27.12.17 - Na descida todo santo ajuda

Hello from snowy Isleham, where we're recovering from a Xmas binge before heading to Paris.  Before that we were in London, where I met up with Gaby and Zila and sought refuge in our Kentish Town Airbnb, before heading into town for a typically masterful review at a posh curry restaurant.

The next day we went for a stroll along the Thames, followed by duck confit sarnies in Borough Market and a trip to Buckingham Palace, past Westminster and on to the London Eye, where I brushed off my tour guide patter and took lots of pictures. We then ended up in a service at Westminster Abbey, before heading back to recover.

The next day we went to Abbey Road for the zebra crossing pic, and Baker Street for the Sherlock Holmes pic, then on to the Natural History Museum for a whistlestop tour round all the dinosaurs, hollow planets and earthquake simulators, through Harrods and on to Oxford Street, where I dived into a nearby Fopp as Gaby rampaged through the Marble Arch Primark, and we ended up eating Icco's pizza before heading back to bed.

On Saturday we got a double-decker bus from Victoria to Notting Hill Gate, mainly to look over the fence into the Queen's back garden, and wandered down Portobello Road and back to Borough Market for fish 'n chips. After another stroll along the South Bank we went to the Hyde Park Winter Wonderland, where Gaby forced me to go on a rollercoaster for the first and hopefully last time, and we ended up in a thoroughly bizarre alternate universe of lederhosen-clad cover bands on revolving stages. But it was fun, I suppose.

The next day we packed up and dragged our bags to Ely, for a quiet night in with the parents and grandparents, then we were up the next day for an early-morning service at the church, followed by a Xmas extravaganza featuring the extended family (including Tom all the way from Japan), much exchanging of gifts and simultaneous translation, foie gras and champagne, a huge feast in the conservatory and finally, the Queen's Speech for the benefit of our foreign guests.

The next day we made the most of the sun by popping over to Cambridge for a tour along the Backs, and through the town centre, then back to Henar's to play the name game, wrestle with the small children and down tea, before heading back in the driving rain. Everyone is going their separate ways today and we're off to Paris later, although our plans to sightsee Ely have been thwarted by inclement weather.

My phrase of the day translates as "on the way down, any saint helps", which I thin means something like "any port in a storm".  I thought it was suitably Christmassy.

'Til the next installment I bid you adieu,

Fred-Nosed Reindeer

19.12.17 - Mosca morta

Winter is coming here on the Côte, and we do our best to fend it off with hearty broth and brisk walks along the ramparts. 

On Thursday night we donned our 3D glasses and went to see a Star War at the local cinema (one which involved a scene in a glamorous city full of war criminals which was basically Monaco), followed by a lovely dinner out on Friday night and a 5-hour constitutional round the Cap on Saturday, and the filming of our Xmas PSA called "Down in Antibes".

On Sunday we checked out the multitude of Xmas villages which have popped up around Antibes, ice rinks and all, and checked out the now-traditional feeding of the masses in the Safranier commune with a 15-metre-long cake (pictured here on fire) and vin chaud. It is, in fact, beginning to look a lot like Christmas.

To that end I point you in the direction of last year's Xmas mix, as well as a new one wot I made earlier this week, and my phrase of the day means "dead fly", or someone's who's a bit of a wet blanket, essentially. I believe the opposite is "barata louca" ("crazy cockroach").

Tomorrow I ride for London, until then, turrah,

Hit the Nail on the Fred

12.12.17 - Você não vale café sem açucar

Yo yo yo,

Christmas is nearly upon us, but here in Antibes I've been stuck in the unpredictable churn of work that usually takes place once our usual contracted stuff runs out for the year, in the hope that eventually it'll peter out and we can have some peace.   

We've also been to Nice for the day, which was spiffing and involved a trek around the bay, up the hill, under a waterfall, along the beach and finally up the main drag to the station, past the Xmas market and impromptu shrine to the late Johnny Hallyday.  

I've been swimming, I've been ill, I found out Radiohead are playing São Paulo next year, I made a pizza, I've had a pizza at the Elysée Carnot which was as emotional as you'd expect, and ended up singing a Disney cover to a bunch of strangers last night during an aperitif soirée in the driving rain.  It's all happening...

