25.10.16 - Suar como tampa de panela

Hello Cleveland! 

A slow week, as work continues to be not quite as negligible as I'd like and Gaby's course continues to devour her whole.  We tried getting the cats together again at the weekend, this time at our place, but Valente is still riddled with post-op hormones and had to be quarantined at all times, so they've been separated again until he gets his act together or is returned to his owner, whichever comes first.   

We also went to see a flat down the road, which was nice but ultimately a little pricey, so we've decided to grin and bear it here until our contract runs out - we also went to the local constabulary and now have a semblance of a plan in case there's another outbreak of manic barking in the middle of the night. And Gaby talked me into getting a deep cleanse at her dermatologist on Friday, which was less painful than expected but ultimately has made no difference to my face whatsoever, as far as I can tell (she seems to like it though...).

Elsewhere we're planning a trip up the coast to Paraty next month, as well as some sort of Xmas jaunt and of course our awesome Eurotrip next summer; I've made another compilation featuring the new single by Speelburg, a.k.a. the Artist Formerly Known as Noah, among other lovely things; and this week's phrase is one of my favourites: "suar como tampa de panela" = "to sweat like a pan lid".

Hope all well with you and yours, and let's speak soon!

Fred's Atomic Dustbin

18.10.16 - Quebrar galho

Greetings from São Paulo, where summer has finally got its act together and we sit slack-jawed and prostrate, usually in hammocks. Everyone has dutifully switched from complaining about the cold to complaining about the heat. Even the dogs over the road have stopped barking quite so much, and we've called off the drone strike for now.

I've been getting over a touch of post-UK lurgee so haven't been up to a huge amount recently - a particularly good burger, at the imaginatively-titled "O Burguer" in Moema on Wednesday, is about the extent of our travels.  That day was a national holiday in honour of Our Lady of Aparecida, a saintly apparition in a river following a particularly fruitful fishing session back in the 1700's, and as good a reason as any for a day off.  This led to reenactments of the "Lady of the Lake" scene in Monty Python & the Holy Grail, and there was much rejoicing.

On Sunday we all went to Gaby's grandma's for a superlative birthday BBQ, featuring singalongs, grilled cinnamon pineapple (Grilled. Cinnamon. Pineapple.) and a WhatsApp tutorial on her new smartphone, before heading back to collapse. Tonight I ride to Pinheiros for a new open mic (there is more than one!), so we'll see how that goes...

My weekly phrase - "quebrar galho", or "to break the branch" - means to lend someone a hand to overcome a problem in extremis, as far as I can tell. Finally, this week I've made one regular compilation, and another special-edition effort on Youtube that attempts to sum up the horrors of the US Presidential Election as we enter the final strait... I should warn you that both contain traces of Leonard Cohen. 

That will be all - speak soon!

The Hunt for Fred October

11.10.16 - É muita areia para meu caminhão

Hallooo!

Lovely to speak to you on Saturday, amidst the screaming children.  My short-but-sweet trip back to Blighty was an unqualified success, post-trip lurgee notwithstanding. Landed on Wednesday and beat a path via Mercedes S-class to Cliveden House, which is a bit of a looker to say the least, for our Annual Meeting. Checked into the Shrewsbury Suite - quite possibly the best room in the place after my boss exercised his organisers' privileges beforehand - and slept like a log in a four-poster bed ahead of the main event.

On Thursday we basically ran around the grounds all day making sure everything was in its right place, prepping the film crew, babysitting the talent, welcoming the Minister from his earlier meeting with BoJo and eventually adjourning to the Bar for HRH's arrival - despite the huge security precautions earlier in the day he was pretty low-key about it all, and dinner went off without a hitch. I was sat next to the Telegraph's Defence Editor, who was telling me about his many assignments on the front line, and our Director, who regaled us with tales from Central Asia. We reckon it's the best of the three Meetings we've done so far, and the first one I've actively enjoyed as it was taking place, which makes for a nice change.

Sadly the new format meant we had to leave our fluffy beds early the next morning, to wolf down a Full English Breakfast and usher in various guests for two discussion groups, which saw us up to midday and the end of the event. Wrapped things up and went in to London and my boss' Mayfair club, to discuss contracts and catch up with our IT guy, whom we never get to see and spent some time in Brazil a few years ago for work... Then it was off to rush-hour Kings Cross and on to Ely, where I got a lift to Isleham for fish pie and bed.

The next day we had the extended family round for a roast - lovely to see everyone and eat copious amounts of lamb and crumble. Then on Sunday it was off to London again, for brunch and a stroll along the Camden canal with Kika, and an extended jaunt through Denmark St and Covent Garden to scratch a year-long itch for fish 'n chips (no rendez-vous with Jack as he was working, unfortunately), before heading back to pick up my suitcase and hit the road/underground to Heathrow.

Got back yesterday at the crack of dawn and am still a little worse for the wear, but this is the furthest away I'll ever be from next year's event, so I'm making the most of it and getting back in the swing of things. No compilation due to my exertions elsewhere - reflected in my phrase of the week, which means "that's a lot of sand for my truck" (an expression of awe/dread at the task ahead, usually followed up with a cheery "tudo bem, eu faço duas viagens" / "that's alright, I'll make two trips").

Fare thee well, your highness your highness.

The Rt. Hon. the Lord Powys of Cliveden

04.10.16 - Braço duro

A quick e-mail before I sail for England this evening...   

Have mostly been concentrating on our big event later this week, which should go off without a hitch, touch wood.  Elsewhere we went to Taynah's circus recital on Sunday which was most amusing, and featured plenty of mid-air acrobatics, flamenco and belly-dancing, before we held a midnight raid on Wendy's, of all places, with Taynah still in full Black Swan make-up.  Earlier we'd gone to Gaby's old school en famille to vote in the mayoral elections, which the self-made, non-political right-wing empresario candidate (a gentler, less insane Trump, by the sound of it) won by a landslide. So we'll just see, won't we.

The day before, I went to Estudio Malibu for the monthly musical rave-up with Bob the Organiser and friends, which was rather fun and led to copious Beatles covers among other things, before degenerating into weird MPB (música popular brasileira) which I couldn't be doing with. I then broke my wingmirror while backing out on the way home, but recovered over homemade sweet 'n sour chicken, and should have it all patched up soon. 

Accordingly, my phrase of the week - "braço duro" / "stiff arm" - is a slang term for a bad driver (and apparently what Ridaut used to call Ayrton Senna back in the day, when he didn't finish in first place).  I've also thrown together a new compilation to tide you over until I get back from Blighty, and will no doubt speak to you from Isleham at the weekend. 

Wish me luck!

Frodliver Oil