Huge bang. Rach and I sat bolt upright in bed this morning at 5.30am when we heard a huge explosion several hundred yards away. Given that our new home is within a kilometre of a military training base, and given that yesterday they sent 5 low-flying helicopters over our heads (which sent Nelson into conniptions) I was expecting to see the opening salvos of World War III outside our window this morning. But, thankfully, it was "only" an electricity power box exploding, cutting all the electricity (including traffic lights) in the neighbourhood. It's back on now, which is good.

The 16th Sertoes Rally of Brazil. Much to the delight of Nelson and his Dad, an off-road Brazilian rally finished in Natal at the end of June. Unfortunately, we didn't know about it far enough in advance to see the cars race on the dunes live (although we did catch a report on the TV) but we did see evidence of the rally around time. A trip to Camaroes restaurant to say goodbye to Aunt Amy returning to the UK suddenly became even more interesting when the car park was filled with the Mercedes rally team - lots of huge trucks with grubby, stickered exteriors was enough to inspire Nelson to a big "WWWOOOOOWWWWW". The drivers and team and some local press were in the restaurant enjoying an end of rally party. A few days later and Rachel and I went to a shopping centre and found the Mitsibushi team parked on the top floor of the car park (see pic). Cue another "WWOOOOWWWWWWWW" from Nelson. Oddly, there was also an exhibition of farm animals on the same level of the car park as well as a kid's theme park. Amazing what you can find in a shopping centre car park in Brazil.

Rachel's Granny Lali's 80th. Several weeks have passed but I feel I can't really neglect to mention the huge family knees-up that occurred in Joao Pessoa at the end of June either. Laulau or Lali is a larger than life character, mother of 6, grandmother and great grandmother to countless (see pic with her and Nelson and Gloria) and she expected, organised and warranted a huge party to celebrate a significant milestone. The focus of the weekend was a 2 hour service on Saturday evening at the 1st Presybterian Church of Joao Pessoa where Laulau is a faithful attender and member of the choir. All family were dressed for the occasion, which meant suits and ties for the men, and we were all paraded in as Laulau read out our names. The service included a 45-minute sermon from the pastor who exhorted us to shine brilliantly like Jesus and look to Laulau as an example of somebody who has lived this out. After the service it was downstairs for food and some "short" speeches by select members of the family. But, once Laulau herself took the mic there wasn't a lot of hoping of getting it back again as she regaled us with endless stories (she did the same last year it seems). It was a great night, but poor Nelson was absolutely exhausted when he finally collapsed asleep in the car at 11.30pm. At 5am he was awake and ready to play...

...unlike Gloria. Nelson's sister needs to teach him some lessons on how to sleep. She managed 22 total hours asleep last Wednesday, waking only for feeds. Last night both her and Nelson managed to sleep the whole night through without waking - Nelson woke at 5.30am, Gloria woke at 7am and went back to sleep at 8am until mid-day. We think her preference for sleep is partly inspired by being the daughter of her mother and because she's figured out being asleep is so much more relaxing than waking life when your brother is a poking, hugging, kissing, slapping, prodding, pushing, stroking, patting, picking, cuddling, pulling, shouting, screaming, talking, whispering, surprising kind of guy. She seems to take it all in her stride though and beams huge smiles at all of us now, including Nelson.

I'm no longer in my mid-20s, although perhaps I'm still in my mid- to late-20s. Today is my birthday and I am 28 which seems like a frightfully old age in many respects. I`ve been having a great few days, mostly thanks to Rach who has been working hard to fix up a few surprises. On Sunday I was relieved of parenting duties (Rach's parents were here to cover) so I could relax at the beach and my favourite restaurant without having to worry about the chidlers. In the afternoon I got to see the Spain vs Germany Euro 2008 final and was thrilled with the outcome - well done you Spaniards!

Yesterday, Rach surprised me at work when she hijacked the end of my lesson with my pastors to bring me more cake. For lunch, the grandparents gave Rach and I a couple of hours off to go to Sal e Brasa - an eat-all-you-can meatery (churrascaria) where meat is delivered on spits to your table and is carved off onto your plate. As Rach pointed out, we witnessed probably the finest display of efficient and vociferous waiting we have seen in any Brazilian restaurant to date. These guys were pros, the Premier League of Natal`s food serving workforce. And after the quantity I ate, let`s just say I didn't need to eat any dinner in the evening. Today, my actual birthday, I have a day off and a meal with some students tonight and tomorrow one of the pastor`s wives has invited us round for lunch to eat homemade seafood. I've recieved numerous gifts as well, the biggest and most suprising of which was a fantastic new digital camera from Rach's folks. Schmancy pics to be posted here soon.

Everything else. I have a small library's worth of content to post on here following an eventful few weeks - Nelson's 2nd birthday, travelling, Rach granny Lali's 80th birthday, moving house to a new apartment (with the subsequent parting of ways with the wonderfully eccentric community where we used to live) and finishing off the semester, marking tests and wishing students well. I'll try to get the highlights on here over the next few days. For now, I`ll leave you with just one story...

