Chauney to Beauvais to Madrid to Sao Paulo (to a hotel in Sao Paulo and then back to the airport) to Recife... in 44 hours. I know I should write about the great holiday I've just had, and I know there are probably more interesting things to write on a blog but I feel I need to get a few things off my chest after an exhausting long haul journey that took the best part of two days. This may take a while.

HOURS ON ROAD: 0
It all began innocently enough at 4am in France when Mum and Dad drove me across the sleeping French countryside to Beauvais airport. After goodbyes, I checked in to my Ryanair flight, bought a copy of Bill Bryson's autobiography of his childhood ("The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid") and mentally prepared myself for what I expected to be a long trip home... You see, after taking Ryanair to Madrid I was going to be in the hands of the brain-bogglingly incompetent organisation known as BRA, an airline so startlingly lacking in any sense of customer service or fair play there is a ground swell of disgruntled customers on the Brazilian internet forming organisations to boycott this chennabing company. We had already had our share of trouble trying to confirm my flights, they had cancelled my flight for the day I was supposed to be flying, and now my direct flight home was set to go via Sao Paulo... For reasons I won't go into and probably don't fully understand, by the grace of God, Rachel managed to get herself and Nelson on a direct TAM flight from Paris to Recife.

HOURS ON ROAD: 7
Once in Madrid, after some lunch, I made my way over to the BRA desk to check in my bags. Despite the screens displaying a 15:10 flight nobody appeared at the check in desk for hours. Complete silence and no BRA staff in sight. Thanks to my sister-in-law having made some calls the previous day I expected this delay, but the scores of other Brazilians who were there certainly did not. After some time those in the check-in line began to make themselves at home. Brazilians occupy space much the same way gas fills a box - randomly until all the corners are filled. What amused me was the way they made the most of the space BEHIND the check-in desks reserved for airport employees only. Kids jumped up and down on the luggage scales, one lanky chap took a nap on the desk itself while Gramps nodded off in the swivel chair. One enterprising lady covertly attempted to switch on the airport computers to try and see where our flights were... (pics of all this to follow).

HOURS ON ROAD: 12
After a few hours, the chattering amongst the Brazilians began in earnest and was generally good-humoured and banterous all things considered. But, the main question: what was to be done about our invisible flight? As in Brazil those that really took the initiative in getting things going were the middle-aged women, robust housewives with a point to prove. Whilst their husbands sat around supping cans of San Miguel they organised a factory line of complaint forms. I did my part, and one Brazilian lady sent her English speaking daughter over to check I had filled in the form correctly and complained about everything I was supposed to. Several took numerous pictures of every detail, presumably so photographic evidence could be used in court in the future case of the Brazilian people vs BRA. A coke-bottle-bespectacled Spanish airport employee was summoned at one point. When we mentioned BRA he blew a raspberry and waved his hand dismissavely. I didn't need to know Spanish to understand that he had probably been asked about BRA many times over the last few months and there was little he or we could do. Being uninformed was doubly frustrating - if the flight was known to be late and there were BRA employees to check our bags, we could have gone into Madrid for a few hours and done some site-seeing, but no such luck.

HOURS ON ROAD: 17
Eventually, at 21:00 somebody got wind that our check-in desks had changed to some new ones down the hall 50 yards. There began a mad scrum of children, hand luggage, trolleys and tickets to get to the new desks. There was an unspoken fear that some of us might be bumped, hence the rush. Those enterprising women who had organised the compaint forms continued their military operations by enlisting their husbands into securing the perimeter to ensure nobody jumped the line. We checked-in, moved into the departure lounge. Madrid airport, it has to be said, did not help much - it is a grubby little hole of an airport with large swathes cordoned off for development. No internet cafes either, to my dismay. So, most of us made use of the available seats and waited and waited and waited. The TV screens informed us our flight would be here 22:30, then 23:30. At 23:45 I turned the last page of the Bill Bryson book I had bought earlier but still no sign of our plane. Over the course of the day BRA had failed to provide us with any food (or any person to even talk to!) and so at midnight airport employees dished out sandwiches and coke bottles to us ravenous passengers. At 12:30am the plane arrived, and the exiting BRA victims filed out in dribs and drabs to raptuous applause from all of us.

HOURS ON ROAD: 21
At 1.00am things got interesting (or not) as Brazilian lady next to me in the line felt there was nothing better to do than to practice her English by regailing me with mundane banalities concerning the seven years she had passed in London in the 1980s. What I found surprising was how unfussed she was about the delay. I would nervously play with my watch and mutter "why are we not flying yet?" and she would reply dreamily "yes, this is very disrespectful to us. But my son, who is eighteen, will probably study in England later this year..." It helped past the time, I guess, although I was struggling to concentrate as my leaden eye-lids were lowering involuntarily. Shortly after, I was awoken from my stupor as the pilot and staff passed us to get on the plane which resulted in more claps and whoops from those of us awake. By 1.45am, it all felt like a strange surreal nightmare not helped by the boring woman next to me telling me such details as "I have a friend who teaches Flamenco in Glasgow", and then almost immediately and unrelatedly, "one thing I like about the English is they are not afraid of nakedness - you know, people taking off their clothes and lying down in cemetries". WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!!!! AND WHY ARE WE NOT ON THIS PLANE YET??!!!!

HOURS ON ROAD: 22.5
But, by the grace of God, by 2.30am we were on the plane and in the air, some twelve hours later than most of us expected. Nobody was assigned the seat next to me, so I stretched out and slept fairly well. Two rubbery meals were delivered to us over the course of the flight. As we approached Sao Paulo I had a scare. The pilot was saying something in Portuguese on the intercom but I wasn't concentrating. Something he said caused huge consternation in the cabin as Brazilians, up in arms, shouted "Opa!" and "Eta!", tutted and grunted, eyebrows raised in disgust. Baring in mind an airplane had crashed in Sao Paulo less than two weeks earlier, I feared that - following this reaction to the pilot's announcement - at best we would be landing in a football field or at worst one of our wings was on fire. Perhaps, typical to BRA form, we were about to be rerouted to Caracas. When I asked the couple behind me what the problem was they said: "Sete, a temperatura em Sao Paulo esta sete graus!" ... That is to say, the pilot had given the temperature on the ground in Sao Paulo. For Brazilians, it was to be a positively arctic-like 7C. I wiped my brow relieved. Cold weather was something I could cope with. Judging by the reaction of my co-passengers, freezing weather was probably on a par with imminent death.

HOURS ON ROAD: 32
And so, we plopped out of the clouds harmlessly, over sprawling favelas and landed with no difficulty in Sao Paulo. I picked up my suitcase which I was then to take round to check-in once more. The BRA desk was a mess and the dozen of us who were expecting to connect to Recife did what we had a lot of practice doing: we waited. We had missed our connection (obviously) so BRA, in their benevolence, ushered us onto a bus to take us to an hotel until our afternoon flight. The bus driver got lost on the way (begging the question, does any BRA employee know how to correctly transport anyone from a specified point A to a desired point B?). The hotel was pleasant enough and I was assigned a room, and then another one which, unlike the first, had it's own bed. In a bid to communicate my whereabouts I tried using the phone but failed dismally (probably not BRA's fault this one). I twice spoke to a man who, sadly, wasn't my brother-in-law Nelson. When I asked to use the hotel internet the polite lady gave me a sign-up sheet and password, neither of which worked. Internet was tantalising close but there was nothing anybody could do to get me online, so I went for a walk to find an internet cafe outside. It was Sunday morning (I had forgotten which day of the week I was in) so everything was shut except for a charismatic church and a Habib's restaurant. I probably should have gone to church, but instead indulged in a Carne Pastel and Kibe from Brazilian's finest fast-food emporium. My brief glimpse of the city left me with an enduring image of a gulag concentration camp. Everything was gray and grimy. Paulistas (Sao Paulo-ians) huddled together on street corners, huge overcoats, rubbing their gloved hands together and mumbling to each other through their scarves. I, in just an extra shirt, felt that 7C was a perfectly good temperature for a sprightly walk.

HOURS ON ROAD: 38
After lunch at the hotel it was back to the airport. The dozen of us on this ordeal together were forming a tight-knit crisis community. The journey ride was filled with more endless chattering of check-in desks, delays and the prospect of legal action directed against Brazil's most vilified air transporter. At the airport, more chaos. The line for the BRA desk zig-zagged endlessly through Sao Paulo's concrete airport for several hundred yards. When we found the end of the queue we were practically outside. Wisely, I stuck close to my friends, especially the ones who seemed to be the most skillful complainers. Shortly, we were given our own desk as we were on connection. It seemed like we were getting somewhere. But another hour passed and nobody was checking our bags. In theory we had already missed our connecting flight. Finally, a very stressed BRA employee who had one ear permanently glued to a walkie talkie processed our bags and wrote out our boarding cards by hand. Another mix-up ensued for me, in which time I lost a vital piece of paper from my passport, entered the Domestic departure area (I was going to Recife, after all!) instead of the International departure (the BRA flight's final destination was Milan) and got stuck behind the red tracksuited delegates from the Pan American Games' Peruvian team at the hand-luggage x-ray machine.

