Britzil

Migration of blog

2011-05-27T00:58:00.002+01:00

I have decided to consolidate all of my (numerous) blogs into one new blog in order to better control things. I have migrated everything over to and will be updating just one blog from now on.

Please visit Diem Burden

Brazilian Girls on a Brazilian Beach

2007-05-06T19:38:00.000+01:00

I stood there, not daring to move, staring at the heaving mass of beautiful women, wearing the skimpiest of bikinis, the darkest tans available, proud bodies competing for attention, and all moving rhythmatically to the sensual beat.

We'd been walking along the beach when we heard the loud pounding of the distinctive Brazilian beat rolling across the sand from the beach bar at the top of the beach. I hadn't really noticed it - Brazil is full of such noises - but Paula had noticed something. She took my arm and changed direction and walked me towards the source of the sound. As we approached, she said to me '3 minutes. And then we go.'

What's this all about? Well, as we approached and the music got louder I was able o see a small, raised stage at the top of the beach with 3 (professional?) dancers facing a crowd and dancing in unison. These men and woman were all perfect examples of the human body and how it can move in a way incomprehensible to us mere Brits.

So why's she so uptight about these 3 people? Oh. I see. Standing in front of the stage, copying those on the stage, were row upon row of Brazilian girls, each wearing less than the other, each outdancing the other. Aware that Paula was now looking for my reaction out of the corner of her eye my chin hit the floor, my eyes popped out of my head and I stopped breathing. She was very good about it really, she just squeezed my arm and dragged my off along the beach.
Damn.

Carnival rehearsals

2006-09-17T22:47:00.000+01:00

As we wandered the back streets of Ubatuba I heard the most incredible sound coming from the street ahead. We went in search of brasilian culture and sure enough we found it in a yard off the back street.

Approximately 40 brasilians were standing in the yard, each with a drum. They were all banging out the most amazing rhythm whilst moving like only brasilians can - a deafening, booming sound of heaven. The atmosphere was incredible. Locals were standing watching and moving, musicians were dancing and grinning and having the time of their lives.

It was intoxicating, mesmerising. We stayed for about 45 minutes before Paula wanted to go on. She'd seen it all so many times before. They were practicing for Carnival which was several months away still and we'd have plenty of opportunities to see more she explained.

So she took me by the hand and lead me reluctantly out of that alley and away from the beauty of the rhythm and sound of brasil.

The Japanese Guy and the Karaoke Bar

2006-09-17T22:40:00.000+01:00

We were walking along the main street looking for a nice brasilian bar to sit and have a drink or two in when we heard music blasting out of a doorway slightly ahead. Now it was mid-afternoon and few people were about due to the heat. Most people were on the beach, sleeping or in cool bars quenching their thirsts.

So we stopped at the doorway and looked inside. The bar was huge, about 20m x 15m, and not too disimilar to a large hall. It was completly empty. Apart from one person. A little Japanese guy, standing on the stage in front of the huge empty hall, clutching a microphone in his two tiny hands and belting out an Elvis Presley track on the karaoke.

We looked at him, looked at each other, shook our heads and kept on walking. No wonder it was empty. Don't you just love the Japanese?

The Famous Brazilian Hot-dog

2006-09-17T22:09:00.000+01:00

Paula had spoken so much about the Brasilian hot-dog that I began wondering if she'd lost the plot a little. After all, a hot-dog is a hot-dog isn't it? A sausage, in a bread roll. How different can a hot-dog be in Brasil?

So there we were walking along the beach, the cool Atlantic waves washing over our feet, when we simultaneously turned our heads in the direction of the most wonderful smell on the beach, to a little man with a barrow, cooking in the centre of the beach. The psychic connection that exhists between Paula and I meant that words weren't needed as we both wheeled away from the cool waves and head up the beach to the little man.

As we approached Paula's excitement began to mount. Now, neither of us were hungry and neither wanted to eat and Paula certainly had no intention of eating yet there she was, salivating and half-dragging me to the barrow. 'BRASILIAN HOT-DOGS!' she exclaimed as we got close enough to see what he was selling. Sure enough, I could see some sausages and bread roles - huge bread roles - amongst the containers of other food stuffs.

Now Paula's excitement was not for herself, not about eating a hot-dog of her own - it was for me. Paula is the type of woman that gets so much pleasure from giving, and knowing how much her man enjoys eating was the combination that had her dancing for joy. Not to mention the pride she always feels showing off the wonderful culture of her country.

So she ordered me a hot-dog, even though I wasn't hungry. With 'everything'. And when I say everything I mean EVERYTHING! I was handed a white plastic bag containing a surprisingly heavy and enormous bread-role, chock full of a combination of foods such as mashed potato, peas, long, hard, thin crunchy crisps, and somewhere at the bottom, a delightful, red coloured sausage. There was more in there but I can't remember what now.

So we walked back along the beach towards our hotel, me carrying the world's largest hot-dog and tentatively nibbling at the edges. Well, I wasn't hungry was I? But I have this policy. Eating is not just for the hungry. And so I ate it, in fact I devoured it. It was an incredible and delightful combination of food stuffs and flavours that was too good not to eat just because I wasn't hungry.

We were about 100m away from the vendor when the hot-dog had been fully eaten. I still wasn't hungry so we turned back and bought another one. And I ate that one too. And ever since I have eaten Brasilian hot-dogs at every opportunity.

Often in the evening we would walk to the local park in Valinhos with the nieces and nephews and buy a hot-dog 'with everything' and fill our faces.

You've gotta try one - even if you aren't hungry!

New Year's Tradition and Eating in Brasil

2006-05-18T23:29:00.000+01:00

On New Year's Eve everbody wears white and goes to the beach. At the stroke of midnight everybody runs into the surf and jumps 7 waves for good luck, eats 12 grapes and drinks champagne under the fireworks. Everyone has a great time and unusually for Brasil I saw a lot of people fairly intoxicated, yet saw no violence. (There are no licensing laws in Brasil)

The whole holiday period is one huge party, with lorries travelling around town blasting out music from huge speakers, parties on the beach and every single restaurant packed to the brim. Family and friends spend a lot of time eating together and I understand why.

One of my favourite ways of eating in Brasil is at a churrascaria (BBQ). My first experience was a treat from Paula's father at a reunion of his daughter and him.

Above: A Churrascaria restaurant. And the meat keeps coming and coming and coming...

We entered a huge building with upwards of a thousand diners and found a table. In the centre was a wonderful display of a huge cold buffett with enough exciting temptations to forget what else was to come.

So we sat down with our plates brimming and were immediately approached by a waiter carrying a huge metal skewer, around which was wrapped the most fantastic piece of beef I have ever seen, direct from the BBQ.

He professionally carved pieces of tender meat on to our plates and then I discovered a little piece of Brasilian heaven when I popped it into my mouth. Before I could devour it another man came with yet more, different meats and they kept coming, carving as much meat as you wanted onto your plate, all freshly cooked to perfection and out of this world.