The incident of the lost key in the night. The move to our new apartment occurred last week with Rach and the kids in Recife, and me up here in Natal abley assisted in the rearranging by 3 colourful characters from the Cultura Inglesa. I've mentioned on here before the extraordinary Sr. Ricardo and Sr. Joaquim and my problems at communicating with them, but we also had on board Sr. Jose, a man of action who thanks to his hiring a trailer for the pick-up was instrumental in getting our stuff moved across town in time for Rach and the young ones' arrival on Thursday. All in all we did OK together despite the frequent mis-communications and occasional differences of opinion about moving methodology. I picked up a few colloquialisms too and I am now well aquainted with the Portuguese vocabulary for moving a house.

However, it was on the Monday of that week that Sr. Jose stayed at our old house and I decided to sleep at our new apartment to keep an eye on our stuff. After a day filled with the strenuous shifting of bulky furniture I felt I was entitled to a dip in the condominium pool late in the evening when it was already dark. Down I went, with just my swimming trunks on and carrying only my towel and the apartment key. After a delicious 5 minutes in the vacant pool enjoying the fireworks in the night sky that accompany the Sao Jaoa festival at this time of year, I got out to dry off. As I picked up my towel, I knocked the apartment key off the chair where it promptly dissapeared between two slats in the wooden floor that surrounds the pool and fell with a disconcerting clunk several feet below. Uh-oh, I thought. I'm screwed.

The pool, you see, is on a raised platform so I spent a few minutes circling the pool trying to find a way to get down under it. With no door or entrance in sight I sheepishly went to find the night porter. Dripping in just my swimming trunks, I explained in my best Portuguese that I was new to the apartment block, was staying there alone, and had just lost the only key underneath the pool. How could I get it back? The Porter laughed - "Nao e possivel. Tem que procurar amanha". I explained that waiting until tomorrow would not be so good unless I was expected to sleep outside in just my wet swimming gear. I'd like to try and look tonight as I had no mobile, no spare key and I was far too far from the old house to walk and I had no car keys and I didn't even know Sr. Jose's number to call him to pick me up. The Porter laughed some more. Finally, I asked for a torch so I could look for it myself - I just needed directing to how to get under the pool. "Vou te ensinar", said the Porter. I'll teach you.

Round the back of the pool the Porter showed me a creaky, rusty grate which he opened into a dark underworld. To get through the grate required getting down on all fours, and the small space under the pool was only about a metre high, high enough to crawl in at least. He handed me the torch. "Tem baratinha, aqui?" I asked sheepishly ("Are there any little cockroaches here?"). He assured me no. That's good I thought, unless he meant there were only big cockroaches, rats, snakes and scorpions. This is just like the Crystal Maze, I thought to myself chirpily, or perhaps a scene from a b-horror flic, I thought to myself not so chirpily. No matter, the key only fell a few meters away from the grate. But, as I moved forward with bare palms and knees on the concrete the Porter shouted after me that I couldn't go that way, I wasn't allowed to climb over the pool's piping. The only way to get to my key was by crawling around the perimeter of the pool. Oh crumbs, I thought as I painfully turned around and shuffled off into the blackness hoping to dear God the torch had sufficient battery power.

Well, the story ends happily. 10 minutes later, I had my key and was out and the dungeon under the swimming pool was surprisingly clean and lacking in critters. I returned the torch (cue another chuckle from the Porter) and made my way up to the apartment, grazed knees and all. Once in, I called Rach. "Honey, you won't believe what happened! Come back, all is forgiven! I am clearly supposed to be married to you on account of not being able to keep myself out of trouble for more than a day...".

On the plus side, we later thought, this didn't happen when I couldn't speak any Portuguese. I was pleasantly surprised to see that my Portuguese is certainly of a level where I could survive given most strange situations, of which this was certainly one. Thank God too that the key was recoverable then and there, or otherwise I could still be walking the streets of Natal semi-naked to this day...

Life goes on. Back at work today and in fact I'm writing this when I should be planning a lesson, but it's hard to get back into the rhythm after a great paternity leave. Rach is doing great, Nelson is swell and Gloria is lovely. Rachel's parents have gone well beyond the call of duty in helping us get this little life on the road and Rachel's brother came and paid a visit this weekend which was a lot of fun. More pictures have been added here. Gloria is sleeping very well and is even more chilled out than Nelson so we are enjoying a relative banquet of sleep right now!

Joy's done it again! If you enjoyed our friend Joy Simpson's paintings (still rotating in the slideshow to the right, I believe) you'll probably enjoy this. She's just put up the photos of her time in Brazil and they are stunning. They provide the best little window into (our) life in Natal that I've seen so far. Well worth a look here.

FA Cup Final. I really enjoyed watching the FA Cup final on Saturday and seeing one of my all time favourite football players get the match winner in probably one of his last seasons playing professionally. I even wrote an article about the main man Kanu over at reallifenews.com if anyone wants to see it.

Sarah Sheeva the daughter of Baby Consuelo visits Gloria. Right, well this was out of left field but a relatively famous person in Brazilian pop culture stopped by for an evening with us recently. I had to do a bit of research on the internet to find out exactly who the socialite in my front room was, but this is the basic story.

