Internet, or posting problems

       This message s in the nature of a test. My other blog alikeillywrites is refusing to post...error 400

No idea what that is, or how to find out.

So.......testing a small one to see if it works on 'looks'.....then hopefull on from there.

Testing ...testing....

Come back brasil!

     Windy, chilly....at least for Brasil. That was yesterday. I, my family and some freinds went out to dinner, sitting outside o eat, the wind nearly blew our dinner off our plates! Quite apt, as we were frequenting a Swiss restaurant. One I had not discovered myself. Where they serve lovely crisp potato rosti and large smoked sausage. It was yum! Of course, I am not exactly truthful there, our dinner stayed on the plates ok, even though the table cloths and our hair went all over the place.  Most people wrapped up during the evening, out came the jumpers and the shawls. Not me of course, I like the wind..well, I'm English and after a steamy day it was nice to cool down. We have a lot of that in England, wind I mean. But, let's not get into that.....let's leave politics out of this narrative.

     Overnight, the wind kept up, it howled, shutters banged, things fell and rain came down amongst the storm. I thought I was a back in England. Not that I disliked it, it was quite nice, it felt cosy inside my little house. It kept me awake though as something nearby was bang, bang, banging. I think it's quite true the wind, when it blows like that stirs up your spirit, makes you crazy. When I was teaching, the windy days were the worst. Small children in particular, always ran around like banshees. Careering into each other, or fences, making too much noise and screaming in excitement. It was those days we liked to avoid being on playground duty. There would be more upsets, more falls, more problems in general. We couldn't pin them to the Tarmac to keep them still could we. The larger children and teenagers were little better though, they had no concentration at all. You might just as well get them all outside doing something active than trying to sit and study. Well, last night I felt a bit like that. A bit crazy, I couldn't relax, even though I was very tired after a bad night the night before. No, very little sleep for me I'm afraid, but I'll survive. You always do don't you.

        Today it's still blowing, but less. Raining on and off too. As I said, it's like being back in England. I am actually wearing two layers, trousers and trainers instead of sandals and tees. I was cold this morning, couldn't get warm, so on went the clothes. Now it's lunchtime, and still the wind is blowing raindrops on the breeze. Leaves hurdle around in crazy circles, along with bits of newspaper and such rubbish. The big tree overhead, full with red skinned fruit, bounces with a lot of noise on the tin roof above me. Keeps me alert I suppose. Still, this constant wind should gradually clear the streets a bit. Although where the blown rubbish ends up, I have no idea. Perhaps it only changes places with rubbish somewhere else.

         Well I have sat here long enough, time to walk now. Ooops, more fruit crashing down overhead, rolling accross the street. I wonder if it's bringing down the coconuts as well? These little fruits, about the size of a plum, would give you a fright if they hit you. But a coconut would do much worse than that. Must remember not to walk under any trees.......No really, I won't be careful. Can't live your life looking for trouble can you. 

                  This is a miniature coconut tree, but usually they are three times this hight.

            Ahhhh, the rain has stopped, people are walking along the street again. Time to stop writing and start moving. Ahh maybe not, maybe I will have some more coffee first. At least the coffee is good in Brasil. Served in those tiny cups, strong and hot, with both sugar and bottled liquid sweetener for your use. Sweetener which gets into your pores from handling the bottle. So that for hours afterwards you taste the ultra sweet taste, it's too much. It drives me crazy, there is not always somewhere converient to wash your hands. Still, a small problem in the grand scheme of things. My solution, use sugar instead. You need so little in those tiny cups it is nothing to worry about.

           Have a good day out there folks....me, I'm enjoying the breeze before the heat blasts back again. Like England or not, I don't care, crazy or not, why worry.....I take some pride in being halfway to crazy already!

           Have fun now.........

              You can't see the wind blowing  the trees here, but believe me, it was.

         Bye for now

     

On cats...part two

   This is primarily a story of cats, moving on from London where part one was set, to Darwin, Northern Teritory, Australia. Part one on the merits of keeping a cat...was about when I had house cats, cats that never left the house, and how one went missing...I loved my cats then, really loved them, I had a lot of time for them. But things change ....as times and circumstances change, things can never stay the same. In fact I never understand when people say,'oh, you're just the same!' No...I'm not, not at all.