I've lovingly crafted another compilation, and my phrase of the week is a particularly damning put-down - "you're not worth coffee without sugar".  Coffee is a cultural touchstone in Brazil: if you want to say someone or something is completely unremarkable, you can say they're "café com leite" (milky coffee), or indeed "carne de vaca" (cow meat) or "água com açucar" (sugar water). Got it?

'Til the next time,

Frediterranean

05.12.17 - Fazer fusquinha

Week 2 on the Côte, and we are constantly on the move or making tea to keep warm...  We've been round the Cap to Juan-les-Pins, stopping off at a Christmas market in someone's front garden, and hosted an art exhibition in the flat as part of Premiers Vendredis, which was a roaring success despite the downpour that accompanied it.

Yesterday I went to check out an open mic night down the road and ended up playing drums in a makeshift jazz combo, before making way for the pros with their saxophones and French horns, which was rather fun.   And I'm currently in Monaco, having a wander while dad does some work down by the stadium. It's alright...

Today's phrase, "fazer fusquinha", means to show off in a needlessly ostentatious way - "fusquinha" is also the Brazilian term of affection for the VW Beetle, although I don't think the two are related.  And on that bombshell,

Ciao for now,

Fred

28.11.17 - A última bolacha do pacote

I write to you in Antibes, and since I am now among my usual audience - my immediate family - I'm now writing this blog for my own gratification, and if anyone else reads it so much the better.

 

On Wednesday I went to Jack and Julie's riverside house in Shepperton for a catch-up with them and Finn the baby, before heading across London and on to Ely the next day, for gallons of soup and tea with the grandparents in Isleham.   After a wander round Ely the next morning, and a slap-up Chinese meal in nearby Fordham, it was time to move on to Antibes, via the delights of Ryanair and Stansted airport, to gorge on lasagna and address my perpetually bunged-up head.

On Sunday we met up with Juliet and Mel at their Mougins hotel porter's lodge, and head up a mountain pass for a hike through the wilderness of Courmettes, plus pan bagnat sarnies and pains au chocolat. And yesterday I became reacquainted with vieil Antibes and Scrabble, which I'm glad to report I still rule at.

I've made another compilation - the hundredth since I started numbering them, although of course there have been many more outside the official canon - and today's phrase means "the last biscuit in the packet", to be applied to anyone who thinks they're god's gift and blessed with unique talents for any given situation. 

Ciao for now, Fred

Fred

22.11.17 - Desse mato não sai coelho

Hallooo,

I write to you from the jazz-inflected surroundings of the Foyles café, on my whistlestop tour of London, and following the successful work do out in Berkshire over the past few days.  

But first: before I left we had a preemptive birthday party for Gaby on Friday night in our building's "party room" (she then had a family BBQ on the actual day), which was fun and fuelled by caipirinhas and cake, despite a torrential downpour outside.   My flight over was interesting - I tried to be clever and choose a seat with extra legroom, but it turned out to be in the place where they put small children, so I had a screaming child basically in my lap the whole night.  

I got to Cliveden House on Sunday afternoon and didn't leave my room until the next morning, making full use of the bath and room service facilities, then rushed through two days of herding statesmen, printing statements, overseeing discussion groups and eating three-course meals until it was time to hitch a ride into London with my boss's luggage.

Having dropped off my suitcase at Kika's Bloomsbury office I hung out in a new Swedish smorgsabord place on Tottenham Court Road, before we went for a review courtesy of my erstwhile Fluid London editor, on a boat opposite the London Eye, which was a pleasant blast from the past featuring steak and fine wines.  And now I'm laying low in Central London before heading to Shepperton to see Jack and the family, before hitting up Ely/Isleham tomorrow. Then on to Nice!

No compilation this week unfortunately; my expression of the day translates as "from this forest no rabbit will come", and is used to express frustration towards fruitless situations, if you're that way inclined.

See you sooooon,

Fred, 'til you get enough

14.11.17 - Ter alguém na geladeira

What ho,

Less than a week 'til my European grand tour kicks off, and we're doing plenty of last minute shopping/washing/cat herding/conference planning in anticipation, stopping only for ice cream and a quick Friday afternoon trip to Cidade Jardim for STEAK. We also made fondue, which went reasonably well, and I tried my hand at making pastéis (pictured, slightly burnt). And there was much rejoicing.