Baby Consuelo/Baby do Brasil was a famous Brazilian singer, something of an institution I guess, with hits stretching back to the 60s. Her kids also formed music groups and bands and had moderately successful careers in Brazil. Anyway, sometime in the late 90s, Baby and several of her children and relatives converted in dramatic style to Protestant Christianity out of a lifestyle of dark religious practices and the excesses of a rock and roll lifestyle. The conversion was dramatic and long-lasting - Baby has stepped out of the music industry and is now a pastor in a church. Her daughter, Sarah Sheeva, who was a member of the pop trio SNZ along with her sisters also quit (much to the dissapointment of sections of her fans) and now takes up her time recording Christian worship music and touring doing evangelistic events.

Sarah was in Natal as part of one of these tours for a week of meetings that our church group had some hand in arranging. Of course, we were unable to attend because of the arrival of Gloria, so, instead, she visited us for a "quick visit" with a special view to meeting a new baby. Actually, the quick visit was definitely of the Brazilian variety in that it wasn't quick at all and it soon became a two hour sit down and chat about the state of the church in Brazil, the nature of conversion, the details of Sarah's family's past and present and the wonder and blessing of children. Sarah (who in terms of appearance could pass for a younger Cher) dominated the evening as I guess only a gifted evangelist with a history of performing on stages can - she spoke with real and heartfelt enthusiasm about what Jesus had done in her life. I couldn't catch everything she said in her southern Brazilian accent, but I was left with the enduring impression that this person's life had been totally turned around. The inexplicable, total, genuine and positive transformation of people by God is one of the most compelling evidences, in my opinion, of the reality of Christian truth. As Rachel later said - before she or her mother became Christians, you would be hard pressed to imagine a family in the Brazilian public eye further away from ever becoming believers. Their story is partly due to the witness of a family friend who committed to praying regularly for the family over a period of ten years.

So, above, a picture of Gloria mixing it with her famous friends. Sarah is the one holding Gloria. And here is a (kind of cheesey) video of Sarah in her hey-day as part of the trio SNZ, although she looks so much like her sisters I'm not sure who she is in the video!

ps. I tried to find some info on Baby, Sarah and SNZ on wikipedia but the only substantial articles were in Portuguese. SNZ is made up of the initials of the three sisters in the group - Sarah, Nana and Zabelle. As it happens, I discovered that SNZ is the name of an American music group and that the initials stand for something altogether more ridicilous.

Josef Fritzl, the German frozen babies, Isabella and Gloria Maclure. In the days and weeks leading up to the birth of our daughter the international media has been full of some of the most darkly disturbing crimes of abuse within the family. We have probably heard enough now about Josef Fritzl's basement prison and you may have heard about the case of three frozen babies discovered in Germany by their grown brothers and sisters who decided to clear their parents' freezer when they went to look for something to eat.

Brazil has been turned upside down by a crime which my father-in-law says has created a frenzy of public interest like he has never seen before. A father and step-mother were charged last week with the murder of 5 year old Isabella, strangled and then thrown from an apartment window several stories high. What connects all these stories is the fact that the purportrators of the crimes were moderately wealthy, middle class people who had none of the "excuses" that might accompany similar crimes in the favelas or war zones of the world. For me, it shows that the prize of development (which, for many socieities is to aim for middle class wealth-creation and to model themselves on liberal democracies of Europe) leaves gaping holes in "fixing" the human condition. It is a reminder that you cannot tame the potential evil of the human heart even for all the best political, educational and social programmes immaginable.

Having your own daughter born into this kind of news climate has left me asking (at least) three things: how could anyone do any of these things to their own children? How are we even supposed to live in a world where this kind of thing happens? How can I even possibly begin to be a parent to another real, feeling human life? The last question acknowledges that although I am unlikely to commit any crimes on the level of the people above, my best efforts are still thoroughly flawed and my children will have to grow up with the joys and pains, freedoms and traumas of having Dave Maclure as their father. In other words, fingers are pointing at me as much as to anyone else. This is at the basis of my faith as a Christian - all of us fall far short of the perfect standards required of a perfect God. This brings a possible answer to the second question above: how are we even supposed to live in this world? Well, as I see it, we begin to live in this world by looking to our Creator for guidance and salvation. In many ways, I have really struggled to maintain the disciplines of a Christian faith in Brazil mainly because kids knock you off your rhythm so frequently. However, I have never felt closer or more sure of my convictions as a Christian than in witnessing the many miracles that have surrounded the birth of my two children.

Things I miss about England #74: BBC news. As my Dad often says the British press are the best and worst press in the world. But, I'm sure they (save for the tabloids) would have dealt with the Isabella case in a more humane, impartial and level-headed way. The highly sensationalist accounts, the rather shallow journalism, the prime time interviews with the chief suspects and the violent scrum of cameras and microphones that accompanied the hand-cuffed, straight-jacketed parents had more in common with a Hollywood thriller than any John Humphreys Radio 4 piece. The problem was, I believe all this contributed to a mob mentality which resulted in some unfortunate and bizarre behaviour from the public. The apartment block where the killing occurred became a tourist attraction for hundreds of people to go and have their pic taken. Any car that came in or out of the block was set upon with billboards and stones. It was like something out of the Simpsons movie. Most unfortunately, "copy-cat" attempted murders of children allegedly occurred in different areas of Brazil.