Still, this tale is mostly a cat lovers view.....but very true, nevertheless. Or, as I always stress, my view of the truth.

         Cats are not dogs, are nothing at all like dogs. Dogs are loyal, dependant, pack animals. Cats are primarily just like the little list on independent cats as above. They are somewhat selfish, independent, want you when they want you. Quite capable of ignoring you if they have a different agenda. In London,  I was lucky enough to keep Siamese cats, which I found to have a level of loyalty and need, that ordinary moggies don't seem to have. Ahhh how I loved my queen Siamese, Sapho, but that's all in 'part one', please read it if you're interested in hearing the best about cats, and some bad about man.

         Today I'm talking about a yard cat. Oh yes, he had the run of the house, but also the freedom of the grounds too. He was a sturdy, strong and friendly beast. In my mind, I was replacing my lost Siamese and he did care for me...in his absolute, feline way, but not in the ideal way for me. In fact what he eventually did, appalled me. But animals? You cannot explain concepts to Animals can you. Although a part of me, believes he knew exactly what he was doing. Perhaps not just my reaction to it.

                My beloved brother, trying to keep on top of the ever encroaching 'bush'.

       It was when I was living in Northern Territory,  Australia that this particualrly cat found me. At the time it was magical. Sometimes, when the moon was full, I liked to go bush walking. Only around the perimeter of the twenty five acres that was my brothers land, but to me, fairly newly arrived to the red lands of Australia, it was a cross between an African adventure and a return to the wild, country living of my childhood in Norfolk, England. Growing up, I always liked and enjoyed the dark. I was something of a solitary child, despite my smaller brother. I felt an attraction to being alone in the dark. There was always something friendly about being alone with the moon and the stars. The skies over the flat lands of Norfolk, are vast, something to behold. Somewhat isolated, I was accustomed to being surrounded by nature. To taking my time to listen and watch what went on around me. Especially at night I felt at peace with it, at one with it.....

                                  The  Norfolk night sky...a familiar sight.

          That is why I felt quite at home doing something similar in Australia. One particular night in Australia, out walking in the moonlight. I saw a cat in the bush, the bush notice, not a bush. A rough area of land left to self seed and grow what and how it pleases in the red, sandy soil of Darwin. Which often consisted of many rough, scraggly looking manuka bushes. Which, however, the bees make into wonderful, healing honey. Long grass, seared of colour by the burning sun, and a good scattering of small, spindly trees. Trees tend to burn before they growing very large, either an accidental burn or a deliberate one set by the fire service to protect the people. In cutting down on the amount of flamables near to housing stock. This makes the pale barked trees, often black with burn marks for several feet up from the ground. Many of the trees and undergrowth need this burn to re generate.

                                           A controlled fire burn in Australia

          So, I walked, ambled really, through the bush, under a full moon. Enjoying the moonlight, the silence, the stars and the coolness of the night hours. Hearing stealthy sounds nearby, I noticed a black cat following me on my walk, quite unafraid. I don't remember if I touched him, but I talked to him. He followed me for twenty minutes or more, until we came to my home. He did not hesitate to follow me in, and neither did I hesitate to let him. I considered it a lucky meeting. What could be better than a black cat crossing my path, watching me, guarding me all that way in the dark. Looking with his yellow eyes, as we walked together through the long grass and the trees. It felt good, it felt right and so he came to live with me, to share my house. The general consensus was that he must be an abandoned cat, people often discard cats in the bush, thinking they can feed themselves easily there.....on birds, lizards, small bush animals and so forth. So, I thought he must be one such abandoned feline. In this case, a lucky one. He certainly wasn't hungry that night, distaining food I offered.

                Darwin sits in the U shape at the top of Australia, basking in tropical temperatures.

