Note on the new name of my blog

I discovered this fabulous long word today...which is actually an amalgamation of a few Latin words all crammed together, like a rather impressive toy train.

The word is Floccinaucinihilipilification and it means: the act of estimating as worthless (or of low value). Quite a useful word in a world of the disposable where there is far too much waste.

Why then rename my blog with this ridiculous and rather eccentric word you may ask yourselves? The reason is that some people might find my blog inspires them to engage in an act of Floccinaucinihilipilification, although I hope some enjoy my wasteful ramblings regardless.

But the word has great potential. Just imagine next time you are drunk at a party spurting out "Listen here you lot, your floccinaucinihilipifation concerning the amount of booze available at this here party is starting to make me feel rather flummoxed!!!". Your cerebrally gifted friends will be so proud of you and if you can say this word while drunk...well then you deserve something very special indeed...I can't think of what it could be...but something special.

Haunted Houses & Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy

Yesterday, about the same time I was perving over the bright red tulips, I also discovered a fascinating abandoned house. It was one of those days when one is fully prepared for anything unusual to happen. One of those days when, from the moment you open your eyes, things seem ever so slightly out of place and a small voice in your head whispers "stay in bed...trust me...you don't want to go out there today".

However, being someone that appears to be allergic to good, sound advice, I ventured out anyway. I could not think of an excuse credible enough to skip work and I could not be bothered to put on my "I'm r-e-a-l-l-y sick...cough...cough...sniff...snort" voice. I did have rather incredible foresight though and decided that I would buy a disposable camera and take random photographs all day...just in case something out of the ordinary caught my eye.

I must mention at this point the possible reasoning behind this rather unusual desire to take a camera to work (because it is definately not anything to do with logic when it comes to the way my brain works). My dearly beloved is a CG artist and has just finished working on "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" - a film I thoroughly enjoyed. The joy about Douglas Adams' work...is that he (may he rest in peace) seems to imply that the Universe might actually have a sense of humour; a sense of humour that is wicked. Furthermore, you certainly do not wish to be the centre of any cosmic joke. So, to cut a story that is getting too long already a little short, I felt suspicious of the world yesterday....cough...and bollocks to anyone that has a problem with that.

So, on my way home from work, this old country house caught my attention. It was fenced off from public access and plastered with various warning signs (I counted about eight in total). The signs ranged from 'danger unstable ground' to 'trespassers will be prosecuted'. The intriguing thing about this house was that I had not noticed it before, even though I had walked this route to the station often. It was a delapidated red brick affair and the large windows were boardered shut, although a dirty lace curtain clung tenaciously to a shattered frame, like some misplaced piece of Mrs Haversham's boudoir. Nesting in the eaves of the roof, which was crumbling in upon itself, were a couple of wood pigeons - speckled and flustered. The place seemed to be recoiling from the public footpath, holding its breath so as not to draw attention to itself.

Despite the warnings, I tucked my dress up and attempted to scale the fence...so that I could get one or two pictures with my camera....to pop on this blog. Having successfully taken two photographs of the place and scraped my knee in the process, I tried to disengage myself from the rather flimsy fence, with which I had become intimately entangled. At that moment I noticed the lace curtain had been drawn aside...the same lace curtain that resembled my grandmother's undergarments and the same lace curtain that only a few moments before had been covering the entire window. It was creepy and I fell rather ungracefully from the arms of my wiry suitor, into the rough scrub that surrounded the property. With a bruised bottom and a quick glance to make sure no one had seen my 'fall from grace' I scampered off before any angry conservatives decided to call the police. However (and this could start to read like the opening scene for a B-rate horror flick) I plan to go get better photos of this ghostly place tonight...well tonight would be stupid...let me rephrase: I plan to get photos this afternoon...while the sun is still shining.