HOURS ON ROAD: 39.5
I scampered to my gate as they were boarding. Once through the gate I was pulled aside where I met up (again!) with the same dozen travel-weary passengers who had been on the original Madrid flight. I greeted them with a cheery "Tudo bem, gente?" and I was met with some wry smiles in return. There was a problem. BRA weren't happy (why would they be?) with our non-electronic boarding cards (which, incidentally, they had issued!). For a while it looked like we were going to get bumped from the flight, but finally, and after some calls, they scribbled our seat numbers on our tickets and let us board. I found my seat (26G) and sat down relieved. Five minutes later a sweaty man came pacing down the aisle, stopped next to me and mumbled something about wanting to sit in seat 26G. The air stewardess came over. Sure enough, he had an ELECTRONIC boarding pass which said 26G. My homemade "fake" boarding pass which had been cobbled together looked decidedly unauthentic in comparison. I gripped my seat handles in preparation for a fight: I WOULD NOT BE BUMPED FROM THIS FLIGHT! Fortunately, there was space (just!) for all of us and the man took a seat a little behind me. We took off, some two hours late.

HOURS ON ROAD: 41
For the first time on my journey BRA provided onflight entertainment. Up until then it had been a case of no magazines, no TV and no headphones for armrest FM. But, here, on my final leg of the journey, some very throughtful air steward decided that all of us in the cabin could do with a bit of "Simply Red". So we watched a DVD of Mick Hucknall and co live in concert for two hours. My problem was that I had a loud speaker above my seat which made it impossible to ignore the spectacle, but I was some 40 feet from the TV set, and so through squinted eyes I could only make out the bobbing red barnet of the leadsinger. So, it was entertainment, but not of the classic variety. And then at long last we descended into Recife and the plane touched down. As soon as the steward uttered the immortal words "Finalmente, chegamos em Recife" ("Finally, we've arrived in Recife") the cabin burst into spontaneous cheering...

HOURS ON ROAD: 44
Once in the airport, my bag was first off the conveyor belt and I pegged it past the customs man and out. I was mobbed by Rachel's family and Ruth, all of whom had been at the airport for the best part of the day scanning the passengers of all flights in from Sao Paulo and trying to find out my whereabouts. Steve suggested we should design a T-shirt with the slogan: "I'm not a feminist, but I do say no to BRA". Back at the flat, our good friend Julian Kenny made the fair point that BRA probably stands for "Bl£#dy Ridiculous Airline".

With retrospect there was some good things about these flights... OK, maybe not "good" things but at least silver linings on the edge of a very big cloud. I can think of three things. Firstly, baby Nelson didn't have to travel this way home. Rachel had a direct flight from Paris. I left early on Saturday morning and she left on Sunday afternoon and she nearly beat me home! Some of the Brazilians on the Madrid flight had young families - what a nightmare it would have been to entertain, feed and water everybody for 44 hours in airports and airplanes. Secondly, my luggage wasn't lost. Thirdly... I can't think of a third thing... I suppose we didn't crash. Oh, and it did give me the opportunity to read lots of books. I had a Gideons New Testament and read all the book of Acts which can't be bad.

All of this leads me to conclude two things.

Things I miss about England #22: BRA does not exist. English people should be grateful that no British airline operates at quite the same level of incompetence as BRA.

Things I love about Brazil #77: The generally good-natured and efficient way Brazilians deal with a crisis. Latin Americans just seem to get on with life and generally remain up-beat and cheerful even if the world is falling to pieces around them. Their main tactic is to keep talking to each other, speaking in loopy conversations about everything. Brazilians, particularly, seem to have an in-built chip for remaining optimistic in the face of insurmoutable odds. I have to say for most of the time on this adventure I was fairly amused and content. And that was definitely because I wasn't doing it all alone. I can't think of a better group of people to spend 44 hours in close proximity to than a posse of all-age, mixed-background, pepped-up Brazilians.

NB. This was the second longest travel nightmare of my life, still some 16 hours short of the 3 day round-Africa trip to Chad in 2000.

So, it's goodbye to France... It's been a great week here with Mum and Dad and everyone. Everyone is exhausted - babies crying at night mostly. I fly out tomorrow morning on Ryanair then to Brazil on the impossibly unreliable and difficult to confim flights with BRA airlines. Next post back in Brazil.

York to Leeds to London to Wadhurst. Thanks to Hutchings' lift I made it to Leeds on time... thanks to Roger Simpson's generosity I made it across London in a taxi instead of the tube... thanks to the South East trains I arrived in Wadhurst 25 minutes late because of power failure... So great to see so many cousins, second cousins, Uncles and Aunts down in Wadhurst.

Wadhurst to Dover to Calais to Chauny. It's an overcast morning in a tranquil French village and I am writing emails from a room in the corner of a spralling manor house. The house belongs to my cousin Jane and her husband Seb. Also resident here (or near here) are their three kids; Jane's folks (my Uncle John and Aunty Margaret), some cats and other farmyard critters. Rachel and Nelson arrive tomorrow direct from Recife to Paris. We will all be joined by even more cousins and second cousins over the week.

Getting to France with Mum and Dad was no problem on the ferry. Jane's little car with the worrying clunk under the back axle stayed steady, despite the piles of suitcases. I have loads more to write on here but the French keyboard is driving me nuts; it's already taken me far too long to write this much. Perhqps next ti,e I'll just zrite the e,qil on Dad's co,puter qnd copy it over ,qnuqlly;

London to Manchester to York. Just a brief update from casa Byrne. It's great to be here and finally meet Gracie Byrne! Danny's cooking a fry up, Gracie's playing with her jungle gym. I have just been evicted from the dining room to allow Danny's Dad to the lay the table.

Yesterday was a success when it could so easily have gone all wrong. Made it to Victoria Coach Station in time for £2 Megabus trip up to Manchester. Half the nations of the world were represented on the coach - another reminder of being back in multicultural Britain. Despite rain and roadworks-inducing diversions we made it to Manchester on time. Paul Rockley was there, and it was great to catch up with him, his family and Nathan and Priya. They are a very inspirational family, trusting God in the wake of a painful six months. They drove me to York for the St.Mikes evening service where, I should've guessed, Roger dragged me to the front to share a bit about life in Brazil. I saw everybody I wanted to see and I wasn't late for anything... a miracle!

(Also, I should add how much fun it was seeing the Thomas' little one Rachel on Friday, jamming until "my fingers bled" with Mev and seeing folks from EEFC at Dave Plowman's wedding on Saturday).

Natal to Recife to Madrid to Luton to London. I'm writing this in Mev's room back in ol' Blightey. It's been a long couple of days but I slept 11 hours last night and feel great. A few amusing incidents trying to get out of Brazil... in Recife I went to the shopping centre to change some Reais into Euros. The first place I went to put up a real fight, they looked at my passport, made some phonecalls, got very concerned and refused to serve me unless I had my CPF number (which was back in Natal). I half expected some security guards to pop round the corner and whisk me off to some interrogation room. In my huffiest Portuguese I explained it wasn't important as I was only in Madrid for 4 hours and would just get money some other way. So I walked out. 10 minutes later I find another place to change money, it looked official from the outside but in the cubicle there was small man in a shirt and jeans with a blaring TV behind him - no questions asked, he did not even want to see my passport and he gave me a good rate for my Euros. If at first you don't succeed in Brazil, try, try, try again.

On the flight over I sat next to a Brazilian family who were travelling to Lisbon. They were coming from the southern-most tip of Brazil. I thought I had a long travel itinery but these guys had had to drive to Porto Alegre from their home (3 hours), take a flight to Sao Paulo, stay a night in a hotel, fly up to Recife (4 hours), fly to Madrid (8 hours), then back to Lisbon... They had brought the kids and Granny+Grandpa. It must have been a trip of a lifetime and cost them a small fortune. But, like me, they were on the exceedingly budget "BRA" airlines... known as "The flying bra" in our family. Again, I am reminded of how big Brazil is. In fact, this week I found out that in Natal we are closer to Africa and Europe than we are to Sao Paulo in the south.

Madrid, and our plane arrives late. Easyjet aren't happy about my 30 kilos bag. I repack it and get it down to 19 kilos with the rest in my now exceedingly heavy hand luggage. I drink 3 cans of Guarana (of the 12 I packed) to maximise on weight. Having guzzled all the fizzy drinks I should ever want I don't have time or desire to buy any snacks in Madrid. So, that hassle changing cash in Recife into Euros? I needn't have bothered.

But, seeing Mum and Dad in Luton made it all worth it. And after a pub lunch in which Roast Lamb and Stocky Toffee Pudding were heartily enjoyed, and after paying a visit to sweet baby Rachel Thomas and her folks, all was well again...

Sweet Curry, the Brazilian view of foreigners and Princess Anne. Thanks to Ruth bringing some Rafi's Spice Box packs over with her we had TWO curries last night at our house. We made it a dinner party with Rachel's parents and also some of the trainers on the CELTA course that is running in Natal this month. There was some good banter at the table between Steve (Rachel's Dad), Ron and Julian. What these three don't know about English Teaching isn't worth knowing.