         My lucky find, my black cat had such a nice nature. Laid back, perhaps describes him best. Independent yes, but he would often sit on my lap in the middle of the night. That was the time I enjoyed music TV. which at that time, went on all night. Only my brother and his wife lived nearby, so I had no neighbours to worry about. Always loving music, I could play the music channel all night if I so decided. Watching the accompanying videos to my hearts content. I loved my music, even though I could, and can still play nothing, I enjoyed singing along. I might sometimes settle in the swing chair to watch. At others I might leap about like a crazy person. It was one of the cooler times of the day.

         You did not want to do much leaping in the heat of the day, I can tell you. In the extreme temperature of Northern Territory, you tended to avoid doing anything much in the middle of the day if you could. If you must be out, it was normal to become wet, and dry again, at least twice. Either from the extreme heat, or quick torrential rain showers. You rise early there, and don't sleep until late at night. I would like to say we enjoyed siesta as on the continent, but we didn't. Most of us had to work all day.

                                            Darwin, Northern Territory, Ausitralia.

           Whatever I did, he followed, my sleek black cat. He watched me swim in the pit my brother had had dug for a swimming hole. He watched me work out with my sister in law and watched as we chatted and drank coffee together after, or I alone. Everywhere I went, his yellow eyes were on me! His contended body curled, or stretched languidly. He settled in well, made free with the house, and the garden, or part bush as it was. He didn't seem aggressive at all, if he had fed himself out there before I found him, he showed no signs of it now. He would investigate the lizards in the yard, nose to their hilariously 'frozen' body. Despite their attempt at pretending they were not there, he did not attempt to catch them, harm them. The same with the birds, he watched, but never touched. I kept him well fed, growling at him if he looked too closely at any birds. I thought we had the ideal understanding. Events later showed how foolish it is to attribute human behaviour patterns to animals. Or, should that be cats....

             I had a favourite bird, quite large and very pretty. About the size of a blackbird. It had black feathers, with an iridescent blue shine to its wings. It came to sing to me most days, seemingly un afraid, standing proudly as it turned its head, and sang. After my work out, as I sat having coffee, it would sit on the crossbar of the bench press and sing his little heart out. It was wonderful, such a long and beautiful song. I felt privileged to have such a virtuoso performance to myself. Then, after a whole season of singing, he failed to show for a day, then two days, then three. I put food out, I sat very quietly at the usual times, and places. I even moved the chairs back a little, to encourage the visits to resume. Nothing! No sign of my beautiful friend at all. I missed it. I hoped he had gone off to mate, as he was always alone. My best friend, with the yellow eyes watched and said nothing. Well, not that I understood anyway. He was just as laid back.

              Then, about a week a later, I decided to tidy my shoes, in the bottom of my wardrobe. You know what it's like with shoes. They walk all over the place, especially if I'm looking for a specific pair in a hurry. In Darwin, I seldom wore many of my best shoes. Keeping a couple of comfortable, slip on sandals outside the door. So, to open those wardrobe doors was unusual. Inside, of course, as you have all, probably guessed by now, lying neatly on top of my shoes, was my beautiful friend. The song bird, singing no more. My yellow eyed, lucky, black cat had presented me with a special present. You could almost hear him saying, you like the bird so much, here it is, stored along with your other best stuff! It is fair to say, I could not make sense of it being there.

            Of course, I give the cat too much credit. He is only a cat right? But to kill that particular bird, lay him in my personal cupboard, has to be more than coincidence....doesn't it. I don't know how he managed to get in there. I open those doors so seldom. He wasn't hungry, the bird looked unmarked, he still looked beautiful. It really was like a present. A cat is a simple thing in terms of intent isn't it? He cannot rationalise, the killing, the storing, the whole present theory, is mine of course. But it was quite a slap in the face at the time. Despite me telling myself otherwise, it felt a betrayal.

 Cute cats. Now for me, the best kind.

            I and the cat lived there another couple of years, then he moved on, when I moved on. In different directions I might add. The cat and I were not as close after that, I suppose to me, he lost his 'lucky' tag. I tried not to, but I did hold it against him. As for the bird, well he wasn't replaced, I missed him. As such things can never be replaced, he was special. But I shall always remember my special song bird who shared his songs, and my lucky black cat who looked out for me. Darwin, my Wild West town, was a wonderful place to live despite this. 