Things I love about Brazil #99: soap operas. OK, so I don't really like Brazilian soap operas (except to help with my Portuguese) although Brazilians are famous for them, especially in China and Portugal apparently. Soap Operas here differ from the English variety by being always about the wealthiest sectors of society (Coronation Street / East Enders this is not) and they have a fixed duration usually of several weeks or months (Coronation Street / East Enders this is not). Anyway, the media circus surrounding the Isabella case utilised and pandered to Brazilians best soap opera-loving sentiments...

Gloria's status update: Gloria is sleeping. I've updated my post from a few days ago to include my daughter's weight and size details - important elements of information which some people like to know and I didn't have on me at the time.

Coming soon. The true story of how a famous Brazilian pop singer made a special trip to visit us in our home in order to see Gloria.

Laptop trouble. My laptop died a death a few months back and now the screen on Rachel's has gone on the blink. Until we get it repaired I am using my mother-in-laws to write these posts. What I'm saying is, my posts may be intermitent and sporadic in the next few weeks so bare with us! Stay tuned.

It's raining, it's pouring... The rains in Natal have started earlier this year and last night the torrents didn't let up resulting in a city drenched and sinking by mid-morning. The bad news is that this means the dengue mosquitos which breed in stagnant water have a free ticket to reproduce and spread their nasty progeny about the town. The other bad news is that this isn't the rainy season "proper" yet and the forecast for this week is more rain.

The affects to us in our lives have been that getting to and from the language schools has been chaotic and my classes have been half-empty as students and their parents haven't braved it out. In truth, most schools had to cancel lessons because of flooding. At the Cultura unit in Tirol (on the other side of town) several classrooms had leaks, streams and puddles.

Meanwhile, down at the bottom of our road we spotted a commotion and found this car, a rather nice car, parked neatly in the middle of a lake (see above). But how did it get there? I could only assume the driver left it stationed without the handbrake on and the vehicle floated away from where he had pulled up. I got a few snaps of it and later that afternoon Rachel (accompanied by a deliriously excited Nelson shouting "Carro! Agua! Carro! Agua!) happened to go past as they were towing it out. They also got the inside story on what really occurred.

It turns out that the driver wasn't from this neighbourhood and when he drove down the road, early in the morning, the whole area, including the nearby houses and shops were covered with water. He decided to turn around and thought it easier to do a u-turn behind some parked cars. What he didn't realise - and you would only know this if you had seen the surroundings pre-flood - was that not everything is perfectly level whatever appearances may suggest. In fact, as he pulled off the pavement he unwittingly drove into a huge gulley some 10 or 15 feet deep that normally housed a sunken sandy football pitch when dry. In one of the pictures above you can just make out the top of the goal posts. He must have got the fright of his life when the ground gave way and his shiny car began to nosedive, submarine-like into unknown depths. It was actually pretty dangerous and it was good he got out OK and fortunate his car was not completely lost underwater. Whatever damage was done to his car (and to his groceries which were in the boot all day), it can't have been as much as the damage to his pride as a small crowd of tutting locals chortled about the incident by the roadside all morning. All I can say is that if it had been me, a gringo, doing this, I think Rachel and I would have had to pack up and move to another city to escape the shame.

Whether you see this story as a tragedy or a comedy, Rachel, with her keen business mind put a rather hard-nosed commentary on proceedings when she spotted that the car had sunk in front of a rival English teaching school. "Well, this will be in the papers tomorrow and that's free publicity for Wizard", she noted, tongue in cheek. Well, my dear, short of flooding the street where our language school is and sinking a client's parked car near the front gate there's not a lot we can do about that...

Throughout the day students were filling me in on their rain-related stories. Most seemed to think what was happening was pretty unusual and like nothing they had seen in recent years. One guy sounded astonished that the electricity was still working in the city (thank goodness, so far, it is!). One of my Master level students told a funny story about her day. Her street was badly flooded (one family had to be rescued by firemen from upstairs windows) and the rain started to make the electronic gate at her house go doolalley. In short, it would open and close with no notice whatsoever. And so, when on one occasion it uncerimoniously slid open, out trotted a barking troupe of her family's four dogs - a huge St.Bernard, two Yorkshire terriers and a Spaniel. Once out, they apparently terrorised an old lady walking by which in turn led to much confusion and shouting between the neighbours. All this just goes to show - when it rains big style in Brazil, it comes as close to an apocalyptic, end-of-the-world scenario as you can expect to see this side of the Second Coming.

