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