I've made another mixtape, and my phrase of the day ("to have someone in the fridge") first rose to prominence in Wesley Safadão's timeless classic "Camarote"; as I understand it, "having someone in the fridge" means you have an unsuspecting Plan B on call somewhere if your main man/woman falls through (as one would defrost a ready meal if one's grand plans for dinner don't work out).   

Speak to you soon, and the next one of these will be from Lahndahn, hopefully.

Fred the Mechanic

07.11.17 - Outros quinhentos

Wotcha,

Had a rather chilled-out week including a stroll round the cemetery next door on the Day of the Dead (it was packed with folks sweeping graves, putting down flowers and setting fire to an entire supporting wall with commemorative candles, which I assumed was a Day of the Dead tradition and not just straight-up arson), a couples' night out in the Zona Leste on Friday night (attached is a photo of the men, striking very manly poses), a visit to an outlet outside Campinas on Saturday for a burger in a shipping container, and a family lunch on Sunday with Gaby's grandparents.

Et maintenant: I've made a rather low-key compilation, and the phrase of the week - "another five hundred" - means "another story altogether".  The saying originated in arcane Portuguese legislation (unlike another English equivalent, "a whole other kettle of fish", which is totally straightforward). 

Speak soon!

Fredator

31.10.17 - Bunda mole

Wotcha,

Hope all well. More of the same this past week, with Gaby hammering the last few nails in her thesis coffin, Ridaut off firing rifles on a grassy knoll in Dallas (the same week the JFK files were declassified, no less), an outspoken painter redecorating the in-laws' flat in between lengthy right-wing diatribes, and me finishing up my punishing physio/electroshock regime, for now at least. 

As we wait for summer to properly kick in, we've been working on our recipes (including caramelized apple turnovers and a sensational chocolate mousse) and binging Stranger Things 2, while I've made a bitchin' compilation plus a bonus Halloween mixtape (as have NASA, coincidentally...).

My phrase of the day (pronounced "bunda molly") is a personal favourite, referring to anyone of a less than valorous disposition - either a coward, or someone who never takes the initiative, or both. It translates literally as "limp bottom", and is wonderfully versatile (the English equivalent would probably be "wet blanket").  And finally, I would be remiss if I didn't share this excellent video about the annual Silly Walk in Brno, Czech Republic.

Bye for nye,

Busted by the Freds

24.10.17 - Tomaten auf den Augen haben

Hallooo,

How's things witchoo? A particularly taxing week of work and physio wrapped up with a trip to an all-you-can-eat sushi place up the road on Friday, for a freebie meal courtesy of Gaby's gym (long story) - ruddy good stuff, and reminiscent of my View/Fluid London reign of terror.  The next night we went to a birthday/house party with some of the folks from Greece, and have been recovering ever since.

Otherwise I've been prepping for my upcoming trip, while Ridaut and Bill headed off to the States under Doug's American Airlines stewardship, and were apparently re-routed from Miami to a Pensacola motel with one double bed, before eventually making it to Dallas yesterday. This week's phrase comes from our German cousins, and means "to have tomatoes on one's eyes", or to not see the obvious.

It's all over bar the compilations...

Goodnight you princes of Maine, you kings of New England!

Machine Fred

17.10.17 - Se cochilar o cachimbo cai

Wa'gwan? 

All is well over here, I've been a-speechwriting and a-compilation-making, and we've had all sorts of people round over the long weekend (NB: long for Brazilians, with their Children Day, Day of the Lady of the Lake and Friday off as well for some reason - not that I'm bitter at having to work straight through 'til Saturday or anything), including Bill and co. to literally change a lightbulb (we made a day of it obviously) and the couples from a fortnight ago to finish off the leftover goods from an earlier BBQ.  

In other news I've started physio sessions, which involve hooking up electrodes to my ankle and blasting it with that sweet, sweet ankle juice; and my phrase of the week translates to: "if you nap, your pipe will fall", so basically: "you snooze you lose (your pipe)".

Speak soon! Until then it's goodnight from me,

And it's goodnight from me.

The Galactic Frederation

10.10.17 - Tarja preta

Hallooo,

Lovely to chat yesterday. All is well here - I'm free from the roboboot but still limping and about to start physiotherapy at my old haunt down the road, so fingers and gammy ankles crossed.   

