28.03.17 - Quanto mais eu rezo, mais assombração me aparece

Ahoy hoy,

Good to chat yesterday, and delighted to hear everyone left your futurist dinner party suitably disturbed... 

I'm just about getting over a nasty bashed rib, not to mention a harrowing couple of hours in the Brazilian public health system getting a free yellow fever jab, so have limited my excursions somewhat since my last missive.   Instead people have come to us, including an impromptu dinner party with Ridaut and Adny on Saturday, where I whipped up steaming vats of sweet 'n sour chicken while Ridaut regaled us with tales of his mad French friends.  'Twas a test run for this Saturday when we entertain non-family for the first time, and I also have plans to cook everyone a proper roast dinner once it gets colder.

Elsewhere the house is slowly but surely taking shape, and we've booked most of the accommodation and flights for Euro '17 - now we just need to figure out what exactly we're going to do on a Tuesday night in Marrakesh, for instance. Tips and leads are most welcome!  We've also been tasked with editing and scoring a promotional video for Gaby's gym teacher's experimental hydro-ballet class, in exchange for private lessons in the building's gym, which is just the kind of crazy hi-jinks we get into over here these days.

I've made not one but two compilations to ladle into your earholes (with my compliments to the folks doing the soundtrack to "Legion"), while this week's phrase roughly translates to "the more I pray, the more the haunting appears".  Something to do with issues piling up despite one's best efforts - a more modern, atheist version might be "mo' money, mo' problems".

This is Fred, last survivor of the Nostromo, signing off...

21.03.17 - Colocar na ponta do lápis

¡Hola!

Lovely to talk to and sing at you this weekend, hope you had a lovely birthday-ish time of it.  I am still on a steady regime of painkillers following a nasty fall at the football, but time and pineapple upside-down cake heal all, as they say.

On Friday we had Gaby's family round for housewarming pizzas, and on Saturday we went to the achingly hip High Line bar in Vila Madalena for Bruna's birthday bash (one of them anyway - apparently it was a multi-day event way beyond our latter-day stamina levels). I still don't enjoy clubbing but I had some fun with balloons, brainstormed my upcoming birthday party and experimented with a passion fruit gin and tonic...

Elsewhere we're looking into accommodation and stuff to do on our impending Eurotrip, which should be rather fab, and putting the finishing touches on the house and general life admin.  Predictably, someone from the shady factory across from us has found a stray dog and locked it up right under our window, where it has been barking for the past two days - Gaby and I are debating whether to complain, move house again or just skip to the part where we kill it with our bare hands in the dead of night...

I have made another compilation, as well as a separate "futurist dinner party speed compilation" that you requested - fair warning, both get quite dark, but your guests will probably be pretty unsettled anyway, right? My phrase of the day ("to put [something] on the point of the pencil") means to do something by the book, with careful forethought. Cross the t's and dot the... lowercase j's...

Bye for nye,

Fredknobs & Broomsticks

14.03.17 - Empurrar com a barriga

Hallooo,

Things have returned to relative normality here, as we settle in to our new digs and crack on with work, masters, etc.  We've resumed our Sunday morning walks around the Horto Florestal, home to ever more photoshoots of pregnant women (seriously, there's a camera crew behind every tree; it's quite disconcerting), tested out the pool and found a rather tasty Armenian restaurant just down the road.

We shall no doubt speak further during our birthday Skype later in the week; 'til then, 'ave a compilation and a phrase of the week ("to push with one's belly") which means to put something off indefinitely.   I'm not sure where the saying comes from and would rather keep it shrouded in mystery if it's all the same with you...

Até logo, Botafogo,

When the President Talks to Frod

07.03.17 - Vender o seu peixe

Halloooo,

I write to you from our new flat, which is slowly taking shape around me after a gruelling week of moving.  It took a village - Gaby's uncle was an absolute hero throughout, installing a whole new lighting rig on his own, armed only with a stepladder and a piece of wire; Adny painstakingly put up reams of wallpaper; two painters went without sleep for three days straight to do a crude yet spirited job in both flats; some "men with ven" came and carted away our heavier items of furniture; and a guy came to deep-clean our mattress, although I might have been hallucinating at that point.

I spent the time carting an abundance of stuff back and forth between the two flats, which only threw into relief the stark contrast between the two neighbourhoods, and made me glad to be leaving the dog-pit behind for good.  Anyway, it's all shaping up and now we just need to worry about minor things like storage, carpets and plumbing in stoves - it won't be long before the barbecues flow freely, and I might have a swim today as a treat.  

Work has been galloping along too - we may be off to Silicon Valley shortly, which I would be well up for - and Gaby's back to juggling a full-time masters with the infuriating demands of the corporate ranks she's currently shilling to.  Much to be done, but I deliver as always on the compilation front, plus my phrase of the week - "to sell one's fish" - means to present one's views and argue one's case, as it were.  I've no call to use it, but I like the imagery.

That will be all for now - speak soon for a grand tour!

Anywhere I Lay My Fred (I'm Gonna Call My Home)