Below right: A variety of meats cooked to perfection, bought to you and carved directly onto your plate

We ate like this for about an hour and a half before needing a rest. On the table was a little wooden square. The top half was green, the bottom half red. Oswaldo turned it over to show the red side up and the waiters never bothered us with any more meats.

After a short while I felt ready to continue my investigation into Brasil's culture and we turned the green side up and were immediately approached by fresh meats.

There was a single set price, regardless of how much you ate which is just as well really because I really ate. Paula's father must have thought I'd never been to a restaurant before.

And so I waddled out and kept waddling for the rest of my time in Brazil. I put on 7 kgs in the first week alone - that's a kilo per day! And I was there for two weeks!

Below: My favourite. Picanha, a special bit of beef in a special country

I will be writing about brasilian cuisine a lot as this site develops. One of the many questions people ask me is 'What's typical Brasilian food like?' This is difficult to answer due to the immense size and mixed origins of Brasil. It's like asking what the food is like in Europe. It depends where you are. There are some items that you can find everywhere in Brasil but in general it varies.

The only way I can described the food that I have experienced there on my travels is to say that it is all high-quality, plentiful, absolutely delicious and worth travelling half way around the world for. Go on, give it a go.

Brasil has few vegetarians and I can see why. I remember asking Paula how Brasilian beef could taste so good compared to British beef. She replied that the cows are happier in Brasil.

Welcome to Brasil.

Staying in Ubatuba for the New Year - Praia Grande

2006-05-06T21:15:00.000+01:00

Each year the family rent a huge house in the small sea-side town of Ubatuba (pro:Oo-ba-TOo-ba), SP and set-off in various cars along with thousands of others from all over SP.

The thought of being penned-in with all of the relatives for a whole week was too much for us so we'd elected to stay in a quiet hotel near-by, which Paula's mother had kindly booked for us before our arrival due to the high demand for accommodation at this time of year.

As we entered the small town of Ubatuba I realised that it was very similar to many UK beach towns, with the main road running alongside a reasonable beach, and bars and hotels very much in evidence.

We soon located the family home for the week. Located about 200m from the beach, at the bottom of a dead-end street, the house was delightful. A spacious family home, vacated by the owners to make money on this busiest week of the year for them. Presumably they had headed off inland somewhere for their celebrations.

Most of the family were already there with the rest still on route. The huge table was covered in all manner of food and we filled our bellies, something I seem to do at every opportunity here.

Above: Praia Grande, Ubatuba. Our apartment was in the bottom left corner, where the beach meets the land

Mum took us to a nearby street and introduced us to the landlord of our room for the week. The reception area was OK-ish, but when he unlocked a metal door and pushed it open to reveal our room, I nearly died.

I have seen better cells than this (as a visitor of course) and couldn't believe the down-turn in our luck. The room was a small square with concrete walls, no windows except for a very small, high-up one in the 'bathroom' which was located at the back.

The room was cooking. To remain in the room would require the fan to be on full-pelt and the door to be left open to prevent claustraphobia. Rapidly trying to justify that we wouldn't actually be in here much, just to shower and later sleep, I tried to see the good-side.

But could I find one? Come back to a 200 degrees cooking cell without windows each night? And what of creepy-crawlies at night? Bound to be cockroaches. Urg....

Paula was really pissed, and especially so with her mum. What possible chance was there now of finding another place so late? And we'd already paid the deposit! Fortunately the man was a real gent and offered to give us a fare amount back and we went off looking for a more suitable place to stay for our first beach holiday together in Brasil.

And we found it. The perfect place. Located at the end of the beach, all on its own, overlooking the beach and alongside the slip road off it, a small and friendly Pousada (B&B). And they had a room!

So we got a decent, cool, ground-floor room in a motel-type building, exiting on to the lawn and leading to the swimming pool, the restaurant and the bar. As a bonus for us there was a small aviary of birds and a lovely parrot on a stand that we could feed watermelon to.

When bathing at the side of the pool we had an excellent, elevated view of the beautiful people heading to the beach in the morning and leaving in the evening.

And so we'd landed in Ubatuba, and we were ready for the rapidly approaching new-year's eve parties.

Driving on Brasil's Roads

2006-05-06T18:57:00.000+01:00

To celebrate the New Year Brasilians typically head to the beach to get into the party mood and Paula's family were no exception. This was my first long drive in Brasil in our little hire-car and the journey is an experience worth mentioning.

Left: Brazilian speed camers

I have driven about 20,000 kms on Brasil's roads so far without accident and come across numerous hazards along the way from dead cows, oncoming lorries, potholes the size of Wales and gun-totting police.

Brazilian roads on the whole are very good. The problem is the Brasilian drivers that use them. I don't know what it is with latinos every where but give them anything with an engine and they can't help but be as fast and as noisy as possible, often with little regard for safety.

Left: Typical Brasilan motorways

The drive to Ubatuba proved to be no exception. As thousands of Paulistas headed out of the enormous city of Sao Paula to the beaches, the roads quickly became very busy indeed. This became worse as we approached the coast because the motorways vanish, only to be replaced with small, bendy roads that weave their way over the strip of mountains that run parallel to the coast.

As we stop/started along this narrow road with other drivers who were prepared to wait, occasionally there would be a moron in a car who wasn't. I could see them approach in my mirrors, taking exceptionally stupid risks over-taking, often on blind binds or over hill-crests, at speed and with little care or respect for other road users.

If they had to get in the line due to on-coming traffic they would force their way in where ever they could. Usually they were driving large 4x4s so could easily intimidate others.

Right: Huge and intimidating weapons

A part of the Brasilian psyche that really pisses me off is their pathetically weak submission to other people's stupidity. They meekly permit this type of prat to enter in front of them without registering the slightest protest, even if the git had just completed a ridiculously dangerous undertake, putting them at risk, whilst appearing on the inside of their vehicle and scaring them to death. Just move over or brake and politely let them in.

Left: Brazilian pot-holes in Minas Gerais

STOP CONDONING THIS! It is stupid, dangerous and irresponsible of YOU to accept this behaviour. The more people that protest the more they will think twice, especially if they start to find themselves on the wrong side of the road with an oncoming lorry and no way back in!

I am an excellent (UK police trained) driver and so was perfectly aware of the hazard when they approached my vehicle, threatening to kill someone along the way and forcing others out of their way. Even though I had just a small hire car I wasn't prepared to be intimidated.

If they were behind me and a bit of hard-shoulder appeared ahead, with people/cyclists using it, they would cut inside and accelerate along it, scattering the pedestrians as they attempted to undertake me to get in front of a car or two. I could not permit this to happen as others did.

Above: A Troller, a Brazilian built jeep. Similar to the Wrangler, only better

I would anticipate it and just move across enough to prevent the undertake. They didn't like it but then they didn't kill anybody either. The only way that they could pass me was through a correct overtake, when it was safe to do so. Boy that really pissed some of them off and I do not recommend it to you.