I was able to provide moral and tech support to Gaby as she "qualified" for her masters at PUC on Friday morning, following a two-hour grilling from a man on Skype and the handing out of nibbles.  And despite the rain setting in over the weekend I struck out to watch Blade Runner 2049 in head-explodingly loud IMAX 3D, which was some kind of something (have completely forgotten the actual plot already, but twas amazing to gawp at for three hours), followed by pizza at Graça di Napolli with Gaby and her grandma, in a dress rehearsal for Italy later this year.

Yesterday morning it was back to work, but not before Valente systematically dismantled a giant Black Witch moth that had somehow flown in through the netting outside, until we put it out of its misery and spent a good half-hour cleaning up its mortal remains.  Pretty intense stuff.

I've made a rather moody, synthy compilation - play it while looking at this still of Harrison Ford accidentally punching Ryan Gosling, and occasionally blasting a Hans Zimmer airhorn, and you'll have the full Blade Runner 2049 experience from the comfort of your own home.  And my phrase of the week is shorthand for individuals with a few screws missing, a reference to the tarja preta (black stripe/band) on the side of controlled, prescription-only meds.

All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain. Time to... 

Bye!

03.10.17 - Água que passarinho não bebe

Halloooo,

Week #3 in a cast and confined to quarters, I try to pace restlessly but instead am forced to hobble around in a manner most undignified. I stand on the balcony making up back-stories for everyone in the surrounding high-rises, but none are particularly interesting. The cat eyes me with barely disguised pity and harangues me incessantly for attention and food. I suspect the palm trees in the garden are cheating on each other. Much more of this and I shall surely lose my mind.

On the plus side we had some of the region's leading power couples over on Saturday for Michelle's belated birthday do, in which I learnt how to use the BBQ and dispensed passionfruit caipirinhas from our makeshift bar, followed by heavy napping on Sunday. And yesterday afternoon I went back to the ankle doctor, who assured me there is light at the end of the tunnel.

I've gone and made two rather downbeat compilations, and today's phrase - "water that the little bird doesn't drink" - is a handy euphemism for cachaça, aka the devil's mouthwash (another good one is "pão liquido", or "liquid bread", to refer to beer). May it serve you well.

'Til the next time,

He's Fred, Jim

26.09.17 - Desculpe qualquer coisa

Bom dia!

Really swell talking with you yesterday, in a variety of languages. As you know I am still confined to my robot ankle brace - more machine than man - following a check-up with my foot guy, who confirmed that I need to just wait it out until it gets better / less purple.  

Undeterred, I've been out and about a fair bit, including a drive to São Bernardo do Campo for a gourmet-burger-making session with some of Gaby's schoolfriends (I was on caramelized onion duty), a hobble round the local trendy food truck scene on Friday lunchtime for polenta and a "papelón" (a non-alcoholic mojito from Venezuela, apparently), and a trip to the cinema to see "It", a nice film about dancing clowns, while Aerosmith played next door.  I've been asked to do another Travelling Spoon gig, but it's in a city two hours away so we're trying to figure out when we can duck out of work...

In the meantime I've made a new compilation, as is my wont, and my phrase of the week is one that has irked me in recent times - it seems people in the service industry (waiters, Uber drivers, etc), cowed by demanding customers and a rocky economy, have taken to apologizing preemptively for anything they might have done wrong ("sorry for anything"), which seems a bit needy even to someone from a country as apologetic as England.

On a related (and topical!) note, Uber's recent ad campaign in São Paulo has been amusing me no end - billboards with talking heads saying that they drive for Uber to "look after my daughter" and "take care of my house", which are worded so it sounds like the company is literally holding their family hostage until they work off their Uber-debt. A chilling glimpse of the late capitalist dystopia to come? Or just a bit of fun?

Where we go from there is a choice I leave to you.

Dun-nu-nu-nu dun-nu-nu-nu

The Fred Pill

19.09.17 - Estar de bode

Hallooo,

I write to you from the confines of my rather steampunk "robofoot" cast, after I took a tumble at the football on Thursday and bashed my ankle up something propah. I've been put on a steady regimen of drugs and no exercise, and will surely lose my mind before long, but it could be worse - at the doctors we met a guy (also called Freddy) who had just broken his arm in a freak go-karting accident which was live-streamed on Youtube, making my mishap seem quaint by comparison.