We got onto the subject of the stereotypes Brazilians have of Brits and Americans. It was not uncommon for me last semester to get students asking me out of the blue questions like: "Do people laugh and have fun in England?", "Why does everyone like the Queen?", "If somebody falls down in the street, is it true that in England everybody will ignore them?" and so on. Ron had some good stories to do with this. I think I should quote him directly from his book - the essential How to Say Anything in Portuguese - by Ron Martinez.

In part due to the constant exportation of images and "culture" from other countries to Brazil, some Brazilians who have never even left their own cities believe they know all there is to know about where you are from. Especially if you are of North American or European origin, Brazilians will assume that you are a cold fish, are work-obsessed, are probably bad in bed, dance like you have a herniated disc and only bathe once a week.

From my experience, Ron's analysis is spot on. However, the Brazilians are probably only right about the dancing. Most Brits I know have a bath at least twice a week.

Small aside... Steve has to give a short speech immediately preceding Princess Anne (of all people!) at a Cultura Inglesa conference in Sao Paulo this July. He got me to proof read the script before it was screened by the Palace. I get the impression Steve is dead chuffed about this opportunity... and, well, I think he should be.

Mev has left the building, Ruth has come in and gone to bed. After 6 glorious months in which he made many contributions to our meagre lives in Natal (mainly noise and smell contributions) Mev has returned from whence he came and left a rash-sized hole in our home... No sooner was he out the door on early Saturday morning than we had Ruth Leckenby of YOYO and St.Mikes fame arrive last night for 6 weeks. Haven't seen her today. She may be asleep still.

Birthdays galore! It was my birthday on Sunday. Rach surprised me on the Saturday night and instead of taking me to see Shrek 3, whisked me off to our favourite Pousada (B+B) for a night of unbroken sleep whilst Grandparents babysat little guy. I'll let her tell her side of the story next blog. Thanks to all who were around for the big weekend. And thanks to Brazil for beating Chile 3-0 and generally leaving us all a lot happier with our football than this exact same date last year (when England and Brazil got knocked out the WC). Oh, and "Parabens" and "Feliz Anniversarios" were also celebated in aid of it being Mariano's birthday last Tuesday and Tio Nelson's birthday on Saturday.

A full English fried breakfast, tea with fresh milk, fresh bread and cereal that doesn't taste like cardboard. Just some of the things I'll be looking forward to on a brief return trip to the UK. Rach will fly out to France later in July and I (with my parents) will join her and Nelsinho for a holiday with my side of the family. I arrive in the UK on Friday 13th (ominous for some, but not for me - I'm a Christian). I would like to see babies Rachel Thomas, Gracie Byrne and Esme Kippin as well as celebrate Danny's birthday and my Dad's birthday too. So, will be in York Sunday 15th until Tuesday 17th probably then off to France on the 19th...

Re: comments above. We really do miss Mark, really we do.

More funny English from recent student exam papers.
Job application for a chef: "I think I would be really good at this job. I've always wanted to be a cooker". (We have all the equipment we need sir, it`s a chef we want!).

In a composition about holidays: "We all need a holiday. It is important to have a break from your dairy routine". (Yes, but can I have a holiday even if I'm not a farmer?).

Goodbye Henry. The legend leaves. For the sake of posterity, I'm so pleased I saw him score at Highbury once. Cesc and Gilberto the way for the future. Either that, or I'm supporting Barcelona next season...

Hello R.E.M. The greatest band in the world (IMHO) are playing five dates in Dublin as an open rehearsal for their new album. After 27 years they're still flying the flag although it's uncertain if (to mix metaphors) the boat floats as well as it did... Sadly, I shan't be going to Dublin but I have found the dimmed coals stoaked into life for the music of Stipe, Buck and Mills by an excelllent blog where a chap tries to write a commentary on every R.E.M. song ever recorded (that`s about 250 tracks!). I have also been quite amused by the cultural marriage of two of my favourite instituions - R.E.M. and the Simpsons. Ever wondered what Homer would sound like singing "It's the end of the world as we know it (and I feel fine)". Well, click here and see.

ENGLAND v BRAZIL
Things I miss about England #29: The Police are generally not bent. Following the mid-week wedding of Rachel's cousin Natasha to K Max (not sure how to spell his name, but that's how it sounds...) we were stopped at about 10.00am just outside Joao Passoa at a police roadcheck. Mark was driving and four officers were annoyed he didn't have his passport even though he didn't need it and had never been asked for it before. They tried every trick in the book to get us to pay up - "This can be settled here and now" etc. They feigned calling the Federal Police (which we were fine about as this would have confirmed Mark was in the right). They even took Mark and I out the car to semi-frisk us for "armas", but it was actually a cunning ploy to get us to look in our pockets for 10 bob they could have. Anyway, we stood our ground and within 20 minutes were on our way. Just a pain is all. You can see how it is easy to play this game - if we had handed over just R10 (£2.50) at the start they would have waved us through...

Things I love about Brazil #19: People know how to throw a party. To say goodbye to Mark some friends of ours (Marcello and Veronica and their two kids Kaka and Jonathan) organised a huge, no-holds-barred send off. It was a surprise party at their apartment complex with BBQ, some brief dramatic performances, speeches, prayers, hugs, tears and video messages on a big screen. All week everyone had managed to keep schtum during the planning and not let Mev in on the secret. The big event is still going on as I write - we came back to put Nelson to bed. It all seemed to work exceedingly well. Veronica said her aim with the party was "to make Mark cry" (Brazilians love everyone to bawl at farewells). I said, being a British lad, he wouldn't. I wish I could say I lost the bet, but despite torrents gushing forth from Brazilian tear ducts, Marks eyes remained resolutely dry throughout the night.

I was mighty impressed with the affection poured on Mev at this party. If I had been organising his farewell he would have been lucky to get a piece of pizza at the airport and a hearty slap on the back...

End of the Semester shenanigans... All the kids are panicing and excited in equal measure at the end of the semester. More exams so more amusing uses of English to correct. Really, it is hardly fair to write this stuff here but this student got a very good mark in all other respects: "Huteri's is a club with very loud music. You can dance until your legs can't handle you anymore!".

I know exactly what she means, but the implication is that if you dance too much your legs might get so exhausted they will detach themselves from your waist and literally walk out... if only she had put "it" instead of "you".

For people learning English, prepositions (by, in, on, at, about, with, for, of etc.) are a nightmare - so small, totally irregular and liable to alter meaning considerably. in fact, it's still the one area my wife and her sister get wrong despite having total fluency in English in all other respects. One of the teacher´s here told me that when he writes English he does everything in his power (rewriting and rewriting sentences) to make sure he avoids using prepositions because he fears he will make a mistake. As an example, one student volunteered this mistake she had made in a test last year: "I lived in a house made by trees".

Sunday Times. We had an excellent Sunday lounging round the house after the hectic running about for Nelsinho's Saturday party. After church in the morning, Steve and Celia, various other relatives and Nelson and Marcella came over. Natal is in the midst of it's rainy season and so we couldn't venture out even if we wanted to because the skies were hurling down torrents of water... a great excuse to sit back, finish off Nelson's birthday cake and watch Beckham leave the Santiago Bernabeu with La Liga trophy. It would have capped a perfect weekend except...

The short but exceedingly significant life of Perry "Muggins" the Gatinho, died 18th June 2007 aged 3 weeks approx. Last Thursday one of the Cultura Inglesa students found a very young kitten under a box under a tree outside the language school. Whoever left him there was smart as lots of kids pass by that way to and from the Cei and Floca schools. Sure enough, one of them picked up the kitten and came into Cultura. This "gatinho" eventually ended up on my lap, and in a moment of childlike compassion I decided to take the cat home without even consulting my wife (known for being less feline friendly). Perhaps, I still harbour some need to atone for my treatment of young cats when I was a kid (a story of which was quoted by my best men at my wedding).

I soon realised that looking after such a young kitten was going to be harder than I expected - perhaps, as a kid you forget the responsibility that comes with having animals if your parents are around. Anyway, after checking the internet and consulting Uncle Nelson's girlfriend (a vet), we got him a nice box and fed him formula milk through a syringe. He perked up well and soon began to work his charm on us, including my wife. By Saturday, after having cared for him for three days around the clock, I felt we should get him out of here to somebody else. Sadly, Brazil is not equipped with an RSPCA and we were a bit short of options on who to call... However, by Sunday I was amazed to hear a chorus from the family - led by Rachel! - suggesting we should keep Perry. Nelson seemed to enjoy him and he would be less of a pain to keep than a dog. Marcella (the vet) gave advice about injections and said she would help. So, I too became convinced - Perry would be our family mog.

But, alas, when I went to give him his 11pm feed he had become quite listless and lethargic. A bad sign, and despite various attempts to revive him, he passed away during the night. Cause of death unknown - perhaps he got a bit damp and caught a chill from all the rain. Perhaps the thought of a life of being whumped and verbally abused by Nelsinho was too much of a shock to the system for young Perry. Who knows? In any case, I hope we gave him a better shot at life than he would have had. (I find myself being strangely philosophical as I write this: "Why did it happen? Was it the right thing to take him in? What if...? What does God think about the life of a small cat? What's the right perspective to have when the world, Brazil even, has much much greater problems and tragedies?")

