Tag Archive: trauma

Chatter, chatter, chatter

Never mind, it will soon be over.

A typical Sunday morning, the laundry lady and banal chatter descend and wreck the normally tranquil setting of what I call home.

I’ll need to make more coffee to overcome the trauma.

Lovely day yesterday, until it started to rain. Lots and lots of rain, it ws a real storm. Only lasted about two hours, then rained normally all night. My passion fruit vines had lots of flowers, ten in fact, but because of the rain there were no bees. But I did get a small video of one in the initial stages of opening.

Not very exciting, hardly an action movie. I would have filmed more, but my arms got tired…

However, here’s a shot of the half open flower next to it.

Half open

Half open

And the next flower…

Fully open

Fully open

Fatal error at the botequim. The beer delivery was a day late and he ran out of cold beer… So the bar wasn’t its usually busy self. I ended up relaying bottles to my freezer, so I had beer. My freezer takes a bout a half hour to chill two bottles, whereas the big coolers in the bar require more than eight hours to chill a fridge full.

The pope has disappointed me. He refused to meet the Dalai Lama because of sensibilities with China. Kow towing to China is only giving the bastards strength. He rally missed a chance to show them that they can’t rule the world.

Silly Box: The Canadian Navy has banned booze from their ships.

Very cool day today, totally overcast. I have posted on all but one blog so the morning has been productive. Once I tune out the banal banter, I can get things done.

The rest of the day is another do-nothing day, at least the beer will be cold.

Oh, the sun is trying to burst through the clouds…


Robbing a train is not mandatory

train-robberyThe title comes from a comment left yesterday…

…and just as I was about to go train spotting.

But I couldn’t find a horse.

Besides, the trains here either carry commuters or soya beans, not millions of pounds, so the exercise would be rather fruitless. I’m sure that stealing soya beans would not give me the notoriety needed to seek asylum, although they may well put me in one.

I didn’t get back yesterday as I thought I might.

So you’re all first up this morning now that I have cleared my mail box.

The rain has arrived, sort of. A few spatters overnight, and again this morning, it just spattered some more. Five minutes of spattering, then it unspattered. But unlike the past night’s dismal efforts, this is enough to wet the ground slightly and so may save the bushes in the praça.

In a fit of generosity on Friday, while beerificating for the afternoon at the botequim, I did something that I have been mulling over for sometime. The front of the botequim has always been rather stark, just a concrete veranda and bare posts. I have long felt that it needs to be more welcoming, other than the beer adverts. Although the prospect of beer is indeed welcoming.

The new look botequim

The new look botequim

I donated the various ornamental plants that I had around the backyard to gussy-up the place a bit. I managed three between beers before Raimundo caught me adding the fourth. He laughed and said that I was the only one in the neighbourhood who would do such a thing, and said thanks. Some of the regulars approved, others didn’t even notice in their search for more welcoming ideas. Those that did notice immediately recognised it as my doing.

The silly box…

Who killed Cock Robin bin Laden. Who gives a shit? He’ dead, let him swim rest in peace.

Pringles lids are expensive

Pringles lids are expensive

In England, or Wales, or somewhere over there, dropping a Pringles lid cost some turkey £500. The moral of the story, eat your crisps from a bag… Now I understand why Pringles are so expensive.

Also in Wales, I think, a police demonstration at a kindergarten went wrong. Instead of using a dummy cannister of pepper spray, they used a live one and sprayed the group of four year olds with the volatile liquid. Now the object was to endear the kids toward the police… Oh, I’m sure that worked, those kids will have a lifetime fear of the police. Oh, the trauma.

I have a niggle. I hate blogs that have a static ‘homepage’ and you have to search for blog posts. I like it when you open a blog, the latest post is there to be read. If you like it and want to search for other aspects of the blog, then do so.

tomorrow-is-monday-again-smallThe laundry lady has been and gone, the house is quiet again, so I can concentrate on posting to my other blogs.

There is still more coffee left, ah, the bliss…

Tomorrow is Monday, I wonder what misguided fortunes it will bring.


Press the Fn Key!

function_key_mousepadI have tried.

But it doesn’t help me function.

The only thing that helps me function is coffee, wonderful, wonderful Brazilian coffee.

For example, yesterday I didn’t have enough coffee, so I couldn’t function. In fact so bad was my lack of function and coordination that I didn’t get here yesterday.

I went to the Murder House.

In the corner of my old primary school there was a small isolated building that we called the ‘Murder House’.

Every so often a kid would appear at the classroom door, whisper to the teacher, who would then call out a name. That kid was being summoned to the ‘Murder House’.


Murder weapon

Nervously, the summoned would pack is books into his/her school desk and lower the lid ever so slowly as if trying to prolong the safety of the classroom; then slowly, ever so slowly amble to the door, with a last glance back to friends and playmates, and disappear.

Sometimes they came back, but sometimes they didn’t, they’d been murdered by the school’s dental nurse using the fearsome treadle drill. The pervading smell of alcohol and the funny watery silver stuff that was amalgamated to pack ones teeth.

We knew why the ‘Murder House’ was isolated in the far corner of the school, that was so the other kids wouldn’t be traumatised by the screams, because the ‘Murder House’ didn’t respect playtime (recess) nor the lunch hour. We never actually saw a corpse leave the ‘Murder House’, but we did see distraught kids hustled quickly out the back gate with their mums.

You see, that is why my generation grew up with an innate fear of the dentist, a fear that for me exists today some nearly sixty years later.

I have a friend, Luciano, he’s a dentist, he’s my dentist. I like him, he’s great fun at a BBQ, but I hate what he does. Which is why I procrastinated from early December until yesterday in going to see him.

As it turned out, I did have two serious problems, he packed a curative in and told me not to chew my beer for an hour. Painless, one slight twinge, that sent me hurtling back in time (who needs a time machine?) and I was being hustled out of the chair for the next victim patient.

afghangirlIn my last post, I mentioned an eight year old Afghan girl being arrested as a suicide bomber.

She was shown on TV last night here in Brazil, she is in fact 10, a beautiful, articulate and seemingly intelligent girl.

What manner of people would treat a child like this? Apparently her older brother, a Taliban, recruited her. He is now being hunted by the police.

The world is an evil place.

Must blog along.


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