Despite being in the wars we've had a few people round over the weekend - one of Gaby's recently-graduated mates came round to give her a crash course in masters etiquette and a perspective from the other side of the dissertation-related craziness; and on Sunday we had a family BBQ, the leftovers from which I am still making my way through. 

Otherwise I've just been crafting TWO compilations (two), and being "de bode" (literally, "goat-like"), which means sulking around at home instead of heading out. Soon I will be up and about, hopefully with more Travelling Spoon assignments, etc.  'Til then,

The weather in Vladivostok is very clement this time of year.

You are not Fred Squirrel?

12.09.17 - Tem caroço no angu

Tally ho wot wot,

As mentioned last week, I made my début as São Paulo Ambassador for Traveling Spoon on Wednesday, and Gaby and I were treated to a market-tour-slash-cooking-class-slash-meal-slash-review courtesy of Sofie, an affable Swede who lives near the Avenida Paulista.  She had us chopping rocket and grilling halloumi in no time, and taught us a mango-peeling trick which was worth the (figurative) price of admission on its own.  Fun was had, and veggie pointers were picked up, surely never to be used again.

The next day - a national holiday here, not that it spared me a full day's work, grumble grumble - we had some folks over for dinner and tried to recreate Sofie's avocado chocolate mousse with mixed results; the takeaway pizza, cachaça and "Uber wine" went over better, leading to extremely merry scenes and a late-night jam to Guns 'n Roses' greatest hits around 1am.   The weekend was spent mainly recovering, although we checked out a new burger place on Saturday with Andréia and Bruno, and discussed plans to stage our own Traveling Spoon host experience in the distant future. 

I've walloped together a new compilation, and today's phrase is a good'un: "caroço" is the pit of a fruit or an amorphous lump, and "angu" is a traditional dish of the common man, made from mandioca/cornflour and water.  So when you feel something is slightly off with a situation or proposal, you can say "there's a lump in the angu", roughly equivalent to "there's a fly in the ointment", or indeed a "floater in the bowl"...

Ciao for now,

Fred Lobster

05.09.17 - Cair a ficha

Oy oy,

How's things? I've got a new job, as São Paulo Ambassador for Travelling Spoon, a sort of Airbnb for food - Gaby and I are going to check out our first potential host tomorrow, have a free lunch and decide whether to include her on the site, so I'll let you know how that goes!  There's some nice-sounding "packages" on the site already and it's only been going here a month, so hopefully in time I can reestablish my free food racket after all...

Otherwise we've been going birthday crazy, heading to Condimento for some fancy grub on Friday night to celebrate Adny's birthday and then hitting the road to Claudio's house outside Campinas for a BBQ on Sunday. And on Saturday night we went to one of Gaby's coursemate's house to celebrate her hitting some kind of masters milestone (I didn't ask which, as it's a particularly fraught time for everyone there at the moment), and have a singalong.

And it's another week, another compilation, and another expression, which applies to situations where you finally realize something after prolonged ignorance.  Apparently Brazilian payphones used to only accept tokens ("fichas") and often didn't work properly - when the call eventually went through, the token "fell" into the machine, hence the saying (no doubt "the penny drops" has similar origins...)

And on that bombshell, it's bye for now,

Fredibility 

29.08.17 - Espada de dois gumes

Allo allo,

Hope all good in that there France.  The quirks of working for a company unmoored in time and space dictate that yesterday was a bank holiday, so I went into town with Gaby in the morning and hung out in a hip café while she got the lowdown on how exactly to finish up this masters of hers, from someone "in the know".

At the weekend we went to the Festa da Nossa Senhora da Achiropita, a neighbourhood-wide, month-long festival of Italian food in the centre of town which was absolutely packed to the gills on Saturday night, gorging on fogazza and spag bol 'til we could gorge no more.   Props to the plastered announcer making fun of Corinthians over the tannoy as they unexpectedly lost to Atletico Goianiense, and whoever it was who decided to sing "Mamma Mia" in Italian karaoke.

Then on Sunday we went to Pedreira, a city near Campinas seemingly built entirely on arts and crafts, to buy a load of unvarnished wood and marvel at the truly odd, kitsch miniature statuettes on sale (Yoda, giant owls, that kind of thing).   Good fun until the inevitable traffic jam from hell on the way back, but we managed to extricate ourselves in time for ice cream and Game of Thrones.