So, here is a short biography of his accomplishments:

Perry was named after the Arsenal footballer of the same first name (Perry Groves). They have in common the same ginger haircolour. In his short career as a cat Perry survived the traumatic experience of leaving his mother aged only 2 and a half weeks. He also survived a 1 year old's birthday party, learned to feed from a syringe and contrbuted two chapters to a collected academic work on the price of fish in 16th Century Switzerland. He passed away in his sleep surrounded by his friends. R.I.P. Perry.

The first birthday party of Nelson (aka. Pocoyo). Just a quick note, exhausted after a great day. Lots of family and friends around for the little one's first. Big thank yous to many, many people - not least Rach (for planning), Nels (for sleeping in the morning so he could be awake for his party), Steve and Celia (for everything), Mev (for blind photography), Amy (for making Pocoyo's Mum's dress), Barbara and Mariano (for offering a spare nappy in an emergency), Granny and Grandpa Mac (for singing Happy Birthday via a tape sent from Chad) and all you others who travelled distances and gave top pressies.

"I'd like a diet baby, a toddler burger, extra cheese... thanks". Last Thursday we went to Maracajau and to a water park they had there. Nelson loved it, as did we all. Spotted this amusing use of English at the entrance.

Busy but fun few days. On Saturday we flew down to Recife for Miguel's first birthday - Miguel being Nelsinho's best mate and the son of our good friends Barbara and Mariano. First year birthday's are huge events here - this one had 8000 balloons for decoration and was on the scale of a wedding reception.

On Sunday it was round to Tia Aurora's new flat and a surprise lunch for Nelson's Great Grandma Laulau who is soon 79. I hope nobody will be offended if I say that Laulau is a nutter - but the best kind of a nutter: the really good egg sort of a nutter. Much good family banter was had by all, the only hitch being when, after some short family speeches in honour of the great lady, Laulau took to the floor herself and got immersed in telling unconnected stories from her youth. (Excerpts: "I grew up in a lighthouse... My Father who was a strict Presbyterian made us dress up for a Bible study each evening... I was trying to come from the interior with a huge suitcase that was too big for the car...). Half an hour later the food was cold and people were trying to gently usher her toward a conclusion so we could start eating.

ENGLAND v BRAZIL
Things I miss about England #31: Bringing your own bags to the Supermarket. I've just come back from the weekly shop at Nordestao (a very good chain of North East Brazilian supermarkets) with another two dozen plastic bags. The problem here is that labour being so cheap, Supermarkets employ a small battalion of baggers. These baggers are generally amiable but they take their job very seriously and practically bag every single object TWICE. Today, I thought I got away with it as the till I was passing through did not have a designated bagger. I quickly started stuffing as many fruit and veg into as few bags as possible hoping to stem the tidal flow of crinkly plastic to our larder at home... but, alas, bagger "Maria" spotted me, (a customer!) bagging my own produce and so she stepped in and promptly took over. What's more she re-bagged (twice!) the fruit and veg I had safely put into the shopping trolley.

In the interests of saving the planet, Rach once brought our old bags to the supermarket to re-use like we would do at Tesco's in York. She was flatly ridiculed by the cashier, who then called over his colleague to look at the "crazy" lady who brought her own bags. The bagger was unimpressed by Rachel bringing her own bags as it encroached upon her job description of bagging customers produce with NEW bags. Last weekend, I saw an item on the news about an old lady in Sao Paulo who makes cloth satchels and takes them to the Supermarket to use instead of plastic bags. This was clearly seen as being "barmy" enough to warrant a news story... but, slowly, maybe due to her efforts and the efforts of my wife, the message of bag recycling is getting out there...

Things I like about Brazil #65: Cheap Internal Flights. Brazil is vast and travelling between cities can take many hours by bus or car. There is a very limited train network too. Internal flights are far more common and, if you buy smart, can be the cheapest and quickest mode of transport for any distance over about 200 kms.

So, we took some discounted GOL tickets down to Recife and were due to fly back late to Natal (on a "red eye" as Americans say) on Sunday night. Sadly, our plane was delayed over 2 hours. Imagine trying to entertain a confused, extremely wired but exhausted nearly-1 year old at 2am in a crowded airport. The main problem was trying to keep him from waking other people who were trying to have a kip. We finally boarded, took the half hour flight back, and set our heads to our pillows in our Natal home at 4.30am. Within two hours Nelson was up and I had a lesson to teach at 9am. Mental note: let's not do this again. Pay more for a day flight, but pay less in loss of sleep.

Random things round our way: the 3 Kings. Before there was Natal, there was a small fort called the Three Magi Kings ("Forte dos Reis Magos") which began to be built in January 1598 on the day of Epiphany. Natal ("Christmas" in Portuguese) is so named as it was established as a village outside the main coastal fort on 25th December 1599. Consequently, throughout the city signs and symbols alluding to the Nativity are visible everywhere. Driving up from the south on the main highway into town a huge bridge in the shape of a shooting star with statues of the Three Kings following greets visitors. And, about 200 yards from our street, these three lit up Kings, each about 40 ft high, can be seen from our house.

Buy a house in Natal. Well Done Aunty Betty for spotting this ace article in The Times travel section about why Brits are flocking to Natal to snap up beach homes. Read about here.

ENGLAND v BRAZIL
Things I miss about England #23: York Minster. I miss the familiarity of this enormous, beautiful building. You could turn a corner in any part of the city and come face to face with the Minster. (In a strange way, I always took this as a reminder of God being with us always - you'd turn a corner in life, and God would be there already). Anyway, about the Minster: it was just nice to know it was there. And I miss Constantine on his statue who I could see weathering all seasons from my office window...

Things I love about Brazil #2: The Beach. "The best thing about Brazil is it's just nice to know that the beach is there", said Amy recently. Couldn't agree more.

WWIW update. Electricity rewired (although the electrician had to take a hammer to our patio which has left a hole), car working again more or less, most things roughly functioning as they should... except for some reason I can't call Rach on my new cellphone or vice versa. WWIW?

Corpus Christi holiday. Today is another Brazilian holiday (see May 6 blog). Rachel's folks are here. I think we may go snorkelling.

Why Would it Work? (WWIW). This picture may look like Rach has got a corkscrew stuck up her nose but that's not what's going on... actually, in her right hand she is holding the top of the corkscrew which broke while I was trying to undo a bottle of wine yesterday. It is a recent and classic example of WWIW? - Why Would it Work? Brazil is great for many things, but it has to be said (and I think most Brazilians would agree) things, don't always work as expected... And I know, back in the UK everyone has "one of those days" but sometimes round here it feels like a novelty NOT to have one. The phrase Why Would it Work? (WWIW) was coined by Richard, a Brit on the CELTA course in January, and it has been uttered with frustrating regularity around here over the last couple of weeks. As a taster, within the last fourteen days...

The clock at the bottom of the stairs stopped working (WWIW)
The car wasn't going right because of dirty petrol (WWIW)
Half the electricity is missing from our house, although it momentarily returned during a rainstorm before flickering out again (WWIW)
The cable TV sometimes cuts out (WWIW)
The TV has very strange sound levels that mean you have to watch films constantly fiddling with the volume on the remote to try and hear the dialogue as well as avoid waking Nelsinho with the deafening music (WWIW)
The internet server is temperamental and shuts down often (WWIW)
The car needs a new starter motor (WWIW)
My new watch resets itself every time the alarm goes or you try to use the stopwatch (WWIW)
The fan in Nelson's room has packed up (WWIW)
I couldn't get hot water from the shower on Friday (WWIW)
The printer in the Teachers room only works occasionally (WWIW)
The computer in the Teachers room reboots at random (WWIW)
The DVD players in the classrooms at Cultura sometimes spit out the DVDs they're supposed to be playing (WWIW)
The natural gas option in our hybrid car pops worringly so we have stopped using it (WWIW)
Nelson manages to burst his nappy on regular occasions (WWIW)
I try to speak Portuguese but nobody understands (WWIW)
The light bulb in the fridge has stopped working (WWIW)
The man coming to fix our electricity can't come on the day we thought he would (WWIW)
and so on...

But before you start quoting me the Scripture "Do everything without complaining", let me be the first to hold my hand up and say that sometimes we create our own problems. We have become so used to our car having problems that we took it straight back in last Wednesday when the A/C stopped working. A/C is essential round here, and it had been working before we took it in to the shop about the dirty petrol. (One theory: is the garage sabotaging our car so we keep giving them business?). Anyway, our fears for the car were unfounded on this occasion - the mechanic called us up and, with barely disguised amusement mixed with contempt, he explained we had simply failed to turn the A/C on... it was in fine working order, but the reason we weren't feeling any cooler is that we had failed to PRESS THE SWITCH. So, in conclusion - sometimes my brain malfunctions (WWIW).

ps. WWIW should not be confused with WWJD.

