Tag Archive: plonk


Willy or Wonty

My kitchen didn't look like this... quite

My kitchen didn’t look like this… quite

I bet you’re all wondering, willy or wonty?

I nearly didn’t.

I would have posted this morning, but as you all know I have lessons now on Saturday mornings, which just screws up the whole day.

Between 10pm Friday and 8am Saturday I have a whole ten hours free, most of which I spend sleeping, or at least trying to sleep, or peeing.

The remaining two hours doesn’t leave a lot of room for something blogworthy to happen.

So I did the dishes.

Awesome machine.... want one

Awesome machine…. want one!

I got home at nearly 2pm, resisting the call of the botequim and flopped. Yes, time for Nap-fu practice. I excelled

I woke about 3:30 and knowing there was a birthday party at my neighbours to which I was invited. I made a large batch of battered onion rings and toddled off next door. Besides, I wanted to see his new BBQ in action.

It’s not real brick, just a brick-like cladding over concrete, but it does the job.

The trouble is the price… R$700 which is about $300+ too much for me.

Lots of people; mainly neighbours whom I knew and many of his family whom I knew from previous BBQs.

The birthday boy’s mother was there. She was the lovely toothless old soul who, at the last BBQ, tried some of the R$50/bottle wine I had taken along, promptly spat it out on the floor and announced that it was vinegar.

It was a wonderful Merlot. When it comes to wines Brazilians generally like R$3/bottle sweet plonk. The country will never make the first world.

I didn’t take wine this time, that’s why I made the onion rings; I never go to an invite empty-handed. How crass?

Beer chillers

Beer chillers

There was lots of beer, so no problem. Now while Lincoln had a new BBQ, his beer chiller wasn’t quite so classy, but it did a grand job.

They have just painted the exterior of the house, one of the chillers was the paint barrel, the other an old, but slightly more respectable, polystyrene ice box without a lid. Which is just as well, because the speed at which it would have been lifted for beers would have melted the damned thing.

I didn’t stay long, because there was a chilling wind blowing through and as darkness approached, I made my exit, gracefully. Well, as gracefully as I could hobbling down the steep stairs on a walking stick with each footfall on the tiles threatening to send me express mail to the bottom where I was swamped by the kids, “Got any more of those ring things?” Praise indeed coming from the lower echelons of the family tree.

So, the answer to the question, “Willy or Wonty?”

I diddly!

Now it’s bedtime.

Later.

KFC

Not this KFC

Not this KFC

I had a terrible nightmare last night, hence the title. It now means Komputer Fried Citten.

In my nightmare, I dreamed that Clorinha had stuck her nose in the works of my PC, which is always open, and I woke to see her ‘fried’.

I like my PC open, because I am always fiddling and I can see the pretty red light that flashes twinkles in time with the pretty green light on the router and tells me that the internet is fine and dandy. That along with the pretty blue light on the front that bursts into life occasionally, they are so comforting.

But back to the nightmare, I am now aware that it was the harbinger of doom. Later, after my second coffee, I heard a plaintiff ‘mew’ (she’s not big enough to meow yet) I rushed to see what she was mewing about and all I could see was two little paws with claws extended clinging to the window sill. I couldn’t get the door unlocked fast enough and she plopped to the ground, landing between the passion fruit and a pineapple.

Clorinha in bed

Clorinha in bed

I finally got the door open and there she stood, shook her head and appeared none-the-worse for her brief free-fall of a metre and a half (about 4+ feet).

More feline news; Clorinha prefers to sleep on the arm of the sofa. Her daddy, Cloro, was a fan for the bed. When I go to bed she comes in for a quick romp and then jumps down and off to the sofa.

Last night she drew her first blood; cute little claws, but by hell, they hurt. She was sitting on my leg at the PC and slipped off, clutching at anything handy. I’m so glad I had my shorts on… (I wouldn’t have been posting that photo).

myinnerleftthigh

My inner left thigh

My floor is scattered with bits of paper, cotton buds, empty boxes, a handy towel roll centre and pieces of plastic. I daren’t tidy up because Clorinha considers these to be toys. So she’s cheap to entertain.

It’s nigh on lunch time. I have the fish out of the freezer and plan crumbed sole fillets with refried mashed potatoes and a shittake mushroom cream sauce. I also think this merits a white wine. BRB

ConventodaSerravinhobrancoBottle selected, in the freezer for a quick chill. A Convento da Serra white, 2010. It’s a wine from the Alentejo Region in southern Portugal. Reasonable price, R$25 (about $11).