First of all you need to be well trained and experienced in driving. Secondly it is very dangerous to be putting yourself up for attention like this. Thirdly it can be highly stressful if you are not used to it so just don't do it. Let the Brasilians sort this kind of stupid behaviour out, not the tourist.

One undertake (days later) that was coming too fast for me to do anything about ie 50-60 mph, passed my inside and then nearly hit a pedestrian, skidding into the bank and coming to a stop. The driver looked out of his head. Further on we spoke to the police at a roundabout who were already aware and waiting for him. Sure enough, they got him.

Left: Rear view mirror

Also be aware of speed cameras as they seem to be everywhere and are ridiculously difficult to spot, being about the size of the cardboard tube from your kitchen tissue roll! and not painted bright green as they are in the UK.

Another hazard are the high quantity of poorly maintained and poorly driven lorries. Brasil has an abundance of lorries because, even though the country is as big as the whole of Europe, their rail network is practically non-existent. So the majority of goods have to be transported by road adding more congestion and increasing the danger.
Above: One of Brasil's multitude of trucks

One thing that would really propel Brasil forward a little faster would be a highly developed, fast and efficient inter-state rail network. Why haven't they got even a basic one? Answers below please.

I will write a post later about the Brasilian Police road checks that I came across a few times as they are worth talking about.

For further information about brasilian roads visit this USA Gov site.

A Hot Christmas in Brasil?

2006-04-29T12:32:00.000+01:00

I dunno, it sounded strange - Christmas in the sun? I had always been a Christmas-must-be-in-the-depths-of-winter man. I know I'm not alone because others have given me that same know-it-all face whenever I mentioned going to Brasil for Christmas.

The seasons in Brasil are opposite to those in Europe, so Christmas in Brasil is in the summer. Now depending on where you go in Brasil depends on the weather you are going to get. If you visit the north east of the country you are on the equator and it is H-O-T. The further south you go, the cooler it gets, and in winter it even snows down there! Yes, I was suprised too.

But Sao Paulo is pretty damned warm in summer at Chritmas time. So being English - I burn. Oh do I burn. Whilst my wife seems to turn an instant golden brown by candle-light. But me? I go bright red first before my skin decides to either turn brownish or shed itself all over the bed clothes the following night. There seems to be no reason which one it chooses, it just throws a dice I think.

Left: The gorgeous golden brown tan of my wife's arm (etc) compared to the mottled red and white of mine.

I'd read an article about a sun block called SP20 or something, made by a Belgium company and only available at airport duty-free shops. So I'd bought some with me and it was fantastic. It's not a cream, more of a gel which dries to an invisible and unnoticeable bond on the skin, giving all day protection. Yes, once only application and protection all day from the scary lobster-look.

Unfortunately I miss-applied it one or twice. Now the instructions say it must be applied to perfectly clean and dry skin, free of any other creams etc in order to form a good bond. So foolishly I applied it after applying my deodorant one morning. I wasn't to know that I was now spreading my deodorant and the SP20 around my arms and chest area. Needless to say it bonded only in a few places, and to various degrees.

Above: A huge decorated tree on a roundabout at the entrance to the town

The following day I looked like a patchwork chamelion lobster, with various shades of white and red. So I quickly learnt to apply it properly, which normally meant an early morning shower, a pair of swimming trunks, liberal application of said SP20 (pre-deodorant) and an hour spent sitting on a stool having breakfast until the stuff had fully dried and bonded. Only then was I safe to go out all day in the sun without fear of burning. Yes, that stuff worked really well for me and if you know the name of it, please let me know so that I can add it here.

Left: Fairy lights and ornaments on the park, untouched by idiots.

So back to Christmas. The first thing I noticed about Brasil was the wonderful Christmas decorations. Everywhere I went were lights and seasonal ornaments. Most of the trees in the main streets had fairy-lights spiralled around the trunk and spreading off along the branches, with ornaments hanging from the trees. Open spaces and parklands had ornaments placed on the grass and nobody mindlessly destroyed them or stole them.

I thought of the drab lights and decorations in Cambridge, Uttoxeter and even Regent Street in London, which I once enthusiatically took my woman to see only to be surprised at her lack of enthusiasm. Now I understood. It is common place in Brasil and it's not done out of duty.

Above: The Galleria shopping centre. Yes, you heard, a shopping centre.
The shopping centres here are a delight. I love shopping in Brasil for many reasons. But at Christmas they are doubly-delightful. I have never seen so much Christmas decoration in all of my life. A short journey from Valinhos were two such centres. (A third has now opened and is the largest shopping Mall in South America).

I have to say that my favourite one is the Galleria. A relatively small shopping centre on two levels, with water-falls and gardens in the centre. The whole centre just gave me a wonderful feeling of Christmas. Dotted amongst the shops are small bars and restaurants, some with live music. After a few hours of pleasant shopping -and it's always a pleasure shopping in Brasil- there is nothing better than sitting on the terrace of a bar, drinking a glass of the local beer and listening to the live music with the sound of the waterfall in the background.

Above right: Santa's Grotto at the Galleria with (foreground) my present

So travelling around Brasil gives you that lovely, warm feeling of Christmas. Where ever you go there it's Christmas and difficult to avoid.

Brasilians are very family orientated so any excuse for a get-together usually results in a get-together, and Christmas is no exception. Choosing the relative with the largest house, Christmas eve is spent wrapping presents and preparing food to take to the party at the house.

Left: All kids to the pool please!

As evening approaches the whole extended family decend on the house with food and presents. I have never seen so much wonderful food in one place! The house in question belongs to Paula's aunty, and is located in a private, walled in village. The main benefit of this type of village is the obvious security it provides the residents as crime can sadly be a worry in Brasil.

Fancy working up an appetite? Well, the swimming pool looks incredibly inviting and so all the kids and those young at heart dive into the pool for an hours fun and games. Drying off consists of an hours sunbathing during which time somebody proudly hands you the first of many caipirinhas, a delicious Brasilian cocktail made of Cachaça (the local spirit made from sugar-cane) mixed with lime juice. Once dry and after a shower and a few more Caipirinhas, I find myself idly swinging in the hammock wondering how life could get any better. Oh it does.

Left: Secret Friends

The whole family now play 'Secret Friends', in which they have already been secretly paired up to another family member and bought them a present with a defined (small) budget. Now each person must stand up and talk about their secret friend without saying who it is, and others have to guess. Once guessed correctly, presents and hugs are exchanged before the next person begins.

At the end of the game we get a visit from Papa Noel (Father Christmas) who enters the house with presents for all the kids and hugs for all the pretty ladies. Once he's gone off to the next house, it's time to eat.

Right: Papa Noel and child

Brasilian food is delicious and always plentiful. So much to eat, so little time. So I get my 3 plates full, retire to the comfort of the hammock and eat until I can't eat no more. It's dark now, a beautiful warm evening as I watch the owls flying overhead in search of their Christmas feast and contemplate life.