"Somebody is trying to steal my music" (Part 1 of a long story). Here follows an account of an eventful weekend. It all began on Friday night. Half our house didn't have electricity (another story), but we are all safely tucked up in bed when the doorball rang at 2am. Lots of commotion and the Police outside. I stumbled downstairs after Rach to find half a dozen neighbours fussing about, two policemen and a small whispery old man who kept tapping me on the shoulder to tell me something about "o telefone". Amy's car had been broken into and the radio taken out. The Police had been quick to arrive thanks to the phone call made by the small whispery man. The crook in question was obviously an expert as he silently popped a back window without breaking anything. (In fact, the complete glass has already been replaced). Strangely, the radio was still there on the seat - the thief having bolted quickly without his prize when the cops showed up. And so Amy secured the car and parked the car inside our walls. The end of the story... or so we thought.

In the morning when we were more awake we went to sort out the car but, astonishingly, the radio itself had gone missing. Amy remembers it was still on the passenger seat when she brought it in. So, donning our best CSI caps we can only conclude that our thief (or the Police?) returned in the night, scaled our wall, climbed through the popped window and made off with the system back over the wall. This criminal, we were discovering, was cunning, bold and probably athletic. When we have Kanu the Schnauzer here I think this won't be possible - too much barking. Anyway, this wasn't too discouraging - the same sort of thing would happen to us in Surtees Street in York from time to time. The radio was old so Amy was not too upset. And we will heed our neighbours warnings and park our cars inside at night. But...

"Somebody is trying to steal my music" (Part 2 of a long story). On Sunday morning an electrician came to look at our poor wiring and try to get a handle on why only half the house was lit up. (Extension leads are running everywhere, including up the stairs to keep a fan on in Nelsinho`s room). This electrician was recommended by the estate agent and he had done work in our house before. He pottered about for an hour and said the wiring in the house was very bad and would need a whole day to mend. So we arranged for him to come back later in the week. He left, Rachel and I went out to church and when we came back we all got ready to go to the beach for a day - Mark's choice of activity as he leaves in a few weeks. However, Amy's Pink IPod was missing! We all scouted about for it but Rach was sure she put it down in a specific place. We were all certain of where it should be and it evidently wasn't there - so we suspected the electrician must have taken it! As Amy said: "Somebody is trying to take away all my music, first from the car and now from my Ipod!".

Here is where my wonderful wife came to the fore. We thought very carefully about calling said Electrical man and planned what to say. (We didn't want to embarrass or accuse, we just wanted to give him every opportunity to return the Ipod). So, Rach rang him on his cellphone and asked him if he had seen a pink machine for music which had gone missing. She also mentioned we had gone to church - this was savvy, people don't like stealing from Christians especially when they think they are good Christians too! No, he said he hadn't seen anything. He then quickly changed the subject about the work still to be done. At this point Rach was very calm but clear - she didn't trust him around the house and she would find another person to do the work. They finished the call, but 10 minutes later the electrician called back. Oh, yes, he had found a pink music machine in his bag - it must have fallen in! We were not to think badly of him - he was a Christian too, and he didn't want to do anything against Jesus!

So, I think he realised that he would lose business not just from us, but from the estate agent if we reported him. So he is coming back with the ipod and we will hide out valuables and keep an eye on him. I don't think he will try anything a second time. But its a lesson for us to be more careful looking after the things we have. Another lesson I think is that we should keep living minimally with less stuff. The less stuff you have, the less there is for people to nick.

Epilogue: "Now that's what I call neighbourhood watch". An impressive part of all this is the way our neighbours rallied to our aid. We really feel a part of a local community in a way we didn't in York. This experience has allowed us to get to know everybody better. The lady across the road said that if her sons and seen the guy who stole the radio they would have given him a good beating. Apparently, these chaps have a habit of doing over any riff raff who come down our street. (Perhaps, for our crook's sake it's good he got away!).

Another form of self-appointed security comes from a man who rides a tin-pot motorbike up and down the streets of our estate at night. He has an alarm which makes a sort of "aliens are landing" bleepy noise. He keeps an eye out for any dodgy stuff. At first, it was quite annoying having him go by every hour of the night with his siren but now we ignore it, sleep through it, and actually find it quite endearing. Sadly, I fear with him there is a discrepancy between appearances and effectiveness: he didn't get anywhere near the scallywag who took Amy's radio.

My life is a full moon, and I'm a lonely wolf barking at the life [the full moon]. That's taken from a contribution made by one of Mev's students in a recent exam. We think it very profound, if a little surreal.

ENGLAND v BRAZIL
Things I miss about England #9: Curry. Brazilians don't like spicy food and I have yet to see an Indian restaurant anywhere in Natal or Recife. The local shopping centre has a Thai restaurant - I went there last week, my taste buds ready for a sizzlingly hot party. Sadly, all I found was a buffet with Chinese and Brazilian food on offer. Somebody told me that the owner is a bone fide Thai gentleman and barely speaks Portuguese. However, after a few months of no business with real Thai cuisine he changed his menu to beans and noodles.

I've found I can make a poor-mans equivalent in Brazil with something labelled as "curry" powder bought from the supermarket. You have to use almost the whole packet, mixed in with some coriander, cocunut milk, salt and pepper and you have the makings of a mild korma. Oh, but for a full on tasty Chenab's Afghan Lamb with Peshwari Naan...

Things I love about Brazil #4: Seafood. The so-called best restaurant in York for seafood - the famous "Blue Bicycle", known also for burning a hole in your pocket, has nowhere near as nice fish as an average Brazilian seafood restaurant. A Natalese chain of restaurants called "Camaroes" (literally, "Prawns") serves jaw-droppingly delicious food. It's pricey (and yet still half the price of the Blue Bicycle) but it's well worth it for special occasions. Salvador has great seafood as does Ilha Grande which we visited over Christmas.

Small language note: don't confuse "Camoroes" with "Caminhoes" as I often do. The latter means trucks. Whilst driving, I still get confused seeing signs for "Overnight Parking for Prawns".

Small medical note: be careful when eating prawns in Brazil. Make sure you have no seafood allergies, of course. If in doubt, avoid cheap restaurants that may not wash their prawns well. And avoid palm oil. Mev found this out the hard way on two occasions recently. Hence, his nickname round these parts: Rash Boy.

Random things round our way: Christ the King drugstore. In our neighbourhood there are about half a dozen churches and right up our street is a huge and very active Catholic Centre. Actually, many things are touched by Christian symbolism - this being the world's most populace Catholic nation (and with 15% Evangelicals too) slogans and signs dot every street corner and every other car has a sticker of the virgin Mary on the back. And here, 2 mins walk from our house is the Christ the King drugstore. Perhaps they offer supernatural as well as natural healing solutions. Prayers and pills available, health for this life and the next, that sort of thing.

Random things round our way: the sign to Rio. First of an occasional series today - random pics from Mirassol, our neighbourhood in Natal. Today, a sign on the main road telling motorists how far it is to Rio. Now, it takes 4 hours to get to Recife by car - so I estimate driving to Rio might take 5 days or so. You'd be a loony to try it. I find it amusing that this sign is here. It's like joining the A64 outside York and finding a road sign with London, Calais, Paris and Rome listed on it. Brazil is a big, big place it seems.

English problem solved more or less. Thanks to those who looked at the taxing English I put in my last blog. Mariano was right to mention the different meanings a verb can take when it is immediately preceded by another verb (ie. He stopped to play football / he stopped playing football). Danny in his comment was almost certainly correct. And well done Aunty Betty for looking up the grammar in a book.

Anyway, when the first verb is try there is apparently a subtle difference in meaning related to the form of the following verb - so subtle I had to learn it for myself, and I'm a native speaker!

Try + -ing = "experiment with"
A better example is: This soup is bland. Try adding more salt.

Try + to infinitive = "attempt"
A better example is: I tried to do my homework, but it was too hard.

The distinction seems clearer in the past - in the present both can sometimes be used interchangably I think. Any more thoughts, anyone?

Facebook. Hello to everyone who is checking this from the facebook link... thanks for viewing my blog.

Very funny video. Cultura Inglesa language schools pride themselves on offering high class English teaching with modern techniques, use of multimedia and backed up by the latest linguistic theory. Nothing we do even comes close, however, to this style of English Teaching... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YS2GY8C_2sY

Brazilian Mother`s Day. Brazilians really know how to celebrate this one. Everything, everywhere is covered in decor for this special day which is tomorrow. Rach has asked for a lie in as a present. Our problem is trying to please Mum, GrandMum, 2 GreatGrand Mums and a Great Great GrandMum. Somebody is bound to be upset that Nelson didn`t visit them this weekend.

English puzzle. This week I gave a lesson which completely bombed. I put it down to not knowing English myself. My task for you is this: look at the sentences below and tell me the difference (my textbook says there is one!) between the two examples and then tell me how to teach this grammar to a dozen bored Brazilian teenagers who would rather be at the beach. (Current English teachers are banned from replying!).