Days when the sun shines, conservatives & flirty tulips

Every day living in England makes me feel more...well...English. The thing I have most come to appreciate is the beauty of colour. Colour and days when the sun shines. Days spent gazing out of train windows, through the scratched glass tagged with childish, violent scribbles. Days when in all the monotony of wet station platforms, weary commuters and heavy grey clouds, the sun shines and England seems suddenly alive, green and blue. That moment on the train when my face is warmed by sunlight and I notice the trees and I notice the daffodils looking bright and cheerful, where once there was only damp rotting logs, forgotten rubbish and tangled winter weeds. Yesterday, strolling to the station in, I saw gardens boasting fat, red tulips. Tulips that seemed to draw your attention like the uneasy gaze of a voluptuous woman's cleavage, or lips smeared in too much gloss. Tulips that were brazon, wanton hussies smiling up shamelessly at me from beneath the many "Vote Conservative" posters. I almost laughed out loud at the perfect irony of the situation...but at that moment a grumpy looking man glared at me menacingly from his doorstep - threatening me with a chesty cough - as if I planned to pluck his precious tulips from their burlesque stage, or crush their lolling heads. I smiled at him, despite myself, he reminded me of the selfish giant from the story by Oscar Wilde - the sour giant that didn't want to share his garden with children. I had no desire to pluck his fucking tulips...just admire them, before they wilted from all the carbon-monoxide expunged by the passing 4X4s (insert deep breath here) that told me I was in a well-to-do suburban area. However, the old fart just eyed me up and down until I decided to be on my way. Well, I have come to the conclusion that most Conservatives fit into the 'selfish giant' category and are deeply possessive of their gardens (if they have them)....so Michael Howard, you will never get this half-Brit's vote...ever!!! Not until the day tulips pluck themselves from Conservative flower beds all over Britain and dance naked in the street. Sigh. Now this was a cathartic post. I feel better and now...I'm going to vote for the GREEN PARTY.

The Skulls of X-boyfriends

Now I'm a Believer...Doo...Doo

This beautiful succubus from WoW sussed me out pretty good. Shortly after this screenshot I was dead...having been seduced by her rather lovely...eyes^^

As you can see...my armour now makes me look like an American football player...but that shall soon be rectified....and one day I'll come back and visit this here sexy, blue-eyed bitch....and I will defeat her with sex-appeal alone!!!

Just to Prove My Point Again

Night Elves Are So Hot

If anyone has watched the cinematic introduction to World of Warcraft – then you will know that it is rather…erm…persuasive. I refer to the scantily clad night-elf druid that transforms so gracefully into a velvety black jaguar and slinks off into the forest. Very few people are able to watch this introduction without feeling…well…without feeling sentimental…and without feeling something akin to patriotism for a world that, well let’s be honest, doesn’t really exist. On some deep level…it speaks to the ‘inner-geek’ in all of us. However, despite the sexy voiceover seductively describing the threat of the Burning Legion, it is this scantily clad night elf…in all her scantily clad glory…with those lovable long ears…and raven-black mane of hair…that prompted me to choose the Druid Class. Sigh

Shadowraith and Twin

This is a picture of my beloved WoW character...in the early days...before I discovered rather embarrassing armour that looks something like a cross between 'Fame' and 'The Pirates of Penzance'. There will soon be some delicious images of the sexy new Succubi and Nether Maidens...once I'm finished editing them ^^

This Looks like Fun

Despite the urban rumours surrounding this event...I have put it off for far too long. It's time to do something guaranteed to shock my socks off. Since I have seen some of the amazingly cool costumes one can wear to this place...I have been convinced this will be worth doing. Unfortunately, one cannot take photographs here...but I can always take photos of the costume I eventually decide to wear...and then write a very interesting post.

Angels

This is an example of one of the many wood carvings that adorn the entranceways of many Catholic churches in Rio. This one in particular, I found rather haunting.

Another View

Martin My Guide

The Favela

View of Rio from Santa Teresa

Santa Teresa

Santa Teresa

Taking a rickety old tram, close to the centre of Rio de Janeiro, is perhaps the easiest most enjoyable way to reach the beautiful district of Santa Teresa. The local Cariocas sometimes cling to the sides of the arthritic contraption to avoid paying the fair, which may seem a pittance to some, but in Brazil where the divide between the extremely rich and extremely poor seems so great…it is understandable.

An historical, picturesque part of the city, Santa Teresa is a place ‘frozen in another time’ where the buildings are stained with tropical fungi that cling relentlessly to the blue Portuguese tiles, white-washed walls and fading paint. The local people will tell you with pride that Ronald Biggs, an eccentric train robber, lived here for many years, and their colourful anecdotes are both highly amusing and informative. I can imagine an aging train robber living in a place like this; the place hints at a decadent past and although some of the very grand houses remain intact, they are overgrown with various flowers and creepers. This adds to the bohemian atmosphere of the place and it is a fitting that many artists have made this place their home.