I had a fever but, thank God, it wasn't dengue. Yesterday I had a nasty fever but I seem to be over it and I'm 99% sure I've escaped the dengue on this occasion as I had none of the associated symptoms of achiness, rashes or itching. My sister in law had this last year and she really suffered with it and Dad sent me an email this week to tell me he had had it in Africa once and that it was NOT FUN.

On a slightly lighter note... some of you readers out there have let me know that you like the Things I miss / Things I like series of posts that I occasionally do. Well, a complete list of what I've talked about so far is now included in the side panel (you see it if you scroll down). It is my ambition to complete all 100 of both lists before we leave Brazil so I mustn't slack on it.

Trip to Pipa. After all that, I don't have the time or space to write much about our weekend in Pipa. Well, all that needs to be said is that we got a great deal on a huge chalet overlooking a fantastic beach near some sand dunes. We really relaxed and recharged our batteries, I'd say.

The pros: great food in Pipa at an outdoor authentic Italian restaurant overlooking the bay and a seafood restaurant (Octopus rice anyone?) which also served the best shrimp pastries I've ever eaten. On Monday we met up with Rach's parents and young Nelson and visited a gorgeous little restaurant/club at Ponta da Pirambu near Pipa. It easily makes our top 5 list of Natal "secrets" and anyone coming to visit us will be taken here for an afternoon. Also, we saw some great scenery and wildlife - butterflies, iguanas, beaches, dunes etc.

The cons: when we arrived at our hotel they offered us a free courtesy fruit juice. We waited half an hour and it never came. Ahem, I think we can do better than that. Also, breakfast was outside but whenever we both left our table unattended to get some more food or drink, our plates were attacked by flocks of birds. And lastly at the Italian restaurant, a gust of wind (which could have been borrowed from a slapstick comedy film) blew a 20 bob note out of my hand and over the balcony and far away into the night air as I was counting up the bill. I had a good look around to see if the restaurant had installed a special set of fans near the tables as part of some cunning ploy - perhaps, they have some lackey running the street below collecting airbourne money. Maybe, it's their way of ensuring the waiters get healthy tips. Well, whatever, somebody will find it and it will make their day I suppose .

5am. I started writing this post at 5am because I couldn't go back to sleep after Nelson woke up. Must get nap later.

What does Gotham's caped crusader drink? Why, Batmilk of course. At the supermarket last week and came across this delightful prospect - yoghurt either made from the milk of bats or perhaps yoghurt distributed (or enjoyed by) that famous superhero of the night, Batman. I can confirm the yoghurt does taste nice and Nelson is hooked.

The real explanation? This is yoghurt as made by Batavo, a Brazilian dairy brand. However, it is another funny example of how English words (in this case "milk") are cut and pasted into Brazilian culture*, marketing or advertising most likely (according to my students) because it lends products an air of sophistication since it mimics imported European and American goods. In this case, I just think the whole scheme horribly backfired.

* driving back from dropping off Nelson this morning I spotted posters for a reggae event called "Rastafeeling".

Orphanage. On Friday we managed to squeeze in a quick visit to the orphanage to leave some supplies. All the kids were having a nap so we didn't stay too long to play. But, we were pleased as it seems other people are taking an interest in this little project and they had a water cooler and some new kitchen equipment too.

Sunday. We've been seeing pictures of 3-inch snow back in the UK. On Sunday here we went snorkelling in warm weather during the best low tide of the year so far. Rachel's parents were around and it made for a great day out. Here are some pictures that document the whole day including some snaps from our little church group which meets on Sunday afternoons.

R.E.M. quiz answers. Thank you to all NONE of you who entered my mini competition to get the names of R.E.M. songs from snippets of lyrics I used in a recent post. Er, it was quite hard and save for my cousin's husband Rob Miles who appreciates R.E.M. to approximately the same degree as I do, I wouldn't expect too many of the uninitiated to get the answers without using an internet search engine - so, never mind. For all NONE of you that care the answers were:

Let's talk about the weather - the song Stand from the album Green.
Baby's got some new rules - the song Me in Honey from the album Out of Time
When you greet a stranger - the song Good Advices from the album Fables of the Reconstruction
The music will provide the light, you cannot resist - the song I'm Gonna DJ from the latest album Accelerate.

Let's talk about the weather... The heavens opened on Natal over the last 3 or 4 days, gushing forth torrents of tropical rain. When it rains in Natal (according to some of my teacher friends) the whole place grinds to a hault and people are confused, late, bothered, disoriented, ill and generally not themselves. Basically, it sounds like what happens in England when it snows. Anyway, everything is leaking: our house, the supermarket and the language school have all had dripping corners. Nelson caught a small bug which he seems to be coming out of, but now I'm worried I have it... thankfully, today the sun is out.

When you greet a stranger... Do you remember this guy? Well, he came back a few days ago asking for some money if he cleaned the grass at the front of our house. This was our conversation.
Me: I don't have any money (which was true!)
Bloke: OK, do you have any old clothes that I could have?
Me: Yes, I do. Wait a minute (Dave finds old shorts, St.Mikes houseparty T-shirt and old flip-flops). What about these?
Bloke: Will you let me have those if I clean the grass?
Me: Sure.
Bloke: But, I don't have anything to cut the grass with.
Me: Neither do I.
Bloke: If I go home and get some equipment can I come back and clean the grass for those clothes?
Me: Yes, that's fine.
Bloke: If I came back at 2pm?
Me: OK, no problem.
Bloke: Can I take the clothes now?
Me: (remembers how he gyped us before) Er, no, it's better if I give you them after you do the work, isn't it?
Bloke: OK, bye! See you later.

