Don't think we don't see what you're up to, America. Oh yes. Don't think it doesn't just shine through. You told us you loved us and we believed you. That's why we went with you around the back of the gym block and did that thing you wanted us to do. Even though we knew it was wrong. Even though it hurt.

We knew that there were other willing girls - Tonga, Azerbaijan, Moldova - but you said that we were special. Now there you are, holding hands with all those prissy Euro girls that you always pretended not to like. Giggling with them about how much of a slut we were. You only fancy them because they said no. We'd have said no, too, if we'd known it was what you wanted. Anything for you. Anything to be your girl.

We know you've changed, but that only ought to make us more compatible. Most of us didn't even want to put out in the first place. Have you forgotten that? Apart from the Government, the Opposition and a handful of media pundits who suddenly realised they had a new USP, most of us thought it was a bad idea from the start. We marched through the streets, begging Tony Blair to keep our legs together.

You think we're fooled by the way you're having him over next week to give him a shiny trinket? Pah. At least pretend you feel guilty. We've seen you watching the French, you know. And the Germans. Your tongue is virtually hanging out. It's pathetic. They don't know you like we do. Go, then. You'll be back.

Little voice

Serious face. Quite a few years ago, I went to Cairo. I don't remember the name of our tour guide, but I remember he was both clever and fun. He drove like a nutter, told hilarious filthy stories and knew pretty much everything. What sticks in my mind, though, was the time he took us to the Ben Ezra Synagogue, which was built more than a thousand years ago. By the Jews. Did we know about Jews?

“Sort of,” I said, very carefully.

Once, explained our cheerful guide, there were many Jews in Egypt. But then the Jews became very powerful in Europe and America. In most countries, all they had to do was say “give me a job”. If a boss said no, he went to jail. With opportunities like that, why stay in Egypt?

“Oh,” I said, in a small voice, and then I just kept quiet. We had another two days. I didn't want to make a fuss. Plus, I'm a coward.

I've never liked the phrase “self-hating Jew”. Instinctive Zionism worries me, but I don't see why this should mean that I'm secretly ashamed that I don't look like Boris Becker. And yet, recently, that small voice has been bubbling up in my throat a fair bit. I'm conscious that it's been a Jew-heavy couple of weeks. Jewish columnists are Jewishly defending Israel, Jewish MPs are Jewishly doing the same on the TV. And, all the while, there's The Diary of Anne Frank on the BBC, and Defiance and The Reader are all over the cinemas. Part of me starts to wonder how it must look to those with preconceptions like my friendly Egyptian tour guide. It can't be helpful. We Jews, couldn't we do with keeping our heads down? Couldn't everybody just shut the hell up about Jews?

But then, last night, I found myself at an exhibition in London called Portraits for Posterity. The photographer Matt Writtle has snapped a selection of Holocaust survivors living in London.

Every one looks out, now lined and old, from a black background. Every one has a story, outlined beneath. There's liberation, followed by three months in hospital because of overeating. There's life in a ghetto bunker, at 12 degrees below zero. There's a memory of executions on the ice of the frozen Danube. I can't imagine how they'd make my Egyptian friend feel. But that's not my problem. It's his.

Although no reminder should be needed, it reminded me of why we shouldn't ever shut up about Jews. Even now. Even when it doesn't help. It's because there is nothing more shameful than going “oh”. I'll try not to forget that again.

Night games

And relax. We've got a Nintendo Wii. I bought it for the wife for Christmas, which should give you a fair idea what sort of Jew I am, and may also give you a hint about my qualities as a husband. Still, she likes it. She always wins at the tennis game. Me, I like the boxing. I can fair pummel the animated face of a cartoon character Japanese child. Oh yes. Dodge, dodge, jab, uppercut. The trick is to wait for a lull, and hit them really hard in the head.

I'm an old hand at computer games, even if I stopped concentrating in about 2001. I always liked the ones, such as Civilisation, that had you staring at a flickering screen all night, only moving your eyes and your mouse. Great days.

Wii boxing isn't like that. It's motion sensitive. Bout one, you're warming up. Bout two, you're floating like a butterfly, stinging like a bee. By bout four, you're knackered. It's almost wholesome. In a fogeyish sort of way, I'm not sure I approve at all.

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