In fact the little shops and café-restaurants that adorn Santa Teresa’s narrow, uneven streets are filled with interesting curiosities and work by local artists, ranging from Papier-mâché sculptures of voluptuous, red lipped women to earthy paintings of the Favela itself in its ever changing moods. The modern graffiti that can be found round every bend also adds to the charm of the place – because it is surprisingly skilful and tasteful – rather than the random tagging scrawled across London’s streets.

If you have time to kill – a wandering painter might offer to make you an original painting – and it is at a moment like this where you will benefit from speaking Portuguese or a Latin language. I met an interesting man, in a dishevelled blue-grey suit, clutching his palate, paints and canvases under his arm and smoking a curiously shaped pipe. His skin was the colour of toasted coffee beans and his hair was curly and greying at the temples. He was splashed with flecks of oil paint and his fingers and fingernails speckled with acrylic. The overall effect was that he seemed as much apart of the place as the buildings themselves. The most interesting thing about him…was his easy grace and the fact that he wasn’t wearing any shoes. Despite my best efforts…the opportunity to converse with someone full of local history passed…but I admired his lyrical voice and friendly smile. However, I would feel much richer if I had been able to chat with him awhile, ask questions and watch him paint.

The place is small and there is not much to do apart from sipping cold beer in one of the cafés or sampling some of the fine Brazilian cooking available…but I still found myself fully absorbed for hours…before the threat of rain finally caused me to make a hasty retreat back to my hotel.

Santa Teresa was perhaps my favourite part of Rio…and I will post pictures here soon when I have finished editing them.

MIdnight in the Garden of Good and Evil

My next post ( or next, next, next post) is going to be interesting. Oh yes! My own personal anthropology experiment ^^ I've decided that life has settled too easily back into the familiar patterns I was comfortable with, before I decided to bugger off to Brazil and get a tan...and so, to shock my socks off, I'm going to do something...daring, brave and adventurous. But I'm not going to spoil the suspense and divulge the details of my 'cunning plan' just yet...because it takes a little bit of preparation, beautification and a couple of hours in the gym. It will also require me learning how to use Picasa 2...to allow some visual stimuli to accompany what words cannot express.

Caipirinha Recipe

In Douglas Adams' 'The Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy' there is a very interesting cocktail called the Pan-galactic Gargleblaster - the effect of which is like 'having your brain wrapped around a golden brick'. While I have yet to travel to the far reaches of space...let alone discover a two headed-egotistical president (Zaphod Beeblebrox) in a bar at the edge of the universe who would be willing to serve me one of these...I expect that 2 - 3 Caipirinhas (a very popular drink in Rio de Janeiro) might have much the same effect.

As it is something of a 'right of initiation' for all hapless tourists travelling Brazil to sample one of these 'golden bricks'....I decided to include the recipe for any of you who ever feel the need to obliterate a couple of thousand braincells in the space of a few minutes...so enjoy:

Caipirinha Ingredients:

- 1 lime quartered
- 3 table spoons sugar (or much more as I found out in Rio)
- 3 -4 shots of cachaca
- 1/2 Cup of ice cubes

(in Brazil they do not stick to any of these measurements and the average barman is very, very generous...so be careful)

Prepare:

Place lime and sugar in the bottom of a glass and using the handle of a wooden spoon, crush and mash the limes. Pour the liqueur and ice. Stir well.

Note on Cachaca (spelt with a Portuguese C I can't find on my keyboard) :

Cachaca is a Brazilian liquor made from distilled sugar cane juice. While rum is distilled from molasses, cachaca is distilled directly from the juice of the unrefined sugar cane. Prior to the distillation the juice ferments in a wood or copper container for three weeks, and is then boiled down three times to a concentrate. So you can only imagine how potent this stuff is...and yes, like rum, it is guaranteed to give you a headache.

Note on Effects of 3 - 5 of these Cocktails:

Extreme Verbosity followed by:
Amnesia
Unconsciousness
Waking up in Matchu Pitchu

All Good Things

I really hate that old ragged cliche: 'all good things come to an end'...but the bloody thing is true...and I suppose cliches become cliches for that very reason...because somewhere in their flimsy packaging there is wisdom to be gleaned. So, with this in mind it was back to work as usual. Some people say that work gives people a sense of achievement, that it makes one appreciate one's free time. Some even go as far to say that we would quickly become bored without work...you know 'the devil makes work for idle hands' and all those jazzy biblical sayings. This is where I disagree. The people who most often say these things have obviously never A) Worked as a barmaid B) Worked as a strip tease 'artist' in 4 inch heels C) Dressed as the Duracel Bunny in a shopping mall D) Posed nude for university art classes or F) Taught English Literature to a room of bored teenagers...lol....and this is where I let you guess which one of the above I haven't done : )