2pm came and went and I still haven't seen him.

Baby's got some new rules... Nelson is being potty trained. We wanted to get him "sorted" before his sister arrives next month. He was quite reulctant at first and even now generally seems to think having to sit on his little throne is a waste of valuable seconds when he could be doing something else like playing with cars.

Anyway, following a system of incentives in which he won a small wrapped present after each successful poo or pee in the specificied zone he's got the hang of it. Saturday was a different matter, however. Sporting his new undies we went out for a few hours to a shopping centre - bad idea. Half way down one toy aisle there appeared a small puddle on the floor. Rach got the shop assistant with the mop on to it (to be fair, judging from their reaction, this was not an uncommon occurence). I picked up Nelson and took him to the changing room.

Depending on how you look at it the changing rooms in Brazil are either very nice or really annoying. Basically, as with most things in Brazil, the cost of cheap labour means people are doing jobs that don't exist in the UK. And in Brazilian shopping centres there are often half a dozen employed women on hand to help you clear up your child's mess (a good thing, you'd think!). Now, if you remember what we learned about Brazilian women and how they feel about men taking care of babies, I was eye-balled by these assistants the moment I walked in. A man in here? A foreign man? With a baby? This I got to see!

Being the kind of male who hates asking for directions or any kind of assistance I saw it as my mission to get in and out of there as quick as possible - I was not interested in any help whatsoever. But, when I went to change Nelson and they all noticed he WASN'T wearing a nappy and that, lo and behold, he had wee-ed on his pants and I WASN'T going to put a new nappy on him it was just all too much for one woman in the dumbfounded semi-circle of curious females that had formed around me at the changing table. From beneath an extensively furrowed brow, she said, "have you run out of nappies? We have some if you want one".

Grrrrr, no! We're potty training him! Go away, all of you!!!
After that experience, Nelson and I had a pretzel to calm down.

The music will provide the light, you cannot resist... Happily, R.E.M. release their new studio album this week - the first one in 4 years. Even more happily, it's actually very good and everyone else says so too. There's some quite funky videos here by French filmmaker Vincent Moon of R.E.M. playing acoustic songs from their record in odd places - in a car, under a tree, in the road, in a cavern etc. A prize for the person who can tell me which R.E.M. songs I've cited lyrics from in the headings on this post. I cheekily downloaded an advanced copy of the new record a few days back and reviewed it here on my other blog.

(For those of you who don't know, this other blog is called beyond random, and it is where I write about everything else that's not connected to living in Brazil - it's about music, art, film, God, life etc. Take a peak if you have the time).

Culture Shock Treatment. I've been feeling a bit down lately and not really known why. I'm no longer that interested in the novelty of being in Natal - instead of wanting to listen to Brazilian music, eat Brazilian food or read Brazilian news, I've found myself increasingly anxious to get hold of the English versions of all of the above. I keep thinking about getting back to the UK even though we've been here over a year and we will still be here over a year. One or two small things haven't gone my way which got me a bit down and, despite a great life here, I've sometimes pined for the smoggy, cold, hectic life of London or York. What's going on?

Even though I pride myelf on being a bit of an international boy, in truth I haven't lived for longer than 6 months in a row outside the UK since I was 8. Nonetheless, I do come from sturdy missionary stock. How did my great grandfather, my grandfather, my parents survive months in the bush with no contact with the outside world? I have quite a few things going my way - I am surrounded by colleagues and family who speak English, we have a nice place to live in a quiet neighbourhood and I am well connected with folks back home. Surely, I can do better than this?

Actually, I sometimes think that my being connected to life in the UK through the internet, friends visiting, phone calls or post is sometimes responsible for increasing my sense of wanting to be back home. Whatever it is, I chatted about it with Rach and realised something I hadn't even thought of: I'm suffering from culture shock. A bit late granted, and probably fairly mild, but it seems to be culture shock.

I saw it in dozens of international students - usually when they were half way through their stay in York (I've been here ages and I have ages to go!), often when they had had a few knocks and when the novelty of life in York had worn out and the lure of Mum's homemade Chinese dumplings was irresistable. Culture Shock is defined in various ways but this interpretation on wikipedia suggests I have passed through the honeymoon period and am now in phase 2 - the negotiation period.

As soon as I recognised I had culture shock I felt a lot better. Now I realise it's something to get through I've been listening to Brazilian radio, eating my beans and speaking my Portuguese with extra gusto.