Would I prefer to be at home right now? Dark at 3pm, rain and drizzle, blustery wind? Same old repeats on the TV? Sitting at home with the heating on full, wondering if the pub'll be any good tonight, or just full of overly-intoxicated fools paying £3 a pint? Only to be repeated again on New Years Eve?

Just then I'm handed another Capirinha, kissed by a beautiful woman, and remember that were're going to the beach for the new year....

First Family Impresssions

2006-04-22T20:43:00.000+01:00

When 'Nato stopped the car outside his mother's house without hitting anything, we all fell out of the car and immediately kissed the ground. (This was on account of being in brasil 'Nato, in case you're reading this, and nothing to do with your 'driving').
Below: Main route through Valinhos, with the white tower block being home to my future Granny-in-law!

Valinhos is a small town of about 80,000 people located on the side of a steep hill in the huge state of Sao Paulo. It's 90 km from the City of Sao Paulo and 7km from Campinas. Just to get an idea of the sizes and distances involved in brazilian geography, the state of SP is equal in surface area to the whole of France! and the whole of brasil is equal to the total size of Europe.

Right: 'Nato the rib-crusher at his birthday party with his sister, my wife

The town centre is typical old brasil whilst on the outskirts large, wall-enclosed private villages are springing up everywhere for the new middle to upper-classes. The town is famous for its purple fig, which features in its annual Festa do figo.

Ma-in-law lived in a typical 3 bedroomed, enclosed (one level) house, 5 minutes walk from the town centre.

She was well prepared for the arrival of her new, future, English son-in-law and her daughter as the table was laid out with the most dazzling display of incredible food I've ever seen. This was one of the reasons why I put on 7kg in my first week in brasil - so much wonderful food!!

Above: Me on my first day in Brasil, wearing my brother-in-law's clothes and receiving a typical, hearty, brasilian welcome from my new nephews

So we sat down to a delicious inititation of local food. It proved difficult in some respects - namely nobody could speak English to me except my woman Paula - who was tired from the flight and didn't really feel like acting as interpreter, and I couldn't understand portuguese, especially when they all spoke at once. But the excitement overcame everything.

Above: Paula's first meeting with her new baby niece, Natalia
Left: reunion of mum and her two daughters

We'd arrived on 'Nato's birthday so in the evening was a small party to celebrate. Fighting the jet-lag, I showered and borrowed some clothes from my new bro-in-law and attended my first brasilian birthday party.

Right: 'Nato's birthday cake with (sober) family and friends.

One of the first things to strike me about this party was that nobody was out to get drunk! Unlike a British birthday party (or any other occasion for that matter in Britain) where everybody would be necking the beer in an unannounced and unquestionable competition to see who'd be the first to get into a fight, vomit or otherwise make a fool of himself, very little beer was drunk here.

What made the occasion special was the fact that people actually stayed sober and spoke to each other! They showed intelligence, warmth and understanding and didn't feel the need to vomit into the plant pots to prove that they'd had a good time. In fact, I felt positively criminal for having three beers! (I shouldn't have, they understood - I was, afterall, British).

Above: The love that flowed from Paula to her nephews humbled even me

They also sang a very pleasant version of happy birthday, which was done with enthusiasm and understanding. It always seems to be such a damp and embarrasing wash-out in England, with nobody really knowing where it is going or caring.

The evening ended with a slightly jet-lagged and sober me, comfortably fitting my currently slim self into the only hammock available without being challenged (I was the guest you see), and falling into a fitful sleep. Oh brasil, I love you already.

The Journey to Valinhos, SP, the Family Home Town.

2006-04-22T20:09:00.000+01:00

Once the bear-hugs were out of the way and the ribs re-adjusted and we found the young nephews shyly hiding behind the back seat of the small grey car we set of on the short trip from Campinas to Valinhos, the family home town.

During the journey it became clear that 'Nato was an incredibly friendly guy and loving brother to Paula, but unfortunately a dreadfully crap driver. The nephews eventually overcame their shyness of seeing Auntie Paula again (or Tia Paula - pronounced chia powla) and for the short journey the car was full of the incomprehensible chatter of so-much-time-to-catch-up-on brazilian portuguese. I say incomprehensible because, even though I had been studying portuguese from a book for the last year, the book never spoke to you in 3 converations at a time, as was now the case in the car.

No matter how much I concentrated on the conversation, I just couldn't understand a word when everybody was speaking at the same time and I seemed to be the only person listening! But then again, when I had asked Paula to teach me portuguese I had never got past the first word she tried to teach me - Eu, or 'I'. Why make a language so bloody complicated?

What with 'Nato's awful driving (surely he was taking the piss?) and the brasilian chatter in full, multi-flow, I was obviously pleased to be finally pulling up outside the closed gates of the new 'mother-in-laws' house. Never before in my life (and never since, come to think of it?) had I been so pleased to arrive at the mother-in-laws.

My First Visit to and Arrival in Brasil

2006-03-27T21:37:00.000+01:00

I shall write 'Brazil' as 'Brasil' as this is how the brazilians write it and it's how I feel it should be written.

So, after getting engaged in the spring of 2000 we visited the family in Brasil for the first time for Christmas in December 2000. It was my first visit to South America although I'd been to the Falkland Islands (Las Malvinas for the iliterate) and Belize in Central America. But Brasil? Never, yet as most people had I had many stereotypes of Brasil.

I thought I was ready - after all I had traveled extensively before this trip so brasil should hold no surprises, should it?

British Airways flew us direct from London Heathrow to São Paulo Guarulhos Airport. São Paulo (pronounced with a nasalled 'San' Powlow) is 11 hours from London and costs a meager £350 off-peak. São Paulo Guarulhos is one of three airports in the city of SP - SP is actually enormous!

On arrival we caught a bus from the airport to Campinas. I was pleasantly surprised with the quality of the bus - like a big interstate Greyhound bus - fully air-conditioned and secure. As I pulled the curtains shut to hide the strong brasilian sunshine my new fiancée soon fell asleep due to jet-lag and feeling the enveloping comfort of the huge coach seats, as indeed I nearly did.

Unfortunately as we were skirting the metropolis of SP we followed the river which is dotted with Favelas (shanty towns) which I have to say hold a strange and sad fascination for me and is probably the same for most Europeans.

It was only after we left SP and headed north-west along the excellent brasilian motorways, leaving behind the outskirts of that huge city where lush green vegetation began revealing itself, dotted with the odd hillside village, that I felt I could safely doze off and not miss anything.

After about an hour I came too and we found ourselves navigating the stereotypical Latin American streets of the enormous and ugly metropolis known as Campinas and eventually pulled up on the side of a busy duel carriageway. Parked opposite was an innocuous, grey car that my drowsy fiancée happened to notice and suddenly began getting very excited about, repeatedly shouting words such as 'My brother, my brother!' and 'My nephews, my nephews...'

Above: The bear, Renato. Hugging my wife, his sister

I was immediately awake due to my woman's excitement and alighted from the bus after my woman to see her being squeezed like a lemon by a huge man. As he turned his attention towards me, being a nice English chap I offered him my hand to shake, only for him to bat it aside and greet me in a typically warm, brasilian way - in a huge, breathtaking bear-hug from a man I'd never even met before!

