ?

"...we're outta the woods, we're outta the fields, we're outta the night.." (are these the words?)

"Ding dong the witch is dead! the wicked witch! the witch is dead! ding dong the wicked witch is deeeeaaaad!"

"Put 'em up, put 'em uuuuuuup..." - the Cowardly Lion

Amy Winehouse makes me want to puke. What is the massive structure piled on top of her head? what IS it? What's living in it?And why does she also have to be jewish? She doesnt know the words to hava nagila, and she looks as if petrol or something equally greasy may spew from her mouth, each time she opens it. A river of petrol... or gasoline, as Americans might say. Or, Mcvomit, as George might say.

But what a voice! That's it, isn't it. Her voice is the river of petrol.. it just pours out of her.