I have made a rather raucous mix-tape to try out on your new boom box, and this week's phrase means "double-edged sword", with all the symbolism of the English equivalent.  And on that note...

Speak soon,

Right Said Fred (this is a current reference!)

22.08.17 - Quem sai na chuva é pra se molhar

Good morning,

Hope all well on the Med.   There seems no end to this perpetual cold, and we've all come down with bastard colds, but otherwise can't complain.  On Saturday we went to Andreia's flat for a crêpe party, followed by a strogonoff shindig at home the next day, so all is right with the world.

My Cantona-esque phrase of the day means "he who goes out in the rain will get wet", i.e. if you're going to go out on a limb for something, do it properly and don't get cold feet.  Or else you won't have a leg to stand on!  I have reeled off two more compilations, and here's another one someone made to soundtrack the eclipse - probably a bit late now, but maybe it'll come in handy for the next one.

And in case I don't see ya, good afternoon, good evening and good night.

Frederal Bureau of Investigation

15.08.17 - Gori hala

What ho,

All good over here, notwithstanding impending nuclear war etc.  We finally got the electricity sorted at the football pitch on Thursday, and celebrated by staggering about for two hours breathing heavily, followed by grilled meat and much rejoicing.  On Saturday we headed out for a night on the town, with live music and all, and Sunday was Father's Day, mostly spent eating homemade gnocchi and napping profusely.

In the meantime I've made not one but two compilations, and have thrown in a third, bonus playlist, brought to you by the Looming Spectre of Fiery Annihilation™.  Today's phrase comes from Bosnia and translates as "the bathroom is on fire", which seems to sum things up pretty well at the moment.

Speak soon, 

Fred Rain

08.08.17 - Enfiar o pé na jaca

Greetings! Hope all good with you. 

Round our way, Ridaut's Corinthians-mad friend Doug was in town over the weekend, and the three of us went to the Itaquerão on Saturday night for the potentially tricky tie against Sport Recife, sixth in the league and managed by the excellently-named former head coach of Brazil, Vanderlei Luxemburgo. It was a walkover by Corinthians in the end - three easy goals with nowt but a scant consolation strike in reply - but the atmosphere was excellent, the seats were more or less pitchside and fun was had by all.

The next day we had the extended family round for a BBQ, sampling a selection of grilled meats (and pineapples), and yesterday we went to the talking pictures house to watch "Dunkirk" in FULL IMAX, before Doug headed back to the States in the evening. Whilst foraging for meat at the supermarket earlier in the week I was amused to note that one of the big manufacturers over here is called "Cowpig", presumably to illustrate the variety of produce and not the ungodly genetic splicing thereof.

Otherwise it's been business as usual, which means it's time for a new compilation and a saying of the week ("to stick one's foot in the jackfruit") which means to overstep ones limits, usually on a night out and with shameful consequences the morning after. Apparently the saying comes from when mule drivers would get drunk and put their foot through the "jaca" baskets they were supposed to be transporting, but nowadays it's associated with the tropical fruit of the same name. So now you know.

BONUS BLOG CONTENT: a picture of me with the cat.

Speak soon,

Freddy Player One

01.08.17 - Saçi-pererê

Halloooo,

Not a lot to report here, as we reacclimatize to the weekly drudgery of no longer being on a pan-Mediterranean tour... 

On Thursday, with the football pitch lighting no closer to being fixed by its parent school, Ridaut and I went to a new open mic which is like the Garrafas one but with a beefier backing band, so I picked up the electric guitar for a change and led my colleagues on a merry jam through Superstition and Jumping Jack Flash before beating a hasty retreat home. Which was fun (and broadcast live on Facebook, apparently).

On Sunday we went to the Horto Florestal en famille, then back for a swim, to work up an appetite for pancakes ladled out by yours truly and stuffed full of delicious fillings by Gaby.  It was during this walk in the park that I was given a potted history of the nefarious characters of Brazilian folklore, which I will attempt to relay below for your edification:

• Saçi Pererê: a one-legged, pipe-smoking trickster who lives in bamboo trees and generally causes havoc in rural dwellings. Used a scapegoat for a wide variety of mishaps, and also lends his name to a home remedy - two parts cachaça and one part honey - used to treat common colds...

• Curupira: another mischievous sprite whose backward-facing feet create misleading tracks in the jungle, leading travellers to their DOOM.   The Caipora is another variant, but he tends to be more of a protector figure, and only goes after poachers and hunters who don't respect the rules of the jungle. Also partial to cigars.