This was to set the theme for the type of warm, loving and enthusiastic greeting that I was to receive where-ever I found myself in brasil. My future brother-in-law, Renato.

And We Married

2006-03-27T01:17:00.000+01:00

So after many stupid, pointless lies, after so much money stupidly given to lawyers we were finally free to marry. But would we?

You weren't really the marrying type after all, were you? So free. So alive. Why would you marry a git like me? And so I booked the day. I told my family but told them not to come, it was after all, just a race against the visa clock and we would have a proper 'do' afterwards.

November 10th, 2001.

We went, you wavered. Just a few friends. You were terrified and so was I. Christ, I had just been divorced from a crazy woman and it had cost me a fortune, what on earth was I doing going to the Registry Office with another (possibly mad?) woman?

Right: Are you not coming...?

On the walk from the car park to the office you dropped back and nearly bottled it. I spoke to you. I understood. This was crazy. Was this what I really wanted after my recent experience - after all, who the hell were you, really? If you didn't want to it would be OK. No problem, but you would have to leave the country without me and I wouldn't be able to follow until much later.

We both realised that through our fears neither of us wanted this - we wanted to be together - and so we went and we did it, we got married in front of a handful of people.

So that we could be together.

The Pathetic Home Office and Immigration Officers

2006-03-20T01:28:00.000Z

Each time we came home to the UK they treated you like a criminal. They were rude or impolite to you and highly suspicious. I hated to see somebody of your calibre being treated by my country in this way.

They detained you once and put you in the 'secure area' ie their jail, but they knew that you didn't belong there. They permitted me to be at your side throughout (probably on account of my police ID) but I hated seeing you with all of those criminals, illegals and unfortunates.

They soon released you to make some inquiries and said we'd have to go back to Heathrow to sort it out later! They said that they couldn't give you a visa at this time as they needed to clarify your status, yet we had already given them all of the info they needed.

We went back as required and they had already applied the visa to your passport and just gave it back to you. What inquiries were needed exactly? Why didn't they just do this the first time? Probably had to make a phone call to that prat at Croydon - who had advised us that you would be OK returning to the UK as we had done - and checked that they had actually lied to us like that and so had to quickly give us the visa to cover up their incompetence.

Note to Her Majesty's Home Office - GET YOUR STUPID BLOODY ACT SORTED OUT FOR CHRIST'S SAKE!!

Unfortunately, the Home Office Border and Immigration Agency surpassed even this shambles much later on.

Places We Explored

2006-03-20T01:24:00.000Z

We explored and loved the following places;

And still we go exploring....

The Divorce Race

2006-03-20T00:50:00.000Z

My baby was on a student visa to study English and her clock was ticking. Sooner or later she would have to leave the UK. She had just returned from Brasil with a new visa and so had six months more. We could, after that period, apply for an extension as an engaged couple, which would give us another six months on top.

She completed her studies, sailing through the First Certificate, six months later the Advanced Certificate, followed immediately by the Proficiency. I had had a go at some of the questions on these papers and failed miserably - and it was my language! But native speakers are not always the best ambassadors of their own language.

Above: Gluvine and Christmas in Vienna, heavenly

We explored the UK and Europe. It was great to delve into my own country and visit places I just hadn't bothered to visit before, including popping over to the wonderful Dublin. And London. Oh beautiful, wonderful London. As Dr Samuel Johnson said, ' "When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life;
for there is in London all that life can afford".

We visited once a month - we explored that great capital. So much to see and do there and only one life-time to do it in.

Above right: Ayrton Senna, my babe and Nigel Mansell at Madame Tussauds, London

We applied for and got a 6 month engagement extension from the Home Office. My ex decided that if she couldn't have me, she couldn't have me either and dragged us into the courts. I had to pay a solicitor and a barrister and the bills started to pile up. We had to disclose all of our financial records and refute all of her sick lies. The longer she delayed, the more chance there was of mi vida being kicked out of the country, which of course is what she wanted to do.

Below: Paula on the Thames, London

We had the best holiday either of us had had. We went to Rhodes in Greece, rented out a motorbike and later an open topped jeep. We found a deserted beach and stripped naked. We made love in the sand and where ever else we wanted to. We were us, we were in love, we were happy.

We redecorated our home room by room. Through your eyes I saw how hideous the original decor was and we made it beautiful.

We took in language students to help pay the bills. We hated it - we loved our privacy and hated the intrusion this bought.

Right: Terrified at Alton Towers

You decide to do the CELTA course in order to teach English - what amazing progress from FCE to CELTA!

Your visa came up again and we applied for the extension. They gave you 6 months as my fiance. We continued living it up together, fought the divorce, learnt to love each other then applied once more for another extension as no divorce had occurred so we couldn't actually marry

The HO said no and gave you 10 days to leave the country. I knew that if you went it would be the end of my dream. Somebody else would steal you away from me. So many illegals arriving and getting houses and benefits and you, my lovely super-intelligent and cultured woman, trying to do it the correct and legal way, faced deportation. What a sodding English shambles. How sad for the UK to be in this state. First world?

Above: Me at my best in Rhodes - fit, healthy, in love and loved by a princess

We appealed which meant that you could remain under your original student visa until the date of appeal and the appeals apparently were taking months and months to deal with. This would buy us enough time to fight the divorce.

Below: Paula on the Danube, Vienna

In the meantime the judge ordered me to sell the home I had bought alone the year before and give my wife 30% of the profit within 5 years for the divorce. The bitch. She'd got me where she wanted. That was a lot of money and it was my home! My future! All that decoration and work, all those good times we had there and we had to sell it. The whole case was (and always is) loaded against the man.

But, we got the Decree Absolute and were finally free to marry, and to put as great a distance as possible between us and her.

The Rocky Road Ahead to a Diamond

2006-03-20T00:39:00.000Z

We had a difficult first few months. My ex-wife was demanding more and more money from me as punishment for finding a new, gorgeous girl. I was working unsociable shift-work hours and my Goddess was having to come to turns with possibly making a huge mistake. She had chosen this poor cop over her rich ex. Her stress levels were sky-high.

We learnt a lot about each other and soon fell in love - but we had some low points too. After a few months she went back to Brasil to see her family for a few weeks. I'd already decided that I wanted to spend the rest of my days with this woman come what may.

I asked my ex for a divorce. She went psycho. My ex-wife became my ex-friend when she turned on me and screamed 'I'm gonna take you for every penny you've got you fucker! You should never have bought that fucking house.' I thought my house was safe, I'd bought it after she walked out of the then marital home, but I was wrong.

I made secret arrangements for my dream's return (if she returned!) and sure enough, she came back to me bearing gifts from Brasil. I took her to Silverstone to see the Formula 1 Grand Prix, something we both loved. If you ever find a partner that genuinely loves absolutely everything that you hold dear, never let them go. If it doesn't work out, there'll always be a great friend there afterwards.

