Hope all well mit du. Not much to report here ahead of our whirlwind trip to Foz do Iguaçu this weekend, so I will be brief. The past week was spent checking out our new gym, which is nearer and shinier than the last one, while balancing soon-to-be-phased-out Pilates, work, driving (got my first fine yesterday, for loitering on the wrong side of the street. They grow up so fast...) and a career-best outing at the football where I literally could not stop scoring - this has become my theme song as a result.
On Saturday night we went back to our usual karaoke bar in Liberdade, now with a rather ominous "vomit tax - R$40" sign hung near the entrance, for an evening of mild frivolity and tempura. Still find it a bit weird when a whole room of people my age start singing along knowingly yet affectionately to terrible songs they grew up with, but which I've literally never heard of, like some uncanny valley version of "Wannabe" or "Mmm-Bop"; I just took to the stage in my socks and sang "Let's Dance" with minimal fanfare, as you do.
Yesterday the freelance PR consultants' union managed to wrangle us a bank holiday, so I drove Gaby in to school, wandered around the chicken-strewn Parque da Água Branca, read Bob Dylan's Chronicles and worked on my tan. I have also devised a fiendish Youtube compilation, and would recommend the new BBC Essential Mix by the Avalanches while we're at it. And finally, my phrase of the week harks back to a simpler, more innocent time when you could "tie up your dog with a string of sausages".
'Til next we speak, probably next to a ruddy great waterfall,
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