• Bicho-papão / cuca: species of boogeymen used to scare Brazilian children straight in lullabies and bedtime stories, on pain of kidnapping.  The boi da cara preta ("black-faced bull") is another potential threat, celebrated in song and in traditional Northeastern bumba-meu-boi festivals, featuring pantomime costumes and general revelry...

• Yara / lara: beautiful mermaid that perches on top of water lilies in the middle of the river and lures men to a watery grave, siren-style.

• Boto-cor-de-rosa: a species of river dolphin in the Amazon, the boto is rumoured to assume the form of a dashing bachelor at night, and go around town impregnating the womenfolk. Although they are often blamed for pregnancies out of wedlock, the real-life botos don't take it personally and have been known to help fishermen and travellers in distress on the river...

• Mula sem cabeça: just the ghost of a women who slept with a priest and is therefore condemned to live out her days as a braying mule with a ball of flames for a head. Nothing to see here!

I'm sure there are plenty of colourful characters I'm missing out, but the ones above were a lot to take in all at once... And that's about it - all over bar the compilations.

Speak soon,

Fred Bull

25.07.17 - Quebrar galho

Ahoy hoy,

We've been slowly settling back into the daily routine here - work, errands, cats, Gaby's masters etc - and I've got my hands on a new computer, after one of Patricia's Apple store contacts put aside a knock-down shop display model for me on Thursday.  Football was cancelled later that evening after faulty wiring plunged the pitch into darkness, but we bravely continued on to the pub anyway.

At the weekend we went to Claudio and Marta's new pad outside Campinas for a BBQ which I unfortunately ended up sleeping through most of, by way of a shopping outlet by the motorway which at least had some good empadas going for it.  And on Sunday we met up with Gaby's mates for a gossip and belated birthday lunch for Cris at The Fifties, our nearby American diner.

Otherwise it's business as usual, which means a return to the weekly compilation, and a saying which means "to break the branch", and refers to giving someone a break by coming up with a makeshift solution to a long-running problem. Or just breaking branches, if that's your thing.

Speak soon!

How to Get A-Fred in Advertising

18.07.17 - Rouba mas faz

Halloooo,

And so the great Eurotrip of 2017 draws to a close, and we find ourselves back in chilly Brazil with nothing but memories and small pots of hotel jam to sustain us. Since last I wrote we managed to cram another two countries in, starting with Morocco, which was as hectic and lovely as we'd been led to believe.

Once we landed in Marrakech we were escorted to our rather awesome riad by Massimo, the owner who we're pretty sure was either a shady arms dealer or exiled Italian duke in his spare time, and given a comprehensive briefing on what not to do when out and about. After a quick sleep and breakfast on the rooftop terrace we went to the main square and mosque for a wander, then down to the Palais Bahia and up into the souks, tried our hand at haggling (turns out I'm rubbish at haggling) and eventually staggered back once the heat became too much, for a quiet dinner and paddle in the pool.

The next day we had to forsake a trip to the Jardin Majorelle due to work commitments (we also called off a camel ride the previous evening, due to general paranoia), instead making our way to the airport to sit for hours as a man played the same five notes over and over again through some weird bass-and-delay set-up, and eventually getting to Lisbon and settling in to our Airbnb in the heart of the old town.

The next day we wandered round town, down to the Tagus and the Time Out Market for steak sandwiches, and up to the Catedrale do Sé, eventually ending up at the rather impressive Castelo São Jorge, looking over the city at sunset and taking lots of photos on the ramparts before heading down to the Portas do Sol viewpoint, and on to Cruzes Credo for a cod dinner, before heading back to bed.

The next day Gaby had food poisoning, prompting a trip to the hospital, and I hit a wall and ended up in bed all day too, and the next morning we found out our (heavily delayed) stopover in Casablanca was going to be by way of propellor plane - fairly stressful all in all, but we made it back in one piece around 1:30 in the morning, to be met by Adny and Ridaut and have a joyous reunion with Valente at home.

Since then I've gone down with a fever and have been recovering, surrounded by cats. Today's phrase - "he steals, but he gets things done" - goes out to Lula, who has just been sentenced to nine years for general dodginess.

Speak soon!

Fred of Arabia