We had a great time at Silverstone. Barrichello, the great Brasilian hope crashed out and I produced the diamond ring and proposed to her. She was speechless but nodded her head in acceptance.

Official. We were engaged. We were happy. We were in love. And we hadn't known each other 3 months yet.

Sunday Work(ed) Out

2006-03-18T23:32:00.000Z

For some reason I was working out at a local gym in my village. Of course, mobile phones were banned and so I was incommunicado. I was working out with another colleague and his wife.

Afterwards I had a drink in the cafe and switched on my old brick of a phone. Ping Ping Ping. I had messages. Loads of them. How could that be? I had no friends left!

It was her. My dream woman. Upset, distraught, confused.

Above right: Sign of the times, my old brick

'I've left him. I've put all my stuff into the car and left him.'

'Where are you now?'

She was in the Park and Ride car park on the other side of Cambridge where she would always leave her car, and where I would take her back to after the gym. She didn't know what to do next.

Well, I had a Mini Cooper 'S' which was fun to drive and being a highly trained driver I liked to drive it well. But I have never driven as I drove that day. How to get to the other side of Cambridge asap, avoiding the typical Sunday tourist traffic in Cambridge, in time not to lose this confused girl. I took the back-roads and arrived in minutes. Faster than any police emergency had ever been - this was, after all, far more important.

Below: A Mini Cooper, identical to the one I had

She was in pieces. What on earth was she thinking? She couldn't even drive the car back to mine, following me in my car. I had to drive her car and leave mine there. Her car was awful to drive. We arrived at mine (I don't recall how I got my Cooper back) and I offered her one of my three bedrooms to use as she wished. It was a big house just for one guy and she could stay as long as she needed to sort herself out, no commitments.

We unloaded the car and I don't recall that night at all. I was just reassuring her, supporting her, something that I was always to do. I do, however remember the next night.

Monday was my work team's night out. All of my team would be meeting in Cambridge for loads of beer and a meal - no doubt a good old British curry! As a manager, I was expected to be there.

And so WE went. This gorgeous Brasilian queen and I. I recall walking into the biggest pub in the UK - The Regal Pub, Regent Street, Cambridge - with this beauty clinging to my arm, nervous in unkown territory. All faces turned towards us as we entered (something that was alien to me at the time but which I have come to see - and expect - so many times since.)

My colleague's face (he from the original jacuzzi day) was a picture and his only words to me that night were, 'You - jammy - fucking - bastard'.

I knew I was, and I also knew that I had arrived. There was a God, after all.

Secret Courting

2006-03-18T23:07:00.000Z

We arranged to meet the next day in Starbucks, in the Market Place of Cambridge. I was early and obtained a good seat in the window watching people pass by. And at the appointed hour I saw her, walking through the crowds as if they didn't exist, walking purposefully towards me and looking ultar-gorgeous, all dressed in black. She bought her friend with her, which to me was further proof of approval.

'Are you dressed like that for me?'
'Of course, who else?'

We had coffee and made small talk. Afterwards I walked her to her car in Park Street Multi-story. I wanted to hold her hand, she wouldn't let me - what if someone should see?

The next day I picked her up and took her to my newly purchased house, so proud to show her my basic but promising home. We went into the Beefeater Travellers Rest Restaurant/Pub, my local. We sat in the corner and had a drink and a chat. Where exactly was this going?

'You want to kiss me, don't you?'
'Yes', I mumbled but failed to follow it up.

We walked to the car park, to my Mini Cooper. She kissed me and pushed herself against me. I was taken by surprise yet so excited. She could tell.

'We can't keep doing this,' she said.

We parted and everynight for the next 7 days we spoke for hours on the phone. She was avoiding her boyfriend by sleeping in the spare room and chatting to me under the covers. The conversations got very hot indeed.

During this week we met at the gym and we went into the jacuzzi together, we made contact beneath the water, hidden from site. We entered the sauna room together. God it was hot in there. Thank God no-one came in. I needed to cool down and left for a cold shower. This girl was so hot yet still it was just controlled passion - nothing more than imagination.

And then Sunday came, less than a week after meeting for coffee.

Furnishing the House

2006-03-18T22:34:00.000Z

I remember being in a position to replace the old knackered marital bed with a brand-new one. In came an all-pine, enormous wooden bed and wardrobe. I was so happy to have some new furniture in the house after so many years of hardship.

I wanted to tell the world but my world had left.

My Situation

2006-03-18T21:53:00.000Z

I had been separated for about 9 months from a woman that loved me but who I didn't fancy. I loved her as a friend, as a sister even, but she just didn't interest me. She drank too much, she was too loud and behaved like a bloke when drunk. She had no concept of personal improvement and her day revolved around drink. So English. As a friend I thought highly of her, but as a wife she just didn't do anything for me.

We had a daughter between us, Hollie. She had her own problems at school and was slipping further and further behind, but she was the apple of my eye. We were inseparable and she was a real Daddy's girl.

We had married far too young (me 24, she 18) and had a child too early. I recall being told about the pregnancy, in the local Pizza Hut of all places, and was left speechless - incredibly I hadn't even considered it.

I left the military and joined the local police. Hollie was born after a frantic race home from Ashford Police Academy in December 1989 in the fog. It was a long and difficult delivery and left an indelible mark on me.

Above right: Me in army clothes, on my first wedding day. Below: The police home in Girton

We were provided with police housing in the beautiful village of Girton on the outskirts of Cambridge. We only had to pay the bills. I loved my new job, she worked part-time and we bought up our daughter together. We had no mortgage and found ourselves in the fortunate position of being able to buy her father's house from him when he needed cash and was in a difficult situation. We bought it from him for a song on the understanding that he could live there for free.

After about 6 years I had had enough of the politics of the police and was ready to quit. I also felt completely uncreative and unimproved. I sold up an insurance policy, bought a motorbike and started drawing again (I have always been a frustrated artist.) I even moved out for a week but returned home for all the wrong reasons. I went for promotion to Sgt to see if that would improve the situation. After the trauma of the ridiculous promotion system in place (which consisted of a number of tests over an 18 month span) I eventually got promoted.

Life was better at work - more fun, more challenges and more money. But still something was missing and I couldn't give as she needed at home. She threatened to leave and eventually she took that brave decision (something that I will always admire) and left, taking our daughter and joint friends with her.

We remained good friends and I would often pop around for coffee, help her put shelves up etc. She was, after all, a very personal and close friend, one which I didn't want to lose and whose comments and opinions I appreciated.

Right; Me in police uniform at Christmas with my mum

It was during this time that the Police Authority offered me a one-off opportunity of purchasing the house that I still occupied. I had lived there for 12 years and would be entitled to a 30% discount on the price. The problem was that I had a mortgage on the other property. This offer had a time limit and so the race was on. We had all agreed to sell the old place off six months earlier, and I had been spending every free day of the last 6 months doing the place up (it was in a terrible state) in order to sell it. We put it on the market, it sold quickly in the market boom and we managed to pay off the mortgage and all of the joint marital debts. I got the cheque in December 1999, and it put me in a great position. For one, I could afford to join the gym above.