Anyway, if some distant relative left me enough money to survive of for the next 50 years or so...I'd travel some more...spend months travelling India...go live in a teepee for while...go to all the places I'm scared of going...experience zero gravity...learn the Kama Sutra...become a full time writer....take up art classes....learn Japanese and French...learn to make oragami animals...go to cooking lessons...learn to sail...learn to Salsa...learn to use chopsticks elegantly...learnt to paint...take up yoga...learn to firedance...learn the violin or piano...watch sunsets...stay up all night when I felt like it...hand out compliments to strangers...learn to sit still...take up photography...start a greenhouse and grow orchids...act in silly plays...learn how to make mosaic...and how to bake cakes that don't flop...learn how to change the goddamn tires on a car...learn how to take my pc apart and put it together again...go see Cirque du Soleil...renovate a house...read to children...volunteer in an animal shelter...write letters....anyway the list is infinite.

When I'm on holiday I always wonder how I ever find time to work. Sigh. Now I'm just moaning...but cities are crazy, hives of insanity (as my beloved is fond of saying) where we live so close to eachother, always having to share our space with strangers, always moving, always working. I guess that is what's exciting about them...but also tiring. Anyhow, that's all I have to say about work. I'm glad there are some people out there who love working and keep the world running. I'm knackered and going to bed...these are the typical rantings of a girl in need of sleep.

Anyone got the Munchies?

Rio is a fantastic city to visit. The first thing to strike me about the place (despite its gorgeous beaches) is the constant activitity. At 3am in the morning, sitting on the balcony of my hotel room, I could still see people playing volleyball on the beach and even joggers taking advantage of the cool morning air (around 27 degrees celsius). This may have to do with the amount of juice-bars situated in and around the city. The juice-bars are a must for any tourist who likes fruit, sugar or enough guarana to fuel your plane trip home! The weirdest concotion I sampled at one of these bars, was an Avocado milkshake made with sugar and guarana. It was an experience I'm not likely to forget, since the guy that served it to me sat watching me drink the whole thing, laughing at my multitudinous facial expressions and shouting 'vitamins...vitamins' every time I attempted to surreptitiously slip the contents in the bin.

Being a rather adventurous South African, I have attempted some bold dishes in my brief time on the planet: Mapani Worms, Kudu, Crocodile, Snake and even braaied grasshopper. However, a guarana shake (which arrives at your table looking like thick blue-black mud) is way up there in my top five for weirdness and texture.

Another interesting culinary delight widely available in Brazil is Tapioca (think that's how you spell it). Large amounts of coconut and sugar which taste suprisingly good. If you're not the type of traveller with a 'sweet tooth' then Rio has some of the best seafood and meat as well...but I will write about that experience a little later....since that really was overwhelming. If you go to Rio - go there hungry. Hungry like a hungry American hungry. Hungry like people who eat whole animals for breakfast hungry.

Anyway, the optimistic (and perhaps naive) view I decided to take on the reason behind all the activity was a diet rich in protein, fresh fruit, glorious sunshine and a contagious lust for life. Rio is a place of startling contradicitons and although beautiful, it is best not to play the role of 'Dopey Tourist' and stay on your guard. While there are many saddening things I observed while travelling in Rio, like the sprawling Favelas and extreme poverty, I will try to keep this blog up-beat...until I'm in a more philosophical mood.

Portugeuse

I know how to spell...I´ve just been drinking Caiparinias...which are decadent...strong and very good at killing braincells. When I return to London, my spelling will return to normal...I hope.

Brazil

I have been having such an amazing time in Brazil...and have resorted to writing on the back of hotel faxes and tour guides again...since my internet access is so limited. While I would like nothing better than to sit and divulge all the wonderful things I´ve been doing...and humour my friends and lover with my terrible use of a Brazilian keyboard...I have decided to rather spend my last few days writing on napkins and the like....until I am in a more sober state of mind...so that my writing can fully describe the beauty of Brazil, it´s people, it´s food and diverse culture...until that time (probably 5 days or so) I will leave you with my favourite Portogeuse letter ç Ç and then I~m off to the bar to order some sticky drink with too much sugar, too much lime, Cachacha ( or however you spell it I~m too drunk to tell).