On the merits of keeping a cat...worker or killer: part one

          I must be honest right off, declare my hand so to speak. Once, quite a few years ago now when I lived in London, I loved cats. I especially loved Siamese cats. With their aristocratic appearance and their distinctive yowl. A noise like nothing else in the world, they are unique. I kept some for a few years, I even bred them for a while. Wonderful animals, gentle, independent yet loyal in their own way and oh so haughty. I thought they were the cats whiskers. When I finally left London to begin travelling I found each of them a good home, or tried to. I missed them and their company, for a long time.

         However, that was in the days when I lived in a flat, quite close to London bridge. It had a small private balcony on one side, as well as a communal walkway on the other side. I kept the doors open a lot in the hot weather, I like to think that my several cats choose to stay with me, rather than were prisoners. My cats however, never stepped over the threshold, although they often sat in the doorway, watching. They were house cats, quite spoiled, and quite happy living indoors. Only once did I lose one, it was Sapho, my queen cat, the one I had the longest. She was so called because she was a female living only with other females, as queen Sapho on the lesbian isle of Lesbos. Poor cats, they had little chance to being other than females together, not for several years anyway. At which time, my Sapho went into breeding the most adorable kittens quite happily, with a strutting black, half Siamese cat who found his way to our home.

            My poor queen, as female Siamese cats are called, was the victim of foul play when she disappeared. Someone....whom I always had my suspicions of, posted her down the garbage shute from outside our first floor flat, to the ground floor garbage shed/cupboard beneath. Unfortunately for her and me, this was during a strike by the council waste disposal units, although in those days they were called dustmen. As always in these situations the  black sacks, along with piles of all sorts of refuse grew larger all around us, spreading like smelly malignant growth around the surrounding London streets. This meant that the door to the rubbish shed remained firmly shut, I dreamt of as a destination. Knowing well the power of her voice, I went out regularly, calling for her, knowing she would answer me, as always. Despite asking all the neighbours, even the ones I suspected, and putting out the usual leaflets, I heard nothing of her. I never stopped looking, or stopped missing her. 

            It was three weeks later, whilst standing, calling, longer than usual, in the small car park near the door to the rubbish shed that I heard something. It was small, it was weak, but it had the right tone, that timbre of raspy yowl I hoped to hear. Not knowing where it came from, I kept calling, moving around as I did so. It never occurred to me in a million years that someone would post her so heartlessly down that chute. Plus there were bags and stuff, boxes, of all sorts piled  in front of the door. Knowing there was no way she could get in from the top chute, the metal lid was iron, very heavy. So heavy it would snap painfully on your fingers if you did not pay attention. The door itself in the par park was a snug fit, designed to avoid scavengers getting in to the bins, so I knew she could not get in there herself. Although right at the begiinning of the search I had forced the door open, calling and looking, as you do. Already the giant metal bin was full and overflowing, as was the floor and surroundings, at that point, she wasn't there, I'm sure.      

             By now, three weeks later, the piles of rubbish were much worse. By the process of elimination, thinking it was the only place left to look, i walked towards the piles of stinking rubbish in front of the door. I had searched the corners, under the cars, around the cars, behind the surrounding wall all around with no success, could it be.....? I moved what I could, creating more smelly chaos in the process, eventually getting the door open a small space. Calling again, hearing nothing else, I despaired, forcing the door open a little more, letting in a sliver of light. Suddenly. There was a crackling, and a scrabbling from the top and back of the pile of refuse, that I sincerely hoped wasn't rats. My calling intensified, until with a croaky yowl, she fell down off the pile in front of me, nothing like as elegantly as usual. Covered in dust, all bones, but with brilliant blue eyes wide, as I scooped her up.