I found some hydrated shittake mushrooms in the supermarket last week. Bit expensive (R$15), but I am so uncontrollable when it comes to novelties, especially such connoisseur items like shittake.

Today is Freeday… my afternoon student canceled yesterday. So I can afford to hit the plonk.

Oh, ‘it’s good to be the king!’ Line stolen from Mel Brooks’ film History of the World Part 1.

I am concerned. I read an article that gave me food for thought. I posted it on They say it’s in the Genes a couple of days ago. Basically it was saying that humans will divide into two subspecies; a squat goblin-like creatures of dim wit, and a taller more intelligent, slim, healthy, attractive, intelligent, and creative human. It also mentioned that the latter would have larger penises; which prompted one of my readers to post on the matter. One of his concerns was that while we may have larger penises, would our testicles also be enhanced… to not balance the equation, things would appear weird.

Man, historically, has always been consumed with interest about the penis. Ever since they manage to stuff their chubby little hands down the front of their nappies (diapers) men are enamoured by their appendage.

But that as it may, further led me to think on the matter; and this horrible thought sprang to mind. Are we indeed headed for a sexless society?

A lab grown vagina -image: BBC

A lab grown vagina -image: BBC

It is common knowledge that our beloved scientists have managed to grow ears and noses in petri dishes in the laboratory; then I read this morning that they have managed to grow a vagina…

Does the future hold for us to create babies from laboratory manufactured parts and be put together in a similar manner to cars on an assembly line?

Hence doing away with the need for sex and the resulting birth.

Now this might appeal to the more puritan Americans, but I’m not sure it would catch on globally.

To top all this off, I got this pop-up:

you-have-been-online-for-1-year-do-you-wish-to-log-off-and-get-a-life

I’m sorely tempted…

Debauchery

bellosToscanaYesterday morning’s breakfast at the botequim

Cold roast pork sandwiches, washed down with the remains of the bottle of Italian Bellosguardo Rosso Toscana while nibbling on offered BBQ’d pieces and chicken wings from the BBQ that was in progress.

Does that sound debauched?

I don’t care really about your opinion, it was a rhetorical question after all. My opinion… was yummy!

What a wonderful way to begin a sunny Sunday when there was not a lot else going on.

The fregües (regulars) at the botequim are often bemused by my antics, none the less yesterday. Noises like, “O AV sabe como vivir” (AV knows how to live) and “Ele  não beba vinhos ruins” (He doesn’t drink plonk” were amongst those to be heard.

Of course, I offered them to share my wine, but Brazilians don’t generally drink dry wines, and this was a tart cab sav.

Lixosleeping

Looks so damned innocent, just bit the hand that feeds me…

Lixo bit me. Yes, the first time he has drawn blood. Sitting in the praça on Saturday night, he jumped up on to the bench for a pet, as he is want to do then he lay down and sunk his teeth into my left wrist.

Once I managed to wrest my wrist from the fangs of the demon feline monster, I became the loving devoted father when faced with an errant son and gave him a sound cuff under the ear and went home nursing my ego as much as my bleeding wrist.

After breakfast yesterday, I found an amazing creature. I found a caterpillar. Now normally caterpillars are cutesy things and don’t usually warrant much attention, but this one did. I stood transfixed as this beast gnawed his way through the leaves on my goiaba branca (white guava) tree like a combine harvester.

Mean green leaf eating machine

Apparently he is the caterpillar of one of the many hawk moth species; a fact that google assures me is a high probability.

An amazing 4+inches of green destruction. Big enough that he could have gone on the BBQ grill as a green sausage.

He’s still there this morning gnawing away happily when I put trimmings out on the compost.

I am leaving him to wend his trail of destruction because I am curious, I hope to catch him during his metamorphosis from the Hulk to elegance.

I am also hoping to capture the process on film… Now there’s a point, in the past you ‘captured something on film’ but today there is no film. The last roll of Kodak has come and gone; should we not change that ‘to capture him on a chip’? Do we now ‘SD’ something rather than ‘film’ it?

You see the problem with the language now? The problems that I face being grammar police’? Is ‘capturing something on film’ going to remain with us as one of those linguistic dinosaurs?