She tried using a camcorder to record the event
She tried to use a camcorder to record the event

ENGLAND v BRAZIL

Things I miss about England #59: Knowing why you are in trouble. In the space of a few weeks Mark and I have both picked up driving fines for things we didn't know about. Mev did a u-turn in a quiet road with no road markings or sign posts. A policeman on a motorbike gave him a ticket for driving the wrong way up a one way street (...or that's what we thought he was saying).

As for me, the other day we had to take Nelsinho to the hospital and so we pulled up outside. I was well chuffed on account of having found a space right opposite the entrance. I parallel parked inbetween two cars. Two hours later I popped out to discover I had a ticket. I was baffled - no signs saying "Nao estacionamento" and a row of other cars parked in the same place. It turns out I committed a classic school boy error - parking with everybody else does not guarantee legitimacy. They all had tickets too. I can only put it down to the yellowish paint on some of the paving stones near to the car... this was perhaps my clue that I was in the wrong. Worryingly, the ticket on my car gave no indication of how much or to who I was to pay. I am expecting a knock at the door from the men in black any day now...

Things I love about Brazil #20: 12 bank holidays a year. Brazilian populist Politicians of the past have pandered to the worker vote by sticking more and more national holidays into the calender. The present total of 12 is already a drastically reduced number in comparison to how it has been in the past. The advantage for us teachers is that just when you`re having a stressful and busy week and you could do with a break - you get one! Sometimes the holiday lands on Tuesday, and people take Monday off as well...

Employers and management are unimpressed, however. Not only do they have to pay salaries on these days, on top of extortionate taxes and the bizarre "13th month" Christmas bonus, but this many holidays disrupts productivity and is, in short, bad for the economy.

Safe Electrics revisted. See blog entry for February 2nd. This is how we power internet at home. Note the hole in the wall on the left where a socket should be. And then, from the socket on the right a UK adaptor (the only one thing that fits this plug), followed by another adaptor converting it back into Brazilian sockets, with a split coming out of it (one for the Modem) and then another UK adaptor for my laptop. It`s a bit precarious to say the least. Natal also suffers from power cuts and surges so we have to make sure we unplug everything...

International Students, you can`t get away from `em - Take 2. Amazing coincidence this, but we were in Mangai - the restaurant we frequent the most that serves cheap authentic Brazilian cuisine - and we spotted two Brazilians talking to a gringo. It`s fun to hear a British accent and wonder where they are from. We supposed the gentleman talking was from Salisbury, Basingstoke or Little Mousehole. Anyway, next time Rach passed their table with her plate of cheesy rice, dried meat and beans she thought she recognised the Brazilians. A brief conversation later and this is what we found out - the two Brazilians were in York. The male Brazilian was a PhD International Student who attended an event Rachel and I put on in St. Mikes` Belfrey Hall. He and his wife have moved to Natal and the Brit - well he was a Prof from York University. A man called Jim from Computer Science. A quick look on the website reveals it was probably Dr. Jim Woodcock.

Nelson walking. Nelson is galloping around the house, arms outstretched. This changes everything.

Amusing English from my students. I have to be careful what I write here in case any of them check this blog, but here are some quotes from students' written assignments.

"My Mum, she get stressed sometimes, but she got a real pure heart" (It`s perfect English if you`re a grass-chewing cowboy).

"Yes, my friend, all the mistery [sic], romance and polar bears are back" (A review of next week`s LOST episode).

"Don`t worry you are not going to die, because Leonardo di Caprio will give happyness [sic]" (I wasn`t worried before, but now I might well be...)

"You are not understanding? Let one explain better". (One could do with improving one`s grammar although one is impeccably polite).

Skype. The wonders of the internet - we have Skype and a webcam. It`s awesome. Anybody else have Skype?

ENGLAND v BRAZIL

Things I miss about England #98: The Hoobs. Great kids show on Channel 4 I used to watch with Nelsinho... All together now: "We`re off to see the tiddly-peeps, on the road we go!"

Things I love about Brazil #71: Discovery Kids Brasil http://www.discoverykidsbrasil.com/. They may not have the Hoobs here but Cable TV provides several channels of 24 hour kids programmes. Advert free, non-violent and educational, Discovery Kids presented by the intrepid Doki Descobre (pictured) is our (and Nelsinho`s) favourite. What`s more is that he teaches Portuguese to small children which I find helpful. "As formas sao muito divertidos!" (Shapes are a lot of fun!).

If anyone finds themselves in Brazil, looking after a baby between the hours of 5am and 7am here is a review of the best (and worst) things to watch on Discovery Kids. Check the link above for more details on any of these shows, or for the chance to play games with Doki and learn some Portuguese.

Pocoyo (also seen in the UK). The English version is narrated by Stephen Fry. A 3-yr old, and his duck (Pato) and elephant (Ellie) friend have numerous, unpredictable adventures. Absolutely brilliant short animation series from a production company based in Madrid. Great sfx too. 9/10

Jakers! As Adventuras de Piggly Winks (Jakers! The adventures of Piggly Winks). This show has a clever premise - an old Irish pig living in America tells his grandchildren what it was like growing up in rural Ireland. Good music, animation average. 7/10

Harry e o balde de dinosaurs (Harry and his bucket of dinosaurs). Not bad, mildly entertaining animation about a boy who has adventures in the imaginary "Dino-World" with his bucket of dinosaurs who come to life. 6/10

Os Irmaos Coalas (The Koalo Brothers). As the theme tune says "adoram ajudar" (they love to help!). Alrightish antics of two brothers who live in a caravan in the Australian outback. They fly around in a plane and help people. The problems with this show are many: why do the 8 people living in a small village in the outback need help every day? How can the Koalo Brothers afford to run a plane when they appear to have no source of income? Who are the two kids who live with them - the frankly wet Ned (see Caillou and Poko below), and the annoying Josie? Why do they kids never go to school? My theory: Ned and Josie are foster kids and the Brothers Koalo use Australian state money meant for education to fund their fixation with flying in their old time plane. The village folk are too polite to tell the brothers that they don`t need any help at all... 5/10

Toddworld. Todd is far too politically correct to be a real boy living in the real world. 4/10.

Caillou (3/10), Poko (2/10). Boring, slow, dreamy and tame stories about two young lads who probably flinch at passing butterflies. Poko has anger management issues too.

ENGLAND v BRAZIL

Things I miss about England #3: Easter. We had a great Easter in Recife when we visited our old church in Piedade. I met the vicar for the first time, a colossal man of 6'8" who patted me on the shoulder much the same way I might pat the shoulder of an 8 year old boy. The sunrise service was excellent but nothing beats St.Mikes and Riding Lights for Easter week...

Things I love about Brazil #49: The "informal" way they do tests. This week the kids at the Language School were given their mid term test. One of my groups didn't do so well which might mean they are poor or their teacher is. Perhaps both. Anyway, it took me 10 minutes to settle them down and be quiet to take their paper and even when they were doing it and not chatting away in Portuguese they kept shouting out, "Hey teacher, what does it mean - foolishness?" My reply: "Now, Flauber. This would not be a test if I told you that". Two minutes later somebody gets out of their seat to come and show me a word on their paper. With a look of utter seriousness: "Teacher, I don`t understand 'hitch-hiking' - what is it mean?". Again, my reply "Diego, I can't tell you that". And it wasn't just the boys... "Teacher, I have never seen this word - o que isso, rapaz?" "Deborah, be quiet and guess the answer" and so on and so forth... Endearing as this was I eventually said: "How do you do tests in Brazil? Do you all sit around and talk for an hour". One wise crack chirped up: "The teacher tells us everything". Righteo. Maybe that explains their poor marks. Some amusing answers in the papers will get posted here shortly.

Hello to... Norwegians such as Maria and Jon who make a point of reading the blog.

Another one bites the sand. Last Sunday we discovered a beautiful guest house (Pousada) that you can visit for the day. It is baby friendly, has several pools and a restaurant. It also faces the sea. After lunch I decided to take a quick dip but it was high tide. "Hmmm, those waves look a bit big", I thought. "Nevermind, this will be refreshing". So refreshing were the waves I got bowled right back onto the beach twice. The second time I nearly lost my swimming trunks which would have been embarassing for all at the Pousada, not least my wife. At this point Mark saunters out and says he fancies a swim. "I wouldn`t if I were you, it's too strong". Mark gives me a look like he thinks I am BGB* and dives in. 5 minutes later he comes out looking like he`s been pulled out of a washing machine and promptly rinsed through a sandpit (which is a good description of what actually happened). Funniest of all, he forgot he had his wallet in his swimming trunks. The wallet made it back out the water with Mark, but all his money was crinkly and wet. * BGB = Big Girl's Blouse.

Armchair Blogger... Finally, after some shenanigans, we have internet at home. This is the first blog from the comfort of our own dining room. In theory, we should be emailing you all much more often now.

Poverty. According to "Veja", the popular Brazilian current affairs magazine 31% of the population are classified as living below the poverty line. This reminded me of a picture I took off the side of a bus when in Rio. It shows a couple of burnt out cars on the edge of a smelly canal. What fascinated me is that when I looked closer I could see that this hulled out car was some guy`s house. He had just got out and walked off...

The wealth gap is huge in Brazil with some of the population enjoying very affluent and comfortable lives. The students I teach English for are from the latter end of society - they mostly attend the best school in Natal and have ambitions to be Doctors, Lawyers, Diplomats, Architects etc. Many of them are actively involved in community projects to help the poor. Having said that, Natal itself is an affluent city with no sprawling favelas and little of the associated social problems of the Rio, Sao Paulo and Recife.

Recife. We made it down to Recife for the Easter weekend. It's great to be back seeing friends (such as Fabinho and Duia) who we've missed since moving to Natal. We decided to catch a flight down. It took half an hour - the shortest domestic flight I've ever taken. They didn't bother turning the fasten seat belt signs off cos by the time we had finished take off we were about to land. Nelson charmed the passengers and was unusally fond of one of the air stewardesses and kicked up a huge fuss when we left the plane without her... On the agenda for the next few days - the beach, watching and playing football and the sunrise church service on Easter Sunday.

Portuguese Learning - é tão dificil, né? Encouragingly, being back in Recife shows me that the Portuguese is slowly improving as I can banter a bit more freely. So I thought I'd mention a bit about this extraordinary language. It is darn complicated and fluency is hard to attain because each verb has to be conjugated seperately. Still, in other parts of the language NE Brazilians show great economy in their use of Portuguese. Some examples,

1) "E ai" is the Brazilian equivelent for "Now then" in Yorkshire. It covers all eventualities, is a greeting, a conversation starter and a gap filler all in one. It roughly translates to "And there" and is pronounced eee-eye-eee.

2) "Valeu" is the Brazilian equivelent for "Cheers" and "Alright". When playing football it gets thrown in all over the place and seems to mean thanks, sorry, well done, good pass, goal, calm down, the ball was out, I'll do better next time, did you see that?, could you get me a bottle of water because I'n so thirsty etc. etc.

3) "Foi mesmo foi?" "Foi!". "Foi" is a very versatile word in Portuguese as it means both "it/he/she was" and "it/he/she went". After some surprising incident or story is related, somebody will usually say "Foi mesmo foi?" which literally means "it was really the same, was it?". I suppose in England we would say "is that right?" or "really?". Back comes the answer "Foi!" - "It was!".

4) "Não. Não pode não." This is the slogan for the Brazilian anti-piracy organisation. It comes from an advert where a man tells his son he can't watch a pirated DVD. It shows how não - "no" - is very flexibily used as it is also stands for "not" in English. It is thrown in willy nilly into almost any negative sentence at any place any number of times. In this case, the Father says to his son "Não. Não pode não" (pronounced: Now. Now podgy now). In English, "No. No you can't".

The library of love. They'll both kill me for mentioning this on my blog but Amy (my sister-in-law) and Mark (my school buddy and best man) are now "an item" or as my Aunt Betty says "special friends". Mark works mornings in the library in the language school in Natal and Amy works afternoons - so perhaps it was over an order for more English File Textbooks that the spark of something more was found. In any case, they're spending a lot of this weekend down here in Recife with Amy's friend Erica and her boyfriend Ricardo. I'm sure everyone's having fun!

Arrival of babies. So it's a big congrats to the Byrnes on the arrival of baby Grace. Along with cousin Anna and hubby Richard's girl Esme and the Thomas' little Rachel the population of fine eligible young ladies is growing. More future friends (or girlfriends possibly!) for Nelsinho.

Easter. Wishing everyone a happy Easter! At the language school we have been eating modified Brazilian Hot Cross Buns. They're cold and made with chocolate but they do have a prominant cross on the top. Tonight a choir is coming into the school to sing Easter songs - I've been asked to share a "word" about the real meaning of Easter during the presentation. I will probably use several words in actual fact, and these will probably be in English as my Portuguese is stilll a bit rusty. In any case, like for Brits, most Brazilian kids think of Easter as a time to eat chocolate so it may be a chance to say a bit about why I think it is more important than that.

Blu-Tac update. Big thanks to Danny and Caz Byrne for sending me Blu-Tac (the shortage of which in Brazil was covered on this blog) and also for sending me curry from Rafi`s www.spicebox.co.uk

The Mystery of the Noise at Night... Solved. One night last week, at around 4.30am, Rachel and I and Mark (but not Nelson, thankfully) were awoken by some beast growling in the street outside our house. It approached slowly and the noise it made got louder and louder until it felt like an airplane was about to land in our bedroom. We rushed out to the balcony to see what on earth it could be only to catch sight of a small pick up truck rounding the corner at the bottom of our street.

Rach (not one to be woken at 4.30am) muttered Portuguese expletives and went back to bed. I stayed awake and watched the mysterious pick up make a return a few minutes later. To my surprise it was a council van with two guys serenely sitting in the front and a contraption not unlike a machine gun pumping gas onto peoples' houses. This was what was making noise. Why the council should be pumping gas at private homes at that time of night at that volume was beyond us. (It sounds like the hobby of a crazed James Bond villain). And furthermore, why did none of the other residents wake up or complain? So, before Rach had the chance to call the council to have a rant we asked some of the folks round here what was going on...

Basically, the council are spraying some anti-dengue chemicals. Dengue fever is a nasty illness transmitted through water and this gas can help deter it (somehow!). The council can`t spray during the day in case the gas is sprayed into peoples faces on the street - so they do it at night. Now we know, but it`s still a bitter pill to swallow when you`re already sleep deprived. Just ask Rach.

Flashback to February. I meant to post this a while ago - reviews of two gigs we went to in Recife. More news of Natal next time including the story of the noisy council workers who spray chemicals outside our window at 4.30am...

FATBOY SLIM v MARISA MONTE

We’ve been fortunate to see two decent acts performing in Recife recently. In the Green corner representing Brazil, the very talented and highly popular singer/songwriter Marisa Monte who played Recife’s largest indoor arena, the Chevrolet Hall. And in the Red corner representing England, Quentin Nial Cook aka. DJ Norman Cook aka. Fatboy Slim playing a free open air gig as part of his Brazilian tour at Marco Zero in Recife Antigo. So, who came out on top – the best of Brazil or the best of England?

Marisa Monte
Four of us went to this – Mark, Rachel, Amy and I. We drove in as the arena comes with ample parking. Sadly, about half a km away, we got stuck in horrendous traffic and remained stationary for an hour. We eventually parked up on a side street and walked. It turned out that one section of the arena had been rented out to a Christian Convention so parking was at a premium for everyone!

Still, we were pretty confident we would see all of Marisa Monte’s set seeing as Brazilian performers don’t take to the stage until very late (see Caetano blog just before Christmas). Unfortunately, Marisa had come on relatively early and we only caught the last 45 minutes. It was great stuff though – she had a full string section, the stage lighting was amazing and she finished with a lot of her famous songs, including some numbers from her time as a member of the trio ‘Tribalistas’.

Fatboy Slim
On Feb 1st, Mark, Amy and I and a few CELTA graduates piled down to Marco Zero in the old part of Recife to see Fatboy Slim play for free. It is very unusual for Recife to host such a big star – especially for free – so the old area of the city was swarming with some estimated 70,000 people despite it being a Thursday night. There was no way we were going to miss the start of this set as Fatboy Slim didn’t take to the stage until 12.30am. He energetically rattled through some of his songs and a few of his own mixes of the likes of Daft Punk, Gorillaz and Groove Armada.

At around 2am, in full flow, the power cut and the emergency lighting went up. Norman Cook was not impressed and eventually left the stage. We took this as our cue to go home (along with several thousand others), so it was a disappointing end to the night. When we eventually found a free taxi (at around 3am) we could hear the distant noise of the concert cranking into life once more. So the power must have come on and Fatboy will have fired up his decks but by then we were too exhausted to care. Shame really, as it would have been good to hear his big finale.

In conclusion... don’t expect things to be straightforward when going to concerts in Brazil. Expect the unexpected. In terms of MM and FS we missed the start of one and left before the end of the other. Both performers were in fine form when we did see them though so we’ll call it a draw – a fair score for both of 3 out of 5.

The inside of Brazilian hospitals. Well, see last email about "normal life" but it ain`t happened yet. Down in Joao Passoa on Sunday to visit Rachel`s family and Rachel`s Mum fell ill and we spent the rest of the day in a hospital. (She`s doing fine now, by the way). We stayed the night down there and came back up to Natal on Monday cutting it fine for teaching English in the afternoon and evening. And then this week Nelsinho has picked up a fever possibly related to his having new teeth coming through. So, we`ve been off to the Docs again and he isn`t going to play group. Maybe next week things will be normal (!). On the plus side, we have lots to thank God for - family about, good hospitals and health plan (more than can be said for the majority of Brazil`s citizens)...

International Students - you can`t get away from `em. As Alanis Morisette incorrectly sang, "isn`t it ironic?". Having worked with International Students arriving in the UK, I now am working with International Students about to leave to the UK and the USA. In order to study abroad (esp graduate degrees) many universities in the USA, Europe and Australia require Students to have a TOEFL qualification. Basically, it`s a blimmin hard standardised test which shows they have good enough English to survive at uni. What`s more is that the test costs US$150 each time you take it and even if you pass, your qualification is only valid for 2 years. The test itself is 4 hours long and entirely internet based (including speaking where candidates talk into a computer). Anyway, I`m teaching/coaching about a dozen prospective students here, young people all itching to be international students in places just like York... So while you contemplate the benefits of being born into a society immersed in the most widely used language in the world, spare a prayer for Dory (who speaks 3 languages) who takes her test (at the 3rd attempt) this Saturday.

The threat of normality approaches. After what has been an exhausting few weeks we are approaching a state of normality. One suspects that in Brazil and in the Barlow family there is no such thing as "normal" but at least the week has a recognisable routine. My driving license has been translated which means I can take Nelsinho to play group in the morning... we have a wardrobe for our clothes and our suitcases are finally empty... we have a church to go to... I roughly know how to do my job... all our books are in a new bookcase... my arm is better...

But then, Rachel forgot to wear her proper shoes today and came to work in flip-flops... Nelsinho is about to walk which will result in unimaginable chaos... the nearby Catholics are singing vigils all night... there are plans this weekend to maybe do a road trip to visit the family in Joao Passoa... Amy`s friend is over from the UK... what was that about approaching normality?

ENGLAND v BRAZIL
Things I miss about England #14: Pedestrian crossings. Brazilians, and especially the Natalese, cross roads with no regard to oncoming traffic. We live close to a bus depot and every time we drive past various Lemming-like Brazilians will leap out from behind buses into the path of our speeding car. It`s not always easy to spot them when you`re concentrating so hard on not hitting the cyclist with no lights riding towards you on your side of the road. Anyway, these pedestrians won`t stop, speed up, shout or even acknowledge us. They simply saunter across the road like they own it... Ironically, Brazil does have zebra crossings. It`s just we`ve never seen anyone use them.

Things I love about Brazil #41: Hybrid cars. Our car runs on Petrol and Gas. Gas is far cheaper and better for the environment. We have a cannister in our boot which we have to fill up twice a week. By the steering wheel there is a switch to alternate between the two types of fuel. The downside is that with gas the car has the acceleration of a recently fed tortoise. Still, Brazilians are pointing the way for the future on this issue. Brits are much slower to catch onto new technology, I think.

Ups and Downs... I just sent this email out to a few people.

Anyway, the good news is that I have passed my MA in Conflict, Governance and Development with Distinction! (PhD here I come - only joking! Seriously, only joking!). This summer was CRAZY with the birth of Nelsinho but God has really helped us through it...

The sad news: We have shed a few tears this week as we heard the sad news that Krish Rockley died on Monday. Krish was the wife of Paul, my Supervisor with Friends International and she had been battling brain tumours for several years. She was only in her 40s and leaves two kids under 10 years old. So please pray for this wonderful family. Rachel and I are really gutted by this, as they were very good friends and very inspiritational people. We know she is in a better place free of pain for which we praise God.

ENGLAND v BRAZIL
Things I miss about England #12: Blu-Tac. Blu-Tac is to teachers what fingers are to pianists... essential pieces of equipment to do the job. In Brazil you can't get Blu-Tac so many English Teachers ask their friends to bring it from the UK in their suitcases when they visit. It is then sparingly used and re-used and saved and salvaged as if it were in actual fact Gold-Tac. You can get White Tac here but it just don't cut the mustard...

Things I love about Brazil #47: Tapioca. We have discovered a local store that specialises in authentic, home made Brazilian foods. It's sort of like a Deli with cheeses, nuts, cakes, meats, local alcohol (which would probably make you blind if you drunk it straight!) and above all Tapioca. Rachel has introduced me to the delights of cooked Tapioca with melted cheese, condensed milk and coconut shavings. It may not sound like it, but this is in actual fact irresistably delicious.

Shoulder update. Shoulder is getting better, is out of a sling and is performing small tasks - thank God. Strangely, a dislocated shoulder has affected my ability to speak Portuguese. I've found that physical ailments that have knocked my confidence (including being ill before) cause me to retreat into myself a bit and reduce my propensity to take risks. Hence, not speaking Portuguese. Rach says that psychologically this has something to do with my Mum being a nurse... don't quite understand but you can email her for more details.

Nelsinho nearly graduating from Baby Uni. N is practicing at great length the three major baby skills he has not mastered - walking, crawling and talking. He's turned into quite a beafcake and is already in hulk-like fashion out-stripping his 9-12 month outfits when he is only 8 months old. He loves his playgroup Primeiro Passos (First Steps) and I reckon he is being challenged by his peers to learn to crawl - thus, all the practicing on our floor in the house when he gets home.

Church in Natal. Natal, being a slightly sleepier and smaller city than Recife, shuts down from about 2pm on Saturday to 5pm on Sunday. Most shops close, and importantly no churches have Sunday morning services! Mark and I tried to go last Sunday to visit Fernando's church. F is a teacher at Cultura who lives a little way out the city. Mark and I set off at 6pm and tried to follow the signs to his town but ended up "Macluring" it out of Natal, through some villages in the middle of nowhere in the pitch black until 1 hour later we made it back to Natal from the opposite side. We had done a huge Uey and wasted a lot of gas. As Mark pointedly asked: "When we were playing football in the playground aged 11, did you expect us, 15 years later, to be driving together at night, lost, through the Brazilian outback?" No, Mev, can't say that I did. So still no church yet but we're working on it.

I'd give my left arm... Another quick post. After a great few days off for Carnaval we are back in to the swing of work. We stayed in Natal, found some nice beaches, ate some nice food and entertained the extended family on Monday. Thursday evening I managed to slip over on some wet steps and dislocate my shoulder. Thank God for a health plan and nearby hospital. A kindly Brazilian Doctor popped my arm back in place and now I have to wear a sling for five days. Rach has a cough and lost her voice... so Nelsinho is wondering why his Pops won't pick him up or his Ma talk to him. Poor lad.

Anyway, more news once we settle into our routine again and get internet at the house.

Carnaval approaches. Stupid blogger have made me sign up to google to continue posting. Anyway, here we are all sorted again. Not much has happened since the last blog except we are all better, settling into Natal and this week I have been mostly cooking pancakes... one for every Cultura Student at our centre - that´s nearly 400! Mev and Amy have gone to Pipa then to Olinda for Carnaval. All Brazil is on holiday until the middle of next week. More blogs soon, I promise.

What are we like? Just a quick blog today as internet access is at a premium. In short, we have moved to Natal and have all started our respective jobs at Cultura Inglesa. The whole family has been hit by a dreaded 24 hour virus - it was me first, then Nelsinho, then Rach today and Amy, Celia and Mark have all had it. So it's been a funny old week. That´s what we get for trying to move house, start a new job, begin teaching, unpack, all with a baby in the space of 2 days. More news soon!

Transitions. We packed up our house today - so it's goodbye to the Ocean view on Piedade beach. Rach and I will head off to Porto de Galinhas and leave the Grandparents to babysit for the weekend (I'm not sure who I'm more worried for: Nelson or Steve and Celia). Monday we move, Tuesday I plan lessons, Wednesday start teaching...

CELTA finished and I passed with a "B" grade which I was pleased with. One of the best things about the course was meeting some real characters. Fabricio (pictured), is a thirty-something Brazilian who teaches English. He has published Poetry in Portuguese. His knowledge of English grammar, etymology, history, Shakespeare, poetry and popular culture surpassed us gringos considerably. He was a walking encycolpedia of lesson plans...

On the course were other memorable types - Bruna who lives on an island and is married to a man who surfs for a living, the unusually named Hugo Alberqurque with the perfect English accent, Emily from Leeds who has flawless Portuguese and many others...

ENGLAND v BRAZIL
Things I miss about England #7: Safe Electrics. Plug sockets in Brazil come in all shapes and sizes and states of repair or disrepair. The pins on the end of cables don't often fit because they may be too tight or too loose. Open wires are not uncommon and sparks fly whenever you switch some appliances on. Our apartment - despite being brand new - had dodgy electrics; the lights flickering or not working from time to time. Rachel's family's apartment has showers that give you electric shocks whenever you try to change the temperature or pressure. But today I learned a a bit about why this might be the case...

As part of taking our house down to move to Natal, our local Mr Fixit attempted to dissassemble our shower head for us to take with us. At one point when I was out the room, I heard a loud pop and saw a flash from the bathroom. I popped my head round the corner to see if our man was still breathing only to find him trying to undo live wires with a metal pair of pliers. He seemed pretty pleased with himself as he whistled away. Health and Safety, it has to be said, has not really made it to Brazil. I guess I'm generally OK with this until it involves the electronics of lifts, ovens or taxis. To mis-quote Prince Philip: "That box looks like it's been wired by a Brazilian". All I can say is, at least we're not in Chad where they barely get electricity at all. Every cloud and all that.

Things I love about Brazil #16: Guarana. Like a cross between Apple Tango and something nicer, Guarana is the best way to quench your thirst round here. Only available in Brazil or from shady corner shops on Euston Road, London.