So I set the ball rolling and managed to buy this huge, wonderful 3 bedroom semi-detached house in the amazing village of Girton. It was officially mine in February 2000, about the time that this Goddess came into my life.

At this time I had recently joined the Atrium Health Club and was desperatly trying to lose weight. I was also falling for this beautiful woman I had only just bumped into.

In February came a gym challenge. For the whole month they would record the total kms covered by users on the various machines. The person who recorded the greatest distance at the end of the month would receive a prize and a little glory. As I was pushing myself further each day I considered it to be a great motivater and so I went for the challenge, only expecting motivation and zero glory.

After two weeks I was one of the few in the lead and had a good chance of winning. Also fat was beginning to fall off me.

At about 3 weeks I was attacked by a German Shepherd dog on a drugs raid at work and received nasty injuries to my right calf muscle. I thought my luck had run out but still I persevered.

In the last week it transpired that I was neck-and-neck leader with another (older guy) who only came to the gym every other day. I, on the other hand, came in every day. I pushed myself and stormed ahead. We met and he said it was impossible to compete everyday. It was mine. I averaged 32km per day for the month of February and won the challenge. Not only did I win, but it gave me selfbelief, a reason, as well as losing all of my excess weight. In fact, long after I'd stopped running I was still losing weight and went down to 70kg which was awful for me. I started weight-lifting and adding muscle and began to look very good indeed for a washed-up old man.

Life on the whole was changing as I'd been promised by some. After seperation and loneliness came life, so I'd been told by others. And it certainly seemed to be getting more interesting. And with each new development I foolishly told the one friend I believed I had at that time - my ex.

Coffee at Nero's, Cambridge

2006-03-18T21:44:00.000Z

And so we met for coffee at Nero's in Cambridge, which was a very small, two-table cafe at the end of Market Street. She'd just finished her classes at her language school in the centre. We sat down with a nice cappuccino.

'What do you want from me?' she asked. Oh dear, here we go, bugger-off time.
'I just want to get to know you, that's all' I lied. 'Are you gonna finish it before it's begun?' I asked.

'I was, but now hat you're here I don't want to'.

My heart leaped. It was the first real signal she'd given that she was actually interested in me. We swapped mobile phone numbers and walked down the street together.

'We shouldn't really continue this, you know.'

She went home and I went to my home, amazed and more excited and alive than at any time in my life.

Stalking

2006-03-18T21:12:00.000Z

The next fortnight of my life was the only time in my life that I spent as a stalker. Naturally I spoke to her in passing every time I saw her at the gym and would discreetly found out when she would next be working out and tried to ensure that I would be there too. I discovered that she was driving a (rather ropey-looking) Vauxhall Astra (with all the money he had - tight-bastard!) Whenever I passed the gym I would look out for that car. My whole life now revolved around her appearances at the gym and a ropey old Astra. Fuck work.

If you'd have seen her at the gym you would've understood. She worked out in tiny Latex shorts and a cropped top, displaying glimpses of the most incredible abbs ever. We would pass the time of the day whenever we were working out together, but only when I went to her to initiate the chat. She never came to me but then she wouldn't would she?

I recall watching her doing her abb routine. Boy could she work out. Up to 500 different abb exercises and on each individual one she looked totally edible. She worked out for hours on the step machines that were conveniently lined up in front of my running machines. God I have never run so much in my life. There she was, often only a few feet in front of me, wearing her tiny Lycras and pushing like mad on that step machine, her gorgeous little ass moving rhythmatically from side-to-side in front of me, and my imagination doing leap-frogs so that I didn't have the misfortune of feeling the pain of my own endeavors.

As we spoke I began to detect a sadness in her eyes. I felt like holding her and asking why she was so sad. To me she had everything a girl could want. It soon became clear that she was unhappy in her relationship and needed something else in her life.

One day I saw her talking to a man at the gym - they obviously knew each other. I spoke to her yet she seemed uncomfortable speaking to me. Is this the guy then? She had said that sometimes he came with her to work out. I was surprised that he seemed so much older than her.

She often dropped hints about never eating out, about not going to the cinema enough etc. I was so entranced I bravely asked her out. I offered to show her Cambridge (in a purely English, gentlemanly way of course) and to go to the cinema with her. She gladly accepted and stood me up twice.

Pissing me about and making a fool of me of course. What a fool I was. So one day I decided it was make-or-break time. She was effecting my life so I stormed into the gym, walked up to her and played it tough. Enough stupidity. Thanks but no thanks I said, and turned and walked away. And she called me back. 'I'm free tomorrow, there's a film I want to see.'

And so we went to see The End of the Affair with Ralph Fiennes at the Grafton Centre multiplex cinema. Throughout the film I was only aware of this incredible woman sitting next to me and found it difficult to concentrate. Halfway through the film I just had to touch her. 'Can I hold your hand?'
'Yes' she replied.
And I did and I was amazed - how can anybody have such lovely, satin smooth and soft hands? So I caressed those miracles mitts throughout the rest of the film.

I walked her to her car and wanted to kiss her. She said no. It wouldn't be right, she was with somebody else. I took it that she didn't want to kiss me. She said that we could meet for coffee in Cambridge on Monday, after her school. We agreed and parted.

The Turning Point

2006-03-18T01:34:00.000Z

I was 35 years old.
I was fatter than I'd ever been in my life (35" waist)
I was going very grey.
I was boring and bored.
I had a broken marriage behind me.
I had an 11 yr old daughter.
I was broke.
I was unhappy in my work.
I was unfashionable.
I was lost.
I couldn't dance.

She was 7 years younger than me.
She was gorgeous.
She was exotic.
She had a perfect body.
She oozed sexiness.
She knew it.
She was interesting.
She had a boyfriend.
She had a rich boyfriend.
He'd bought her a car.
He had a BMW and two motorbikes, a PHD and his own company!!

No wonder my mate laughed at me later when I got to work. What a dreamer. What a prat I was. But he didn't know, only I knew. During our lazy first few minutes together in that hot jacuzzi she said she was hot again and needed to go into the steam room. That was when my dream nearly broke, was it gong to be her hint to me - shove off you boring git?

She stood up and said, 'Are you coming?'

Had she not invited me I would have probably gone to work and never have had the life I have had for the last 7 years. Am I coming? Me? With you? Are you crazy? And I did, and we sat and we chatted and we laughed and shared and relaxed.

Little did I know that in the next few weeks my life would be turned upside down and I'd suddenly be the wealthiest man in town. And all because she invited me into the steam room to keep talking. And I meekly went in.

Late for Work but God She's Gorgeous

2006-03-18T01:20:00.000Z

After these few embarrassingly English opening minutes she said she was too hot siting in the jacuzzi (she certainly was!) and went into the steam room. I would gladly pay a small fortune to watch her emerge from that steaming water again and wiggle up those steps just a few feet in front of me, wearing that incredibly shrinking, black Brasilian bikini, and vanish into the steam like a pleasant dream.