Screwed

Screwed!

Problems beset us daily, riddles, enigmas and conundra. Things that cause us to stop and think or worry about. Many of them seem inconsequential, but they all are a part of us, our lives.

Take my comment above, for example. ‘The caterpillar was happily gnawing…’ Do caterpillars really feel ‘happy’ when they are wreaking such havoc? Do caterpillars have emotions? Does he ask stupid questions like man, ‘why am I here?’ There is just so much that you won’t find on Wikipedia.

If we stop thinking we are screwed. If we think about them too much, we are screwed.

It’s Monday, whatever we do today, at some stage we will be screwed.

So much screwing going on, I think it It is time for more coffee.

Later.

Plonk & Plonking

This post comes about an idea I got from making a comment on another blog.

No cats were harmed in writing this post.

Probably not plonk

Probably not plonk

The comment revolved around the word ‘plonk’.

Now there are two types of plonk.

1. Refers to cheap and nasty wine.

2. The other does not.

In the nodding-off moments of my nap, I recalled a saying from the past. Now you’d probably have to be an Ozzie or a Kiwi to understand, ‘slurping the turps’.

Imagine a Brazilian student of English being confronted with a conversation that went along the following lines.

“Wotcha upta?”

“Jussslurpin’ the turps.”

“Ah, knockin’ back a few then?”

Won't find it here either

Won’t find it here either

Now that small snippet bears absolutely no relation to the English that said student is being taught. He/she is probably going WTF? That is if he/she has reached the WTF-stage in their lessons. Any exposure to English in this form before the WTF-stage is an act of cruelty and the teacher should be put down.

‘Turps’, of course refers to turpentine used here as a synonym for plonk.

The other kind of ‘plonk’ refers to putting something down carelessly. As in, “I was exhausted when I got home and plonked the bags on the table!”

This is the kind of plonk that I referred to in my comment.

I have been following a rather sweet story in a blog, Unconfirmed Bachelorette, which has been detailing the wooing of a stray cat into the domesticity of UB’s home. She has been doing the wooing for about three weeks and now has the cat, Sophie, safely installed, but yet to meet her resident playmates.

Lixo remains plonked

Lixo remains plonked

At this stage I left a comment, “I love this story. But so much fuss. When I got Lixo, I met him on the bar veranda, petted him and drank my beer. The next night he followed me home (11 metres) cautiously came inside and I picked him up and plonked him in front of the cat food. When he came back into the living room again, I plonked him on the sofa, and that’s were he’s stayed ever since. No ceremonies.”

And that’s my method of wooing a homeless cat home.

Now, I admire UB’s patience and it’s a lovely story. But I don’t have that patience, I am also more pragmatic… plonk! If you like it, stay, if you don’t, you can see the door.

Now it is obvious that UB and I are both cat-people, it’s just our methods differ.

It’s probably Plonk

In the supermarket yesterday, I found this bottle of chardonnay.

Now it’s not often one finds an Australian wine in a Brazilian supermarket, especially one so remotely removed from anywhere chique like where I live, which is only a stone’s throw from the boondocks. You will find Argenine wine, Chilean wine, wine from Portugal and France and Italy; but to find one from ‘Down Under’ was a total surprise.

It was about then that my ‘Impulse Buying’ mode kicked in, especially when I realised that this bottle had traveled one width of the Tasman Sea further than me to get here. R$26 (about USD13) was a reasonable price, that was when my ‘Impulse Buying’ mode totally took control nearly singeing the label as it was launched from the shelf to my shopping trolly.

It now sits in my wine rack awaiting a suitable occasion when I should trot it out to impress the local yokels.

It’s probably not plonk, Australia does produce some good whites, better than my own New Zealand ones, but we do hold the upper hand with reds.

There is a shop in Barra da Tijuca that has New Zealand wine, but at R$106 for the cheapest bottle, it doesn’t trigger my ‘Impulse Buying’ mode in the same manner.; a bit like the Ballantynes 30 Year Old Whisky I found in the same shop for R$1,360… they stay on the shelf. I dream.

Cool again today and cloudy, and it’s time for a nap.

Later.

All over, bar the shouting

Yes, here we are again. It’s Christmas Eve. In most Protestant countries Christmas Eve is merely the last chance to go shopping.