           To this day, I remember my joy, my relief and how she clung to me like a lost child. I don't remember how I left the rubbish that day, clear, tidy or abandoned in disarray. All I wanted was to get her upstairs, fed and much to her disgust, bathed. I thought about it a lot afterwards, I believe someone took her home for a while. Knowing her, and her faithfulness to me, I think she would have searched for me, and made a lot of yowling in the process. She had done it before when I went away, leaving a friend in charge. No doubt, they decided it wasn't such a good idea after all, getting rid of her in the easiest way. It's lucky, in one way that the strike was on. Otherwise she may have fallen to the bottom of the giant sized bin, and found it impossible to escape, or been injured by stuff falling . I can only assume she found enough food there to survive., but she was even thinner than normal by the time I had her home again.

            So....as you can see, I loved my cats...they seemed definitely only good. An asset to my life and routine. However, it was not to stay like that forever.....

            Read part two for the next instalment on cats.

            Happy reading.......

          

Brasil ..land of contrasts

           Of course I can't pretend that I have been to every corner of this vast country. I haven't, in fact I have really only seen Bahai in any depth or length of time. Which, I suppose in the grand scheme of things is a little country region, albeit with a lovely coast line. Which means I must stress, for honesty's sake, my limitations on how well I know this country. Yet it's a fair size, including a few nice seaside resorts, and Salvador......in my opinion, big towns are better avoided. But, it's every man...or woman for themselves.

                             The map of Bahia, located just above Rio

          You cannot be unaware of the fact that it's a third world country. Even though, in many parts there are vast mprovements of all sorts happening. Of course it is a mineral rich country, something that must explain some of the growth over the fifteen years I have known it. It's enconomy has improved overall, as has the purchasing power, the strength of its money. The 'Riael', Brazil's money has strengthened in tandem with that. At present it stands about 4 to the GBP, where once it stood about 7. Now with being on the a World stage by hosting the World Cup, it's profile is elevated further still. Yet as a place to invest, I think it promises being a good risk. Investing in the right area, most areas are likely to grow over the course of the next several years. Property being one of the areas I would be  more than happy to invest.      

           Bearing in mind it is South America, a country where everything takes time...and in many cases money too, sometimes just to grease the wheels. After a very short stay, you begin to realise you must either slow down to fit in with the culture of manyana, and disregarded time keeping, or quickly go mad. It's impossibly to push things on as fast as you may be accustomed to them happening in the West. Utterly impossible, a hour late is a good result, a day, or a week late is more normal. Jobs are done eventually, but again to the same standard of what we might call sloppy, haphazard workmanship. This often means calling the workman several times to do the same job, and pay them every time too. If you can find one who is accountable, you are luckier than I, or my family. Also, where we might go to one place to get a job done, here, you go to three, and be prepared to stand a long time at each. It's a country where everyone takes their time...so you better had too.

                   Many private houses and Pousadas are of good quality, to be enjoyed.

          Of course, I am not a conventional tourist. I have family here, family with Brasilian spouses and children. So, when I visit, I do so more as a local might do. I am not staying in one of the many Pousadas (bed & breakfast boarding houses), hotels, but in a private house, amongst other locals. I am always here for an extended visit of several weeks, or months. I shop in the supermarkets and markets, and I don't look for amusement as I might do as a tourist. We have family get togethers and outings, even, on occaision taking part in the local religious services. Some of which are held in private houses, a lovely informal affair, with visiting speakers or healers. Where there is food for all to end the evening. This particular religion is close to our Spiritualist churches. Although the main religion is said to be Catholic, there are many of these newer offshoots around. On the whole, I have found most people to be more religious than those I know in Europe. A personal observation of course.

            Things are often done in the traditional way here. Especially housework I notice. The difference being labour is cheap, it's possible to have gardener, a cleaner or whatever. You will see them work hard....if they like you. Respect is important here, and why not indeed. Yet the broom, if doing housekeeping, is the indispensable and main tool I notice. They do not use vacuum cleaners, dusters, mops and buckets or anything remotely high tech. The broom, head upwards, dusts ceilings, blinds, walls. Where mats, cushions and other soft furnishings are beaten by hand...to my mind causing more dust. The broom, head down sweeps, with the addition of a wet cloth wrapped around the head, it washes floors. Yes indeