Rugby. England take on Australia in the quarter-final of the Rugby World Cup tomorrow. Surprisingly, as Brazilian sports interest usually stretches no further than football, volleyball and tennis at a push, there's been quite a bit about rugby on the sports channels here. Several students have told me they've watched some televised games recently. Two guys tell me they are even playing a bit of rugby at the university. It seems like a French guy is training them... Brazilian rugby is on a par with Brazilian cricket (which according to my Father in law is on a par with Brazilian wine) as something that Brazilians don't do very well. Don't cross your fingers for Brazil being in the next rugby world cup.

Hugby. The other thing that amuses me about all this talk of Rugby is that there are some words in Portuguese that are directly transported from English but adapted to the Portuguese pronunciation system. In particular, Brazilians pronounce R as H, especially at the start of words. (Incidentally, I'm sure this happens in reverse - the Japanese are probably amused at the British pronunciation of sushi, judo and kimono). Even Brazilians with excellent English pronunciation will still fall back to the Brazilian way of saying these words: Hock n Holl, Poppy Hocky and Hap music. The footballers Wayne Hooney, Thierry Henhy and Tomas Hosicky. And, finally the sports Hally Hacing and Hugby. When it starts with an "h", Hugby sounds a little less masculine than it usually does...

Rear-ended again. You may remember I bumped the back of somebody's car a few weeks back. Rach was taking Nelson to school last week when she was rear-ended in the same car. Again, our vehicle had not a scratch and the other guys was a wreck. It was entirely his fault so, after checking our car was OK, Rach drove on and got on with her day leaving the poor chap to get his car repaired. The car we are using right now is quite a large Ford Echo - they are very popular in Brazil, a sort of mini-SUV for town. Normally, I'd be opposed, on environmental grounds, to having such a big town car but in Natal it pays to have one because the driving is so erratic. A big car = genuinely less damage and more safety to you. On average once a week we notice the traffic is held up because somebody has switched lanes too fast and pranged the car in front of them.

Rach back today (hooray!). I think us boys have survived at home relatively well, but it just isn't the same without Rach around. She gets into night and we'll all be pleased to see her again.

Rachel's 21st birthday (again!). Today is Rachel's birthday. Coincidentally, it was also another Brazilian national holiday so we were able to have a lie in and spend time with friends and family. But, it has been quite a surreal day. We spent the morning at a hotel saying goodbye to our good pals Mariano and Barbara, and their two kids Miguel and Sophia (pictured above at Miguel's first birthday party). The family are on their way to Seattle where Mariano has a new job. As I write they are currently in the air going from Natal to Sao Paulo to New York to Seattle. We thought moving to a new country via one direct flight with one baby was tough. With two kids, and for that long, that is one obscene journey our friends are taking. Mariano starts work within a week of getting there too. They are in our prayers!

Anyway, after the tearful goodbyes Rachel and I and Nelson headed off to Camaroes, our favourite seafood restaurant for Rachel's birthday. Nelson can't sit still for more than a fraction of a second so when the three of us go out to eat the usual routine is one of us chases around the premises apologising to waitors and customers who Nelson barges into or tries to impress with his numerous tricks. (But, as has been mentioned before on this blog, Brazilians are quite fond of babies so usually there is no problem). When the food arrives we take it into turns to eat, scoffing our delicious main courses down as fast as possible so the other parent doesn't have to go hungry for too long. Despite these shenanigans it was well worth doing.

And then I drove to the airport for the second time that day to drop Rachel off to get a plane to Recife as she is flying to Rio tomorrow morning for meetings. So, I'm home alone with Nelson. My skills as Dad are certainly being pushed to the limit without Rachel around. But, so far, everything has gone more or less according to plan... not counting putting his nappy on backwards, setting the fridge on fire, putting his ear drops in his eyes, etc. So, it's been a good day if a little rushed. I think Rach has had a good time which is the main thing.

Augusto the football player. Yesterday, one of my students, a fairly shy, short, wiry teenager who lives in our neighbourhood, came into class as usual, sat down and whispered something to his friend in Portuguese. His pal, an outgoing chap, promptly announced to the class that this was to be Augusto's last day in Cultura Inglesa! Now, it's unusual to stop attending a course mid-way through the semester so we pried a little further and this is what we discovered. Augusto is moving to another state (Piaui) further north to play football professionally. Apparently, he had already been turning out in Natal for ABC 2nds and 3rds and had even played a game at the Machadao stadium before. Now he has been offered the chance of first team football at Piaui Esporte Clube. He will have to say goodbye to his folks and move to a new city several hours drive away. He will be paid (I don't know how much) and he will continue his education and perhaps his English there.

I asked my brother in law (who knows a thing or two about football) if he had heard of this team and he said he hadn't. A wikipedia search reveals them to be ranked as the 128th best team in Brazil. There are probably as many football teams in Brazil as churches (that is to say, a lot!) and Augusto will be one of thousands of young men who hope to make the big time. But, let's hope he does well. At the end of the lesson we quizzed him about his chosen career. He said his dream is to play for Brazil and perhaps in Europe. So, keep your eyes open for the thin midfielder from Natal - you heard it here first.

Gringo Maclure reporting. Speaking of Brazilian football, let me finish with a shameless plug. One thing I've enjoyed about being in Brazil is I have had more time to write (as you can tell!). I do bits and bobs mostly online. I recently joined a community of webloggers who write about football. My name is Gringo Maclure and I try to provide the South American angle to the beautiful game. My first post went up last week. You can read it at http://www.reallifenews.com/.

Random things round our way: C&A. I was in the local mall this week and found myself in C&A. The clothing chain store was priced out of the UK market in 2000. But, it's much loved in Brazil where it remains as familiar a fixture in shopping centres as a McDonalds. (Perhaps, you can tell it's a quiet weekend when this is all I have to put up).

Pineapple upside down cake. Tried to bake a cake like my Mum used to do. My first two attempts resulted in a rubbery dough, burnt to a crisp. I only discovered a few days ago that the Betty Crocker cookbook uses Farenheit and not Celcius temperatures. Third time lucky, I baked a better cake but it's still nowhere near as good as my Mum's.

Moving around. This weekend is the calm before the storm. For a change, we're having a quiet night in but then this week Rachel goes to Rio a day after her birthday (which is on the 3rd) for meetings. That leaves me to babysit Nelson who, poor lad, is not suffering gladly (as I write) a tooth coming through. And then, in two weeks time, thanks to cheap tickets with TAM airlines, Rachel and I have a few days away in Chile! The Grandparents will be on babysitting duty and we will pop over to Santiago via Sao Paulo. Roberto, a friend of mine from my MA in York, and his wife Paula are Chileans and live in the capital. Fortunately, they are about and so we will get to see the sites with local tour guides.

Wonderwall. I tried something new in some of my classes this week. I got Advanced level students to write new words to Oasis' song Wonderwall, and then we sang our efforts in class. I wrote the chorus but they wrote the verses. Our version is named Midway Mall after Natal's biggest Shopping Centre. The results are, well, surprising. Oasis lyrics were never the most profound so I feel our effort runs them pretty close... more info on my teacher site here (once there, you need to scroll down to see it).

Busy week. We seemed to have found ourselves in a busy week. I don't have much time to write here before going back to my lesson planning. One reason for being busy is that teachers are being observed by managers this week. It's like in-house OFSTED for English teachers. Anyway, mine was yesterday and it went fine. I emailed my group before hand and told them to be nice to me and speak no Portuguese during class... they must all be exceedingly loyal as they were upright students for the whole period and didn't utter a peep of any language other than English.

Things I miss about England #21: not much gun crime. The shooting of a young boy in Liverpool last month and other news coming out of England suggests gun crime is on the up back home. In Brazil, it's a massive problem in built up areas and the mega-cities of Rio, Sao Paulo, Brasilia and Recife. In a referendum a couple of years back the Brazilian public voted to keep personal guns legal. It may seem like madness to vote this way, but it is a classic political catch 22. Nobody trusts the system to enforce the law, so they consider themselves better off with the option of having personal weapons for self-defence...

Anyway, little old Natal has the lowest crime for a state capital in Brazil, but that's not low enough for there not to be the occasional local horror story. This was all brought home recently with two incidents in the space of a week outside the English school. Two university students were mugged at gunpoint on Thursday and then on Sunday night some skirmish resulted in a young man being shot dead just down the road, again a supposed mugging. The news has spooked a few of the staff here, but I think the best response is to accept it happens, take every measure and care to ensure your safety and get on with life. Should anything happen, comply quickly with anybody who wants your money. (In Recife, Rio and Sao Paulo when people go out onto the streets they take an extra R$50 as "robber money" to pay off any threatening advances). But here we remain relatively safe. After all, so far there is no indication to me that what happens here is anything more than in Clifton where we lived in York...

Things I love about Brazil #50: the walk home. This might sound strange after what I mentioned above, but during the day the 5 minute amble to our house from the language school for lunch is one of life's little pleasures. Invariably, the sun will be shining, I can see the sand dunes and park to my left on the horizon. Just beyond them is the sea. I pass old folks sitting outside their house and I try to greet them jovially, even when they call me "Alemao" (German). At lunch time the streets are scented with the hazy aroma of beans and delicious Brazilian food. Then I pass the 5-a-side football pitch where some game might be going on, and over the square where the old men clunk their dominoes. Then it's past the pink Cathlic church, past the yellow building where folk practice singing for mass, turn right at the clinic onto our street and home... the stresses of the day just seem to ease off after this gentle stroll. And, I think I might be mad to ever consider swapping this for a commute on the London underground.

play.blogger.com. I've been enjoying a very clever little website that the people here at blogger.com have set up. Simply, every time a picture is uploaded to blogspot anywhere in the world, they display it live for all to see. This is happening so frequently the effect is of a never-ending slide show of random images. You can find out about any of the blogs in question or click straight to it from the picture. It's surprising how many people blog from Brazil! Anyway, through it, I've seen some very interesting photography and found some fascinating blogs. Give it a go here, at play.blogger.com.

Meet my new friend Adriano Lima, Paralympic gold medalist. On Tuesday I had the enormous privilege of interviewing Adriano Lima who is a student at Cultura Inglesa, Tirol unit. Adriano, who has minimal use of his legs, is a member with the Brazilian national swimming team. He has a gold medal from the Athens games where he was a winner in the relay. The medals he is holding in the picture are from this summer's Pan America Games which were in Rio. Adriano picked up seven gold medals, in front of a partisan home audience which included his wife and baby daughter Gabriella.

The reason for the interview is that Cultura produces an annual magazine which is given to parents and this will feature in it. Some excerpts from the article I'm working on about him:

How did his swimming career begin? Adriano, who has minimal use of both his legs, was not crippled from birth. He worked as construction worker until he was 17. But, 1990 was a fateful year for Adriano, as he fell off a high wall and broke his back, a terrible incident that was to deprive him of the use of his legs. This tragedy could have cut short Adriano’s hopes of a happy and fulfilled life. After what must have been three difficult years Adriano took to swimming and his evident skills were noticed. Soon, he was competing in his first competition in Recife at an event where he came home with a haul of gold medals. One year later, he was astonished to find himself on a plane to Italy, competing for his country internationally. Despite a harsh start to adult life Adriano seems free of bitterness in spite of the accident. “I’m very happy”, he says with a contended smile on his face. “I have no complaints about my life”.

I ask him about his routine, his training and diet. “Every day, I swim five hours and then I go to the gym for two hours”, he explains. “I never drink beer or soft drinks and never smoke”. And what food does a top class athlete like to eat? “I like to eat food like beans and rice. We eat a lot of fish and white meat to make us strong".

Nothing much to report (for once). It's been an average week, I'd say. Rach and Nelson have gone down to Recife again for Rachel's meetings so I'm home alone but the family will all hook up in Joao Pessoa for a night at a beach house tomorrow...

Amusing uses of English. We've been marking tests recently and so you know what that means? Funny English. I found Sueli, one of the other teachers marking tests from her children's group in the teachers room at Cultura. She was shaking her head ruefully while reading an error-strewn paper: "I stand on my eyes and I shut my knees... don't they listen to anything in class?"

My favourite from my students came in a test where students had to fill in a word in a sentence. The sentence was this: "My friend says that it is safe to shop on the internet as long as you use your common ________". Most of my class got the answer right, the word in the space should of course be "sense". But, one chap, using his imagination, put the word "computer". I gave him a mark as I could not dispute the grammatical correctness of the sentence even if it was a little surreal.

Lastly, a Brazilian showed me this so I sort of feel I have permission to forward it on in the name of good humour. Short clips of a Brazilian radio DJ trying to pronounce the name of UK/USA artists and songs. Clearly, this man never went to Cultura Inglesa. The clip is called "Radialista mestre do ingres" (which translates as Master DJ of Engrish) and you can watch it here.

Things I miss about England #67: less wildlife. We found this big moth on our wall the other day. He was about the size of a flying brick. He seemed a bit ill so we trapped him in a box and threw him out. Rachel called me a woos for generally flapping around like a big girls blouse when I saw it. What happened to the rugged missionary kid who would go out looking for critters under rocks? Nelson on the other hand was fearless. He poked at it with great authority. (Does anyone know what kind of moth this is? If my Uncle Les reads this blog, he'll know).

Seriously though, we have bats living in the tree outside our house and we find the odd scorpion and cockroach around our property. Of course, there are mozzies and flies too. And then, there are the stray cats and dogs. Especially with Nelson becoming increasingly independent, sometimes we'd prefer there to be slightly less disease or illness transmitting members of God's good creation around...

Things I love about Brazil #15: more wildlife. But, on the other hand, the wildlife can be astonishing. Rachel and Nelson had a great time watching monkeys at the park the other day. The birds (the feathered variety, boys!) are beautiful in Brazil, but it is a shame that so many of them end up as caged pets on our estate. Probably the most memorable wildlife we've seen was at Pipa beach when Ruth and Julian were here a while back. Just a few feet from the shore a dolphin leapt completely out the water three times, on the final occasion with a fresh silver fish in it's mouth. We were literally speechless at the sight. You don't see that in Skegness every day, do ya?

Nelsinho makes it onto Brazilian national cable TV on a programme about football. His Uncle Nelson sent a picture in of the young lad in a Nautico footy kit. You can watch the clip on You Tube.

Cultura Tirol. The whole family were up over the weekend helping move a Cultura school (in a part of Natal called Tirol) 500 yards down the road to a new building. It was a real family affair with even Rachel's brother coming up from Recife as one of a legion of computer geeks setting up the IT in the library. The new unit started taking students yesterday. I have a lesson over there this afternoon so I'll be seeing it in use for the first time today.

New idea for gaining clients for the language school. Following the car incident on Monday (see last post), everything, thanks to my Father in law, has been sorted A OK. The guy who I bumped is seriously toying with the idea of enrolling his family in Cultura Inglesa school. This sparked an idea with Steve over lunch that day...
S: "It may not be the most orthodox way to get clients for Cultura, but it seems to have worked".
Me: "Well, I'd be happy to bump into as many cars as you like around Natal to get more students for the school"
S: "Yeah, and after they get out the car to look at the damage you could say 'Are you tired of life in Natal? Why not learn a new language and get away from it all'"...

A bit about music. Yesterday, I had a boys night out jamming with Dyego (a teacher from Cultura and a good friend), Mariano (soon to emigrate to the USA - boo!) and Wesley (a cheerful Brazilian drummer who I had never met before). We played from the hours of 10pm to midnight at a rented studio, the only time we were all free. For two hours with hiring the cymbals we each paid R$7.50 - about £2.00. So, I couldn't complain about the good value.

I had to borrow a guitar (it wasn't the greatest work of art, I have to say). We mangled a few hits from REM, Radiohead, Elvis, Pearl Jam and the Goo Goo Dolls amongst others. We miss Mev here with his all round muscial nouse. I was singing for the most part so you can see it was a flawed venture from the start. Honestly, I think our efforts were what the word "shambolic" was invented to describe. But it was a laugh and we'll do the same next week with some more practice. Although, I'm exhausted today as after we packed up I had to drive Dyego and Wesley home as it was too late for their buses. Dyego and especially Wesley live out in the sticks (or "the boondocks" as my mother would say), and when I fell into bed at past 2.30am, after driving on deserted and sometimes unlit roads, I was reminded again by what a big, open place Brazil actually is.

A bit about photography. One of Brazil's greatest living icons is hardly known in his home country. Sebastiao Salgado is an award-winning, world-class photographer who documents (always in black and white) the plight of the poor, the working classes, those affected by war or famine or forced migration across the developing world. He has also exhibited pictures of wildlife, but it is his ability to capture something of the sadness and hope in people that has made him so famous.

I first found out about him about 8 years ago when I flicked through a book of his at my cousin Paul's house in Washington DC. Since then I saw with Rachel his Migration exhibition in London which was one of the most moving (and shocking) things I have ever witnessed.

Salgado has just opened an exhibition in London about coffee workers in Ethiopia, Brazil, India and Guatamala. See it if you can! A good place to find out about Salgado is here on the Guardian website which has a whole section devoted to him.

Student blog. This semester I tried a new idea which has worked quite well - a blog, in English, for my students. I post details of tests, homework and links to good websites on there. But, I also use it as a board to put more interesting things on - videos, pictures (of the students or their work) and anything else I find that might keep them interested. Sometimes the site gets 30 hits a day so it seems to be working. Related to the information above, I just posted a video on there with clips of Sebastiao Salgado's photography. The video was put together by a Brazilian hoping to raise awareness of Salgado's work. My website is: teacherdavenatal.wordpress.com. Take a look!

I hate Mondays. In the manner of Garfield, I have had quite a Monday morning. It all began when Nelson's nappy was so full I got wee on my fresh trousers and shirt and it was a struggle to get Nelson to eat his papaya for breakfast. Several niggly things later, I've dropped Rach at work and am in the car with Nelson and we're pulling onto a main road. Next moment I hear a crunch. I've pranged the back of the car in front of me. Nobody hurt, no damage to us, minor (but expensive!) damage to him. To be fair, it is a notorious junction which involves pulling into a lane of moving traffic. I was so busy checking my mirrors and blind spot I hadn't noticed the guy in front of me had come to a hault.

There's nothing quite like bashing somebody else's car to dry up the flow of one's already frazzled Portuguese. I managed to call Rach who came down and efficiently set about sorting us all out. Unfortunately she accidentally locked the car keys in our car in the process. Mondays! But a short phone call later and a man with an orange shirt shows up on a motorbike. He is a chaveiro (key guy) and manages to get into our car within 30 seconds... (worringly fast if you ask me!). One problem solved.

Steve and Celia show up, somebody else takes Nelson to school. We wait for the traffic police to arrive. After nearly two hours they appear. It turns out a much worse incident occurred further up the road which they had to deal with first. When they do come they are helpful and efficient, albeit slightly confused about the paperwork for me, an estrangeiro. They are seriously "pimped" traffic police with endless gadgets hanging off their belts and proiminant hands-free cellphones draped over their ears. One guy has a pair of aviators on and the other a pair of fake RayBan sunglasses... I'm reminded of the Independence Day parade when all the uniformed forces marched past us (see last blog). On that occasion, the traffic police, with painted faces, had dressed up as traffic lights and could have passed for circus clowns. But on Monday morning, these "real" traffic police before me cut much more imposing figures.

Actually, I was very thankful to God this whole thing hadn't been worse. It could have been a disastrous Monday morning if somebody had got hurt or it had been more serious. Our car was fine, our friend's will need a bit of work but not much. The chap I bumped was quite banterous and took the occasion to chat with Steve about the possibility of sending his kids to Cultura Inglesa... Never one to miss a business opportunity, Steve filled him in on all the details. Brazilians, thankfully, they just seem never seem to get too stressed about it all.

Amy and Steve's birthday. Monday mornings always follow weekends and we did, it's true, have a very good weekend. My father and sister-in-law share birthdays and so the whole family were here with some cousins and friends thrown in for good measure. We relaxed by the pool on Sunday and ate some good shrimp followed by chocolate cake for lunch.

Football update: America don't lose! In the evening we went off to watch America RN play against Sport Recife. At least our local team didn't lost this time - but they will dissapointed to have only drawn 1-1 in a game they could have won. Pita (Rachel's cousin who was with us in York for a year) was one of those around and he's a big Sport fan so we sat in the away supporters end. Since America have started losing so much their support has dwindled. There may have been more away fans at this match than home fans. The huge Machadao stadium was mostly empty.

Football update: time to start supporting another team? Earlier that day, by the pool, Steve got chatting to a guy who it turns out is on the board of ABC, America's local rivals. This chap promptly gave us free ABC shirts there and then and promised us the chance to sit in his executive box at the next ABC game. Now, ABC are in Brazil's third division and I have been to their stadium before. Can't say I really noticed any boxes anywhere, let alone executive ones, but it's a nice gesture. If we do this my conscience will be pricked. Supporting a team is like being married... it seems very sinful to leave ones first love for another model even if the second comes with lots of freebies. America or ABC, who to support?

Things I miss about England #80: Gas from the mains. As part of the weekend festivities I cooked up a (mock) Brazilian curry for everyone on Saturday night. The gas for our oven comes from a container, which decided to run out when I had things boiling on all the hobs. Thankfully, Steve managed to find a place who filled it up, even late at night on a Saturday. Thank the Lord, the curry was saved.

Things I love about Brazil #24: Match day snacks. Watching football live in Brazil is half about the game and half about the associated atmosphere. A big part of the latter is the endless stream of snack vendors who try to convince you to purchase their beer, soft drinks, water, tic-tacs, popcorn and an endless assortment of other goodies. Personally, I wouldn't trust anything with meat or cheese in (you have no idea where it comes from or how it's been cooked!). But for the equivalent of about £2 per match you could have a couple of beers, some cashew nuts and, my favourite, churros - sort of long sugary doughnuty things with caramel sauce inside. I ate three yesterday and didn't need dinner after that.

Church. Rachel's Mum babysat the boy on Sunday morning which gave us a chance to have the rare luxury of getting over to church and sitting, uninterrupted, for the duration of the service. I was pleased I could make out some of Pastor Gerson's sermon. It's not easy with the echo from the microphone but he preached about the cross, saying it was the greatest work of God. Sound theology if you ask me.

After about twenty minutes the heat set in making it difficult to concentrate in any case. The building they use is like a warehouse and is in the process of being renovated and developed. To keep it cool they have about 20 fans on full power hanging from the ceiling and attached to the walls. It's like sitting underneath a fleet of helicopters. Sadly, the desired cooling effect is not as it should be. Most of the congregation and the pastor are wilting by the end...

Brazilian Independence Day. September 7th 1822 is the date formerly recognised as when Brazil became independent from their colonial masters Portugal, although it seems the historical reading needs to be a bit more nuanced than just remembering that one date. (See Wikipedia entry here). My students spoke about Independence day to me yesterday. One lad pointed out: "We gained our political independence on this date, but we still have not gained our economic independence from the USA and other wealthy nations". Even if this is another simplification of a very complex discussion, he is not the only young Brazilian I've met to voice this opinion.

So, today was (another!) public holiday and the three of us went off with Mariano, Babi and family to watch the Brazilian Independence Day parade. This involved all the armed forces, volunteer forces and essentially anybody who wears a uniform marching by through the morning. There was also a brief show of strength from the air (see pic) - Natal has an airbase which trains Brazilian pilots. We all had a great time, including Nelson, who loved the noise, the military vehicles and probably would've enjoyed the dogs and horses if he had been awake to see them.

With such a big crowd closely packed around us we were careful to keep a close eye on our cameras and wallets. But, I comforted myself with the fact that if anything should happen we could call on any number of uniformed agents to come to our aid: be it the police, the traffic police, the military police, the riot police, the lifeguards, the dog trainers, the Calvary, the parachute regiment, the veterans, the girl scouts, the boy cubs, firefighters, the Seventh Day Adventist marching band or the quad-bike-riding sand dune force of the environmental police... the list goes on.

Natal fashion week. Rachel and Amy have gone with Barbara to this tonight leaving me and Celia alone to babysit the boy. It gives me some extra time for bloggage...

Raul Seixas. One of my students leant me a CD of the music of the late Raul Seixas recently. Rachel says he is the man that brought rock'n'roll to Brazil. Actually, the CD I'm listening to is circa 1973 and is absolutely brilliant. It's like Elvis meets Johnny Cash and Leonard Cohen and the three of them go off, learn Portuguese, record an album and voila! There are a handful of videos on Youtube if you search under his name. For a very bad example of his abilities, check out the strange, surreal song in English about a magic train (dare I say it, perhaps created under the influence of chemicals whose provenance may not be strictly legitimate). View it here.

Juliette Fandrich. Congrats to my cousin Sarah and her husband Martin on the arrival of their second daughter!

Things I miss about England #70: Reading the paper. Julian Kenny kindly left me a copy of the Telegraph when he visited last week. There's nothing like sitting back on the sofa and opening a broadsheet.

Things I love about Brazil #11: Help. Some people might think it lazy of us or perhaps a reversion to a colonial exploitative era to employ house help. You might especially think this when I say we pay less than £10 for a full day's work. But really, it's a win-win situation. With Nelson trashing the house on an hourly basis it helps to have an extra pair of hands for washing and cleaning. Secondly, it provides valuable employment for somebody, and our pay (which includes lunch and breakfast) is fair given the local Brazilian economy. Having somebody about the place during the day is good for security if we are all out too. In fact, NOT hiring if you have the means to is seen as being miserly and stingy. We had people enquiring about working the moment we got here.

First we had Miriam and now it's Ana. Both women appear to be somewhat ageless in appearance. I'd place them anywhere between 25 and 45. I think this is because they carry a worldly-wise look about them that suggests the experience of years, but they both seem to have the stamina, energy and strength of a beach volleyball team.

Ana does a great job keeping the house in order two days a week. She fixes great beans and fresh pineapple juice. She is constantly perplexed by my attempts to speak Portuguese and we often get our wires crossed. But last Friday she inadvertently revealed her age to us. We were talking about kids and she mentioned that her eldest was nearly 22. I was shocked! Mentally, I figured, if she had had kids in her twenties, this must place her, at the very least, in the latter part of my age estimate. But then came the punch line: her first was born when she was 15! And I'll leave you to do the math...

Vegetarian student - an update. During my lesson earlier today we asked our young friend who turned vegetarian how he was doing (see last Saturday's entry for full story). This is what he said: "I tried to be a vegetarian. I lasted nearly a week. But yesterday my friends and I all went to Burger King and I couldn't resist...". I asked him if he would consider taking it up again. " I think that from now on if I am on my own in the house I will not eat meat a lot, but it is too difficult to say no always!"

Rachel the dancing queen. Up until now Rachel has not really had anything she could describe as a personal hobby away from Nelson or I, the family or the Cultura Inglesa language school. So I was really pleased that today her and Amy were able to get off to a two hour belly dance class. Seriously, Rachel wanted to dance and this was the only thing available at a suitable time and with places free. Rachel came back all wobbly-kneed after the work out... but with tummy muscles toned to the strength and consistency of a granite ironing board. I'll keep a close eye on Rachel's belly in the next few weeks and post updates here.

Nelson's first uniform. Pictured, Nelson in his Primeiros Passos uniform. The first day out of civies into his new school clothes was last Friday. My wee lad's all growed up. I don't know where he learned to pose like a model in a mail order catalogue. Perhaps his fashion guru Tia Amy taught him some tips on staring purposefully into the distance while propping oneself up at a jaunty angle.

Status: exhausted. Nelson picked up a virus on Sunday last weekend and he had a fever for the best part of the last few days. As he wasn't allowed to go into his play school we had to share the baby sitting duties between Rachel and I and the extended family. Most of the time this meant we were running around like headless chickens and not sleeping much at night either! Pleased to report he his better, except for a bum rash (also nearly better!) which causes him no end of discomfort and sends him climbing up the nearest wall. The agenda for this weekend: sleep whenever possible.

Diana's death remembered. The anniversary of the death of Diana. We probably all remember where we were... I was on the minibus on the way back from Wales where I and some school pals had just completed the 14 peaks challenge. Brazilians ask a lot about the Royal Family in the UK, and I expect I'll be using some of the media coverage of Diana in my English lessons. She remains an iconic figure, even here.

Change of weather. Natal is moving out of it's winter period and it's starting to feel like swealtering summer again. There are only two seasons in Natal: 1) rain and sun 2) just sun. Of course, "winter" stretches the definition of the former. Basically, it means you might not wear shorts every day of the week, but now the baking sun is back you probably will. Unfortunately, the changing weather sometimes brings bad health. A lot of students are spluttering and coughing their way through the semester and today Nelson has a small fever.

Grandpa Barlow. I forgot to mention this last week, but Grandpa Barlow - Rachel's Dad's Dad - has been unwell and in hospital. We visited him there last weekend where he had lost weight and was quite out of it. So, he and the family are in our prayers.

Stop Press: Male student opts for vegetarianism! Vegetarianism in Brazil is a fringe cult reserved for lunatics. That's how the majority view it, anyway. So you can imagine how surprised we all were in my Saturday English class when, during a discussion about McDonalds, a young lad chirps up that he is going to decline all burgers as he about to start being a vegetarian for ethical reasons. "I tried last Sunday but failed so I'm starting again", he points out. "Sometimes I think I get on with animals better than people". For a red-blooded young north eastern Brazilian male this revelation is on a par with Billy Elliot telling his coal mining Dad that he wants to be a dancer not a boxer. The rest of the class were largely incredulous and we will monitor our young friend's progress in the next lesson.

I've seen eleven goals netted in my last two visits to watch my local team, America RN. Sadly, they only scored two of them. Four of us went to watch America play again yesterday. They were playing Santos, Pele's former team. Santos' no.10 shirt was illustriously worn by Pele in the 50s, 60s and early 70s where he brought unprecedented success to the club. More recently, the number 10 shirt has been worn by the Brazilian international Ze Roberto - but due to the threat of kidnapping to his family and insecurity he has returned to play in Europe. Santos' manager is former Brazil and Real Madrid manager Vanderlei Luxumbergo.

Anyway, Santos rode over America comprehensively beating them 4-1 last night. Our local team were diabolical. But, whereas I think British fans of a struggling Premiership team would show a bit of pluck and rally for their local team, Brazilians are very bad losers. British fans can't tolerate their players and manager not trying, but if the team DO compete and still lose, they are often given a rousing send off. And, although this is rare - it's true, if one team comprehensively outplays the other, British fans might sportingly clap the opposition at the end in the name of fair play. In the season when Arsenal went unbeaten this occurred a number of times.

Not in Brazil. Brazilians are fickle about success. The fact is, for a small north eastern town to have a team in the top division is already a fantastic achievement. My, how they partied a few months ago when they were promoted! But now that America are rooted to the bottom "holding the lantern" as the Brazilians say, nobody wants to give them the time of day. My students keep schtum on the subject of football now, like America RN are some king of unspeakable embarrassment. I've just come back from teaching a class and when I asked Thiago, an avid fan, if he bad been to the match he said this: "No way, teacher. It's a waste of money. I'm forgetting all about it. It's better to wait until next season when we are in Division 2".

And gate receipts for the club are way down despite the fact that some of the best players in the country are coming to Natal to play. When Santos scored their third goal yesterday, the two guys next to us got up and walked out. It was only the 47th minute. The team were boo-ed off at half time and at the end. Somebody near us threw a cup of coke at the goalkeeper. In Brazil the referee and linesmen are given armed escorts when they enter or exit the field of play. After yesterday, I felt the riot police should've been covering America's manager. Oh, for a bit of British stiff upper lip. Chin up, tally ho and all that.

Teaching English to a Premiership footballer. Have you ever wondered how the latest International signings who come over to play their football in England learn how to communicate with their English-speaking teammates? Answer - private English lessons. Chelsea's new Brazilian defender Alex (pictured above with Jose Mourinho) is being taught by my friend Julian Kenny. Actually, it seems the majority of people at Chelsea speak Portuguese and other languages so if Alex sticks at it for a few more weeks he'll be one of the most fluent English speakers there...

Julian, who is a very experienced English teacher and trainer and fluent Portuguese speaker, is staying with us in Natal for a few days and he came to watch the Santos game with me. One reason he came is Alex is a former Santos player and JK thought it'd be good to see his client's old team in action. Julian teaches English to Alex three times a week. (You may or not be interested to know that he teaches from the very popular English File Elementary coursebook). Alex, along with his wife and 3 year old daughter are living in a hotel while they sort themselves out in London. Alex is an Evangelical Christian and made it his priority to find a church, asking Julian for advice on where he could go. Julian has been filling me in on the inside story of life for a footballer earning a 6 figure-a-week salary. And here's a scoop: Julian says that Alex says that Mourinho is a very nice, caring man who is really fun to be around! That I find hard to believe.

Anyway, Julian is slowly getting his head around football lingo as he hasn't been a huge fan up to now. He even sent Steve and I a vocab list to help out with. I had to seriously think through the implications of indirectly helping a Chelsea player, especially one who knocked Arsenal out of the Champions League last season. But this Alex chap sounds like a nice guy, and he'll never know that I translated "boot it clear" as "score an own goal".

Tim Vickery, who reports on football in South America for the BBC, has written about Alex here.

(Several) amusing uses of English. I need to thank Ruth Leckenby for this startling picture from a public toilet near here in Natal. I hope you don't mind me posting it here, Ruth. All credit is yours for finding this use of Engrish. I wonder if Won would let me take a whizz?

But, it's not only Brazilians with amusing uses of English. I had to read a very dry Policies and Procedures document from an American agency who monitor a certain kind of English test. Before this particular English test, candidates have a picture taken of them. There were two pages of detailed description on how to take this picture. A highlight (or, perhaps, lowlight) was this description:

The examinee's nose should point toward the camera and be centered over the breastbone. This aligns the camera and the examinee's head and shoulders to produce the square frontal pose commonly known as a "mug shot". etc. etc.

So, what you're saying is we want a passport-style shot of the person's face. Summon the "Simple English" Police! And then:

Glasses may cause a glare to appear in the picture. If the examinee is uncomfortable without glasses, tilt his/her head down until the reflection of ceiling lights is no longer visible in the lens of the glasses. Then have the examinee raise his/her eyes (not the head) to look into the camera. Note that under certain lighting conitions, no amount of head tilting will completely eliminate reflections of overhead lights.

I'm glad we've cleared that up. Speaking of Simple English I have recently started teaching a group of four Lawyers from the Brazilian MNC Petrobras. One of them is his company's top dog for Tax Law in the Brazlian North East. I can't think of a more boring thing to know a lot about, although it has to be said he drives a very swanky car. Anyway, they want English to help them with Contract and Business Law. They even helpfully brought me a sample of the sort of stuff they need to read. I took one look at it and have decided that I need a crash course in the new language of LawSpeak before I even have a hope of teaching this to somebody else... Any lawyers out there with some Law 101 textbooks you could lend me? I don't yet know my mitigation from my litigation.

Amusing use of names. Brazilians, as has been mentioned before, do have some mighty unusual names. Rachel met a shop assistant with the name Jamaica last week. It turns out her father, a fan of the names of nations, called her siblings Jordan, Libya, Israel and Argentina. (I imagine Argentina's ex-boyfriend singing "Don't cry for me...").

Random things round our way: English language schools. We're just into the start of a new semester and the competition amongst the English language schools is fierce for the business of the local population. English schools are fat on the ground in Brazil as state education does not provide enough of a headstart for language learners, and top employers want English fluency. I took these pictures within the space of 10 minutes - all these schools, competitors of my employers Cultura Inglesa, are within a mile or so of our house. I know of at least one other private school run by an English guy, and I didn't get to photograph FISK school whose building is about 100 yards from Cultura. The language schools have creative names and logos - my favourite is the English and Spanish school "Watford": why has Watford suddenly been incorporated into the London underground? What does Watford have to do with learning Spanish? I'm sure there's a story there somewhere, but I don't quite get it...

To be fair to my Parents-in-law who run our school, Cultura Inglesa has a reputation for excellence and strives to be a market leader with respect to it's modern methods of teaching, use of technology (internet/DVD/e-boards etc.) and teacher training. Teachers at Cultura are expected to have Cambridge FCE (First Certificate in English) and now preferably CELTA (Cambridge English Language Teaching Award). Ironically, I have a young lady in my class who was an ex-Wizard* teacher. It seems that sometimes teachers from other schools come to Cultura to brush up...

* by ex-Wizard I mean, of course, that she was once teaching English at Wizard school, NOT that she was formerly herself a Wizard NOR that she used to be a teacher of Wizards, for example at a place like Hogwarts.

Things I miss about England #51: No dubbing on films. This evening I will be watching the new Simpsons movie at the cinema with my friend teacher Diego from Cultura. The word is that it will be dubbed into Portuguese for the benefit of any young ones who want to see the film and can't read. Homer just ain't Homer without his voice and, for me, "D'oh!" just doesn't have the same ring in Portuguese.

Things I love about Brazil #93: Clothes dry quickly. I've just hung out the washing. It's a nice sunny day and I know that within 10 minutes all my shirts, shorts and undies will be nice and dry, positively crispy in fact. Beats hanging soggy jumpers over radiators in York...

Home Alone. I shall be doing my best Macauley Culkin impersonation and setting boopy traps in the house this weekend as Rach and Nelson go down to Recife leaving me "sozinho" to fend off any burglars. I have to teach on Saturday which is why I can't join them. So, it'll be a case of getting the beers in and watching some Premiership on ESPN... oh and I might go to see the new Simpsons Movie with teacher Diego. On Sunday I drive down to Joao Pessoa to pick them up and also see the latest addition to the family. Rachel's Uncle and Aunt have a new baby: John Barlow, born last week. With a name like that you'd think he'd been born to a family on Coronation Street. Still, everybody is very excited - except perhaps Nelsinho, who slips down one place in the "cute babies who need spoiling" league.

Plastic Bags revisited: Saving the world one bag at a time. A small environmental victory was scored today in the sleepy city of Natal, North East Brazil. Due to an unexpected set of circumstances (which shall be relayed later) we are now quite well acquainted with the Manager at our local Nordestao supermarket. Nordestao, you may remember, is our favourite local place to buy groceries. You may also remember (see blog entry for June 12) that it is here that we accumulate an uncountable and vast number of plastic bags. Well, Rachel expressed her opinions about the wastage generated at Nordestao to our new Manager friend and he assured her we could bring our bags back - (although, we are unclear if he means we can return them to the shop to be re-used/re-cycled or whether we can re-use them ourselves through the tills).

As he put it in his best English to me: "You must deliver your bags here. It is important for the world". It is, indeed, important for the whole world to re-use ones plastic bags...

Noise pollution second thoughts. After posting my comments on the fireworks outside out house (see Sunday's post), I realised that I should have mentioned how lucky we are here in Natal compared to my folks in Chad. At least we don't have a panel-beating garage next to us, farm animals at our bedroom window, the mosque minaret calling people to prayer at far-too-early-am or, for that matter, gunfire in the street. At least fireworks are pretty to look at...

Feeling better. Thanks to God and a pampering wife, no more fever. Back to work tomorrow morning.

Things I miss about England #62: Minimal noise pollution. Sure, if you live, as we did, in a place like Clifton in York, you have to put up with the odd post-pub chant outside your window, but I am pretty sure that on average most urban places in the UK will be quieter in the evenings than most similar urban places in Brazil. Most of the time the booming music, arguing neighbours, local traffic and exotic wildlife don't actually bother us enough to make a point about it... but the fireworks, meu Deus! For some unknown reason (unknown as there is no festival requiring fireworks anywhere near this part of August in the calender) some bright spark (literally) has been setting off cheap but ear-drum-burstingly loud fireworks within the vicinity of our, and more importantly Nelson's, living space.

It's not as if they blast them all off and then stop - I could cope with that. No, they randomly string together half a dozen of their mini-grenades then wait for half an hour before lighting another six or so. I don't like fireworks or loud noises much at the best of times, so you can imagine what this does to my nerves by the end of an evening. I liken it to having a sadistic clown with a very loud toy gun pointed at your temple for several hours. The joke is he may pop another blank in your ear, but you don't know when he will do it again, or even if he is finished...

Last night was the worst. Nelson has proved his ability to sleep through fireworks displays (New Years Eve fifty yards from a beach party is the point in case) but just as he his settling down, having a volley of machine gun-like noises rip through your bedtime story isn't likely to stimulate those eyelids shut. No sooner had he dropped off to sleep when off went some more. Waaahhhh!!!! Twenty minutes later and he's nodded off again then off go the fireworks. Waaahhhh!!!!! etc. etc. Of course, each time this happens it also sets up a barking competition amongst our estate's canine population.

I'd complain if it wasn't considered social suicide in a country where poopoo-ing a party is on a par with killing the president.

Things I love about Brazil: #35: The way they do Father's Day. Today has been Brazilian Father's Day and now that I am in my second year of eligibility I thought I'd milk it for what it's worth. Cunningly designated for this Sunday in August, Father's Day in Brazil falls on the first day of the Premiership Football Season. Two years ago exactly, when Rachel and I were also in Brazil, my Father-in-law Steve took the opportunity in his position as Dad to call the shots on what the family would do with their day. I watched two back to back Premiership games, then went with Steve to a live football match, came back and watched another Brazilian football match on TV. With this in mind, Rachel babysat so I could watch uninterrupted on ESPN the great Arsenal play today in their first game of the new season. They nearly spoiled it for me, but turned a 1-0 shock deficit round to a last gasp 2-1 victory.

Already in a good mood therefore, I was chipper as we went off to our favourite beach just outside Pipa. Ruth, Rachel, Nelson and I joined up with Amy and her entourage of four "gringos" that she was hosting. Even a random Irish guy called John was brought along for good measure. After lunch and once in the sea it was time to try out my Father's Day gift... a body-board, oh yes! The Atlantic tide was coming in and quite high so I summersaulted a few 360s in the water and ended up with sand in places the sun don't shine but I was hardly going to let that spoil a perfect day.

Estou com febre. At home twiddling my thumbs with dull headaches and a fever which I can't shake off after three days. Like last term, I got ill at the start of the semester...

Goodbye to Amy. Firstly, Mark returns to England at the end of July and now Amy has moved out to her parents apartment. Ruth is off home on Monday leaving Rachel and I and Nelson home alone for practically the first time in Brazil: shock horror!

France revisited. Just a quick note to say what a great time we had in France at the end of July. In the beautiful country house of Seb and Jane, with space for the kids and Nelson to run around. Nelson's favourite things were there in abundance - steering wheels (on cars and farm machinery), "au-au"'s (in this case, cats) and lots of kinds of "bodga" (that's "bola" or "ball" to me or you). It was great to meet, some for the first time, some of my extended family and celebrate some key dates: JR's 40th, Aunty Margaret's 70th, Mum and Dad's 30th...

In France, we mainly relaxed although this did not mean we necessarily slept more (think jet-lagged baby waking up at 2am ready to play). A trip to the Asterix Park proved a highlight for me as a I relived my childhood (and, perhaps, adulthood) obsession with comic strips. Seeing Mum and Dad and letting them have time with their grandson was, of course, the key reason we were all there. An extra bonus for me: I benefited from some excellent discussions with the likes of Jane, Seb, JR and Joelle on life, parenting, our family history, Politics, travel... plenty of food for thought.

Random things round our way: the Machadao. I've cheekily copied the picture above from the Wikipedia entry for the stadium which resides less than half an hour walk away from our house. This huge disk is probably the best stadium in the North East of Brazil, and according to Steve, was designed in such a way as to remain breezy and cool despite being filled with 35,000 sweaty bodies. I have been lucky enough to visit stadia in Fortaleza, and several in Recife and another in Natal and none of them match the Machadao on all accounts of size, aesthethic appeal. access or general (pre-game) cleanliness. Natal's own America RN were promoted to Serie A (the Premiership of Brazil) last season and so they have entertained the likes of Sao Paulo and Corinthians here. In fact, the first game of the season - versus Romario's Vasco de Gama - attracted the biggest gate receipts for anywhere in Brazil.

With all that in mind, it was a pleasure to take Ruth to her first football match at the Machadao last Saturday evening. America RN were hosting Nautico, a team from Recife and the darlings of my Father-in-law Steve. At possible risk to our well-being we sat in the Nautico end, with Steve clad in a Nautico shirt, for the encounter. The game was a cracker and Nautico - recently buoyed by having a new manager - overturned the Natal team 5-1. As you can imagine, there was bedlam in our end of the stadium. The drums were out, everybody was hugging, jumping, dancing and hollering... By the final whistle most of the depleted America crowd had already gone home. You can see highlights of the game on YouTube here. The best goal of the game was from Nautico's right back Sidny (whose Father meant to name him after the Australian city, but misspelt his name). Look out for any gringos celebrating the goals... that would probably be us!

Recife to Joao Passoa to Natal.... without any trouble, you'll be pleased to here. Some pictures of the BRA desk in Madrid. Note the people sitting/sleeping on or around the check in, and compare the real time (19.29) with the supposed time for our flight (15.10). Now remember that after 19.29 we still had to wait five more hours, ay caramba!

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.