Today is how I would imagine retirement to be. A rainy day, London. A day out, on my own to an art expo. If I were retired that is! Because three days a week as a GP locum is not really what anyone would call retirement. Despite this, I do still get unimaginable pleasure using my Seniors rail card and NHS discount to save about five pounds!
I loved our recent trip to see Hockney, so was completely taken in when Mark Zuckerberg forced me to read about a similar event celebrating my favorite surreal artist Salvador Dali. Dali Cybernetics. Seriously disappointing. Don't go. A short film presentation, static written stands, and an immersive projector show that to my newly corrected eyes was slightly out of focus. The finalé was a virtual reality headset trip through some of his work and was worth seeing, but lasted five minutes and I've got better VR at home. What separated this from the Hockney exhibition was the educational, haunting voice over by Hockney himself. This one, set to music, seemed rather like an excuse to show off some pretty basic animation skills. I learned nothing.
Only mildly disappointed, I exited the exhibition into bustling Brick Lane, an area of London that I last visited way before it became a haven for every bearded weirdo that London attracts. Hipster is a term I flatly refuse to use in this context. Sipping latté and going sockless doesn't immediately say hip in my humble view.
What was there 30 years ago however, was Beigel Bakes. 24 hour beigels so amazing it's worth the queue in the rain, the rude staff and the agonising stomach pain I had after eating two of their finest far too quickly!
My salt beef with gherkin and mustard, immediately followed by smoked salmon and cream cheese were exceptional. Wonderfully fresh and delicious.
Which brings me to the two connections I have with the old east end of London. My mother, and my newly discovered heritage.
To reference mum first, she trained as a physio at the London Hospital in neighbouring Whitechapel. During world war 2. She spoke often of the local population who at that time were predominantly jewish. She acquired her life long nick name of Mazel here too. Her Jewish patient, on hearing she was called May Hazel, said in ear shot of her classmates, "I'm going to call you Mazel cos you bring me luck, Mazel Tov!" The name stuck and she was proudly Mazel for the next 75 years.
Neatly on to genetics.
For a Christmas present, my gorgeous and wholly Anglo-Saxon wife bought me DNA testing from Ancestry. Having been saddened to find her own entire family line extends about 50 miles around Croydon, we were both keen to know where I came from.
After 3 months waiting for the results this is me:
So 16% Ashkenazi Jew. I will try to find out more. My gran on dads side was Miss Goldberg, so I guess it shouldn't have come as too much of a surprise. But none the less it did.
In the mean time, I can safely say without fear of cultural misappropriation, I love a beigel and wish you all Mazel Tov!
Post script:
One major joy of blogging is getting comment and feedback. On a serious note this article has informed Mazel's grandson of the origin of her name. On a way less serious note, he sent me this link:
I had no idea Mazel was from mazel tov! 🤯
Sorry it was disappointing after all the hype. On the sabbath as well. Very pleased you managed the bagels. Keep us updated. I might even take the test. X