A truly awesome day. Actually, thanks be to God, I had a really smashing day on Wednesday which has convinced me life in Brazil is managable and actually quite enjoyable. In the morning I had an English class with some of Natal's pastors. It's my most rewarding group as I really endorse their motives for learning and I am impressed with their commitment. We had a great time, we prayed together. They are learning the irregular past verbs in English (*see language note below). Pastor Gerson, a larger than life evangelist/preacher character not wholly unlike Roger Simpson, gets frustrated at his inability to communicate in English and often bursts out with anecdotes or jokes in Portuguese. After one of his stories, in which he recounted a recent trip to Spain, I said that there was nothing in his story he couldn't say in English. So, I stopped my lesson plan, and we worked through his little tale turning all the verbs into past ones. He seemed surprised and thrilled by the end to actually have aquired enough basic English to tell a story. At the end of the hour I spoke with them at length in Portuguese and realised that in comfortable vocabulary areas my Portuguese was close to fluent. They seemed to take this as an encouragement - if their teacher could learn enough Portuguese to get by, then one day they would get English.

At lunch I spoke to my folks on Skype. They are on holiday in the States and speaking to them is always a highlight of the day. After lunch Rachel took Nelson to his first swimming lesson and he loved it. I went across town to teach English to a group of Intermediate level teenagers who have been giving my gyp lately. The classroom we usually use - a big narrow, echoey room with a loud air conditioner - never helped matters, but the air con wasn't working and we were moved to another, smaller room. This changed the dynamic considerably and the rascals more or less fell into line and with a couple of running around games for the kinesthetic learners we were away, English was learned and we had a great time.

But, probably THE highlight of the day came five minutes after the end of the lesson. The language school driver had to take me and two others back across town to the other Cultura Unit. The driver is a certain Sr. Ricardo, an earnest and well-meaning man whose baffling Portuguese (**see below) sometimes confuses Brazilians yet alone gringos like me. He has a natural lust for life which he applies to everything he does including using the car accelerator. Anyway, as I sat in the vehicle and he pulled away, the car sound system was blaring out a jolly tune and Sr. Ricardo informed me that it was him singing on it. Unbeknownst to me Sr. Ricardo is quite the singer/songwriter in his spare time. He composes Christian worship music and he has a pretty good voice. His recordings are lively but, because of costs, most of the instrumentation has been recorded on a synthesizer. As we made the 20 minute journey across town, Sr. Ricardo, eyes popping out of his head in excitement, regailed with me with the story behind every tune and then proceeded to turn the volume way up - both in his singing and on the CD player. He suggested I teach him English so he can write Englsh songs and tour the UK. I honestly think he should! His enthuisasm would win over millions. At one point he introduced a song his wife had written and proceeded to turn on the in-car light to show me that the hairs on his arm were standing on end. I think mine were too. When we stopped at traffic lights, his hands came off the wheel and involuntarily started waving and swaying to the music. His God-given passion for praise was totally infectious and I stepped out of the car at the end of the ride with a huge grin on my face and the sense that I hadn't heard any music so refreshing and uplifting in a long time. It was food for my soul and I walked to my next class buzzing and vowing to get me a copy of Sr. Ricardo's album to a) help me learn Portuguese and b) help me get up in the morning. Bless that man!

* Irregular Schmirregular. If, like me, you learned your English by osmosis, you may never have stopped to think about our often bizarre grammar and conjugation rules. The past tense in English is soooooo much easier than Portuguese when all you have to do is add -ed to verbs such as play, want and walk. But, the irregular ones are pretty irregular as my pastors have been findng out. If bought is the past of buy, why not trought for the past of try? Or, if fought is the past of fight, why not lought for the past of light? Or, if taught is the past of teach, why is brought the past of bring and not breach? Or if eat is ate, why can't I say that yesterday I bate you at tennis but you losed at chess because I chate? Or, if sat is the past of sit, then couldn't fat be the past of fit? As in, she fat in the small space, and so on...

**A footnote in the open diary of how to (and how not to) get by in the Portuguese language. Apart from Sr.Ricardo there is another Brazilian whose Portuguese I find even more baffling. He also works at the language school. He is the janitor, a Sr.Joachim. When he speaks, he reminds me of the Octopus from Pocoyo. You need a black belt in Portuguese to understand him. The day I get his every word will be the day I see some winged pork chops flutter past the window.

This may be longest ever post. If you've got this far you're a saint and I salute your stamina...

Things I miss about England #10: the pub. The pub is such an important institution in England - a warm and generally safe communal gathering area, now free of smoke. And they serve PINTS of beer at pubs, something Brazilians don't do on account of the hot weather allegedly warming the beer before you've drunk it.

Things I love about Brazil #89: Sitting outside on the street on lawn chairs. This particular social trait is more common in Natal than many other Brazilian cities. But, in the cool of the evening, you can stroll around the neighbourhood to find everyone - from grandparents to sleeping babes - propped up on lawn chairs, the awake ones having a natter. It may not be the pub, but I reckon it's the Natalese equivelent. Walking past people sitting on chairs outside houses is how you make yourself known (I imagine if I wanted to join the Natal mafia this would be how I would make a name for myself). One old lady who can always be found passing her rosary beads through her aged fingers occasionally takes it upon herself to barrage with me confusing stories in Portuguese. I take that as a sign of acceptance. Sitting on chairs in the evening is also a sure way to get the latest gossip and nobody is better positioned to do this than the bug-eyed lady with the poodle. I was passing a group of Brazilians huddled in their white plastic seats at the bottom of our road just the other night. I greeted them warmly and walked on. A few yards past I heard one old lady ask, "Quem é?" (Who's he?). And back came the response from the bug-eyed, poodle-owner "É o pãe do galeginho..." (He's the Dad of the little blondie). I chuckled as I walked up our hill. I may not be a somebody in Natal, but I am Nelson's Dad and that's good enough for me.