Ceia de natal, Brazilian style

But here in Brazil, being predominantly Catholic, they have a ceia de natal (traditional dinner) which I read is 12% more expensive this year and party at midnight whereas I am used to the celebration starting at 5am or thereabouts on Christmas morning with present opening and feverish activity until lunch and relatives arriving and of course more presents, including Aunt Louie’s annual handkerchief, I don’t think that woman had an ounce of imagination, but I had a good collection of handkerchiefs.

I have no plans for today. I have not been invited to participate in any of the festivities. Christmas Eve will be business as usual for me, although I will resort to a whisky or two with friends at the botequim (neighbourhood bar).

Brazilian cigarras (cicadas)

The day promises to be hot. Yesterday was hot, it got to 38⁰C and as the cicadas were making their shrill chirping last night in the trees around the praça it promises to be even hotter today.

My ravioli left over leftovers from yesterday were just fine, there were no added furry bits growing on them, so there was no waste. I chose to have them with some cheap plonk. It was indeed cheap, and it was indeed plonk; I got what I paid for. Serves my scroogish self right. It was a pessago (peach) cooler; a good half the chilled brew was duly donated to Denise, one of my neighbours, who arrived home hot and flustered after last minute Christmas shopping; call it a flourish of the Christmas spirit. She appreciated it because it was direct from the freezer and I know from past experience that she enjoys that kind of drink.

Now a note on English as a language… this has been around for a long time, but it’s always worth a reprint.

English Language

-The European Commission has just announced an agreement whereby English will be the official language of the European Union rather than German, which was the other possibility.
-As part of the negotiations, the British Government conceded that English spelling had some room for improvement and has accepted a 5- year phase-in plan that would become known as “Euro-English”.
-In the first year, “s” will replace the soft “c”. Sertainly, this will make the sivil servants jump with joy. The hard “c” will be dropped in favour of “k”. This should klear up konfusion, and keyboards kan have one less letter.
-There will be growing publik enthusiasm in the sekond year when the troublesome “ph” will be replaced with “f”. This will make words like fotograf 20% shorter.
-In the 3rd year, publik akseptanse of the new spelling kan be expekted to reach the stage where! more komplikated changes are possible. Governments will enkourage the removal of double letters which have always ben a deterent to akurate speling. Also, al wil agre that the horibl mes of the silent “e” in the languag is disgrasful and it should go away.
-By the 4th yer people wil be reseptiv to steps such as replasing “th” with “z” and “w” with “v”. During ze fifz yer, ze unesesary “o” kan be dropd from vords kontaining “ou” and after ziz fifz yer, ve vil hav a reil sensi bl riten styl. Zer vil be no mor trubl or difikultis and evrivun vil find it ezi tu understand ets oza.
-Ze drem of a united urop vil finali kum tru. Und efter ze fifz yer, ve vil al be speking German like zey vunted in ze forst plas.
-If zis mad you smil, pleas pas on to oza pepl…..

The Americans are already well on the way to butchering the language, so this is a real possibility.

I will wish you all the best for the festive season. Political correctness behooves that I don’t use the secular Merry Christmas because I am offending Muslims and Jews. There’s never anything said, however, when Jews have a Merry (or whatever) Hanukka, my sensibilities don’t count.

All this excreta has gone too far and one day it will hit the oscillating cooling device.

I don’t give a monkey’s toss; have a Merry ‘whatever-you’re-having’!

Cock-Doodle-Doo

Yes, every morning it’s “Cock-a-Doodle-Flamin’-Doo” and thoughts of grilled chicken are uppermost in my mind.

Raining…

Blogging…

Had a quickie for lunch yesterday.

No! NOT that sort of quickie! Sheeesh!

Pork cubes in Tomato Sauce (NOT ketchup!)

Any Old Plonk will do

Here’s how… Fry off pork cubes, healthy squeeze of garlic sauce, double healthy squeeze of soy sauce, pinch of black pepper, salt to taste, chopped tomatoes (fresh from garden), generous double pinch of chopped parsley, one small jar of tomato extract, one small box of cream. stir, serve, eat. 15 minutes in the making. If you want to get fancy serve on spaghetti or rice. If you want to get really fancy, open a bottle of plonk – red or white who cares when you dine alone.

Today’s lunch, leftovers…

Fresh bottle of plonk.

Watch for an update, you may get lucky…

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