Well, that was it. Blew it. Of course she was Brasilian, who else wears a bikini like that and gets away with it? Who else could be so hot that they raise the temperature of the jacuzzi in just a few minutes. My mate was off. He felt as stupid as I did. Have to get ready. We were due at work in 45 minutes.

'I'll see you later', I said as I relaxed back and dreamt a dream I shouldn't have. And so he left.

And then the steam-room door opened again and back she came, sinking into the water next to me.

'Hi again'.

Bloody hell.

And so we chatted, yet I remember nothing of it. We chatted for about 50 minutes as my friend started work and I was late for work. Fuck it, I'm the boss - they can manage without me for a while and anyway, all of this was just a dream and in a moment I'll wake up.

All I remember is us taking it in turns to lean on the bubble pump to activate the jacuzzi bubbles every ten minutes after they automatically stopped. Well, actually, this isn't totally true. The button was on the side, out of the water and difficult to push down. So difficult in fact that this slight Goddess had to bend over and push down with all of her might to activate it. And from my seat behind her I really appreciated every minute of her efforts.

Fuck work. How often does this happen in my life?

Testing the Water

2006-03-16T23:05:00.000Z

Being typically English blokes we weren't great conversationalists nor very direct in our interest in her. But speak I had to. I had only ever seen a woman like this before in my dreams and they weren't 'talkies' dreams. So I did what I thought was right. I returned the 'hi'.

Of course she was beautiful, with a perfect body, sexiness that entered the room ahead of her to give advanced warning, a beautiful voice - as much as one could tell from two letters - oozing self-confidence (which is the clincher really isn't it? Anybody who oozes it goes up a few Richter points on the sexiness scale) and no doubt she could sing too and was probably highly intelligent to boot! Couldn't be a doctor now, could she?

So what's her flaw? They all have one don't they? Can't have everything AND be a nice person - it just doesn't happen does it? Bound to be a moody bitch, probably talk down to me or make me look very stupid and laugh at me with the girls in the changing room. Guaranteed.

'Not from around here, are you?' Oh great, what a fucking opener that was. She wasn't ghostly white, she wasn't overweight, she didn't have a pear-shaped English body, she didn't walk like a man in drag, she didn't have a ridiculous, lairy-coloured, mis-shaped, over-sized and over-used (but only in Corfu) swim costume and I ask 'Not from around here, are you?' So fucking English Dave. Right on. Great.

No she wasn't from 'round here' and no she wasn't going to make it easy for me.
'Where do you think I am from?'
Well, probably not heaven as it doesn't exist - unless?

'South Africa?'
'No'.

Umm. Don't like guessing games - too much opportunity of making a pillock of yourself. How the hell do I know where you're from - I HAVE NEVER SEEN ANYBODY LIKE YOU BEFORE!

'So, are you a Doctor then?'
'Sorry?'
'Just curious.'
'Er, no, I'm not'.

'OK, we give up!' Cowards.
'I'm from Brazil. I'm a language student.'

(Sudden flashes of Rio's carnival and half-naked dancing women and a hedonistic paradise entered my mind. So, she was from heaven after all).

Having lived in Cambridge for over 10 years or so, dealt with hundreds of language students in that time and been fully aware of the amount of language schools in Cambridge, being totally aware of the number of young 'foreign' beauties in the gym who 'must be language students ' and having lodged dozens of them in my home for a great many years, how could I not have known? She had to be a language student and I was a dick. Nice to meet you. Time to go.

The Fateful Day

2006-03-16T22:49:00.000Z

We were just sitting there, relaxing in the jacuzzi, talking bollocks as usual as two colleagues do who have nothing in common except work and the gym, when the door opened and completed my life. I can't remember if it was purely coincidental that we were sitting facing the ladies changing-room door or not - probably not, we were quite sad like that back then.

She walked into my life wearing the itsiest-teenyest bikini I could have ever imagined. No, it was smaller even than that. Black, tiny, and on the most gorgeous figure you could imagine. Tanned, olive skin and a wiggle that said, 'Don't I know it'.

The effect she was having on us was clear from the difficulty I was now having in talking. And like all Goddesses she was surely about to take umbrage at us two goggle-eyed, pervy, middle-aged men who just didn't know where to look, and flee to the relative perv-free safety of the saunas. But no, not this girl. She sashayed down into that water right in front of us and said - in the most diminutive and sexiest voice on this earth - and with the merest hint of an exotic accent, 'Hi'.

It was just two letters in length, it was a standard greeting, and took about 0.6 seconds to say, but that 'Hi' landed somewhere deep in my soul and hooked its barbed point into me and to this day I cannot shift it.

Why Move to Brazil?

2006-03-15T22:33:00.000Z

In January 2000 I was at the lowest point in my life. I was living in Cambridge, England. I was just getting used to being alone following a split from my wife and best friend, but a child was involved - my 11 yr old daughter Hollie. With my wife went all of my 'friends'. I was unhappy in my job and I was skint. I was also 35 yrs old and feeling old and abandoned.

I had just spent the last year sitting at a computer desk for 12 hours a day, filling my fat face with three free meals a day. I was fatter than I had ever been in my life. I decided to take up jogging in my lunch hour around Parkers Piece, which was a huge green just in front of my workplace. I managed to get down from an embarrassing 38" waist to 35" (I had always been 30-31") but just could not shift the last couple of inches. Drastic action was needed so as my finances were looking better - I had just sold a house I'd bought years earlier and split the profits with my ex-partner to pay off all of our joint marital debts - so why not?

To rid myself of those last inches of fat I joined a local health club - I had always been very fit throughout my life and so I decided to fight this unmovable middle-aged flab. This was a decision that was to change my life forever.

The gym was The Atrium Club, Cambridge, one of a few new Health Clubs in town, large and all encompassing. The first thing I noticed was the amount of pretty foreign girls here. British girls aren't exactly pretty anymore (RIP British femininity!) so I was quite happy to work out and watch the passing scenery.

I was embarrassingly fat yet went there every day - for the exercise or the girls I can't remember. I was dressed like a typically middle aged, unfashionable and lost Brit...yet I didn't know. All I knew was that something was missing in my life. Little did I know that what had been missing from my life all of these years was already in their, working out, and waiting to walk into my life and turn it upside down.

Where she came from or why she was sent to me I'll never know. I suppose that if I was at all religious I would say that she was heaven sent. Or that I had done something really special in a previous life. As I'm not religious, I just keep counting each day that she is in my life and enjoy her whilst I still can. I guess there is something inside telling me that she is just too good for me and that it won't last for ever...

Fucked Door...

2006-03-15T21:57:00.000Z

Just to set the standard of this blog. Found in a local DIY shop (Leroy Merlin) in Brazil was this door by 'Fuck'.

Had to take a photograph. Adds a whole new dimension to the phrase 'This door is fucked'.