Three surreal things that happened to me at the supermarket. I did the weekly shop this morning. On my way in, I noticed that we had live acoustic music piped around the shop (surreal thing number 1). It wasn't the first time, but with his tambourine and harmonica to boot Mr. Natal (as likes to be known) was crooning away for the benefit of the happy shoppers. The 8am to 10am slot on a Thursday morning at Nordestão supermarket may not be headlining Glastonbury, but it's a start I suppose.

In the banana aisle I bumped into one of my students, a 20-something Master student called Alexandro. He was a sight - he had a large shopping list in one hand and an open bottle of beer, nearly finished in the other, whilst nudging an overflowing trolley with his elbow (surreal thing number 2). He explained he was in there doing the groceries for his Mum. I felt like asking him if the trauma of it all required the early morning alcohol intake. It seems to be more common in Brazil than in England (where it's just not proper!) to start consuming your purchases before the checkout and then passing the empty packets or bottles through the till. Sometimes I see people pick off a yoghurt from the cooler section and quoff it down on the spot. Even so, I'd never seen someone drinking shop beer at around 9.30am.

Out in the car park and as I was putting my bags in the car, I was accosted by a little lady who kept blowing me kisses (no joke, surreal thing number 3). She had a prepared speech and it seemed to suggest she wanted to sell me a small turtle for my son (she had seen the car seat). I was about to explain that we already had a turtle when she reached into her bag and offered to show me one. I raised my eyebrows, understandably - you mean, you have an aquarium in your handbag? I've seen many-a-thing stored in a lady's handbag but never a bunch of amphibians in a paddling pool. Well, it turns out I had missed the part of her spiel where she said "stuffed-toy" and "used to prop the door open". The item in question was a turtle-shaped, door-stopper. I politely declined at which point she blew me another kiss and told me to "stay with Jesus". I think she had spotted the fish logo on the back of our car and decided that she needed to use the religious angle to promote her product. Very odd, but perhaps it's something to tell the people on the lawn chairs.

Chad part 2. Just spoke to Mum this morning on Skype. She is in Southampton with my Uncle and Aunt. Things have quietened down steadily through the week. Today, Dad was able to call her from their own house which, surprisngly and wonderfully, hadn't been looted. Still lots of unanswered questions, missing people and chaos. And it is possible the rebels may try to re-enter the city at some point. But, all in all, the news coming out of Chad has been better, thank God. Be in touch if you would like more news about this.

Marcelo Alves. My lawyer friend (see last week's post) was accepted for his PhD at King's College. Wahey!

Edson Careca. It was carnaval this weekend which is a good time to get together with the family and hit the beach. The sun was beating down and everywhere was obscenely crowded but we had a good time nonetheless. For the fourth time, I went on the sand dune buggy ride, this time with Rachel's brother and girlfriend. In a moment of insanity we chose to go with the driver Edson Careca (see last week's post) who seemed hell-bent on raising his own ridiculously high bar for driving like a lunatic. Nelson complained about a sore bum the next day and Marcella vowed never to do it again.

Things I miss about England #28: Cycle lanes. Steve and I cycled out to Genipabu beach from north Natal (inspired by Theo who walked there in a morning) on Monday. It was fairly flat and the scenery was beautiful - a recommended excursion for any gringos, as long as you have sundown layered on with a spade, shades and a hat. The only thing was in the short stretch on busy streets it was really a case of us battling the buses, the buggies, the pedestrians, the animals, the motorbikes and the potholes with no protection except your wits. York cycle paths this was not. At one point, I was distracted by the sight of a small town car close to scraping the floor under the burden of the 9 people it was carrying. That's 2 in the front, 4 in the backseat and three kids sitting in the boot, with the hatch open and their legs dangling out over the bumper waving at the cars behind.

Things I love about Brazil #39: Carne de sol and macaxeira fritas. After our cycle ride I was famished and couldn't wait to order my favourite snack. Carne de sol is sun-dried, cured meat which is included in many of the dishes of northern Brazil. It is often cut into strips or shredded and has a very salty taste. It is usally fried very simply - probably in soya oil - and comes with some tomatoes, onions and lettuce if you're lucky. The local deli sells it and today I bought a kilo to make for lunch. Macaxeira (Manioc in English) fritas (fries) are a good accompaniment, very filling and so nice when they are crispy and fresh. Nelson loves to get a long Macaxeira frita, dip it in ketchup or Mayonnaise (or both mixed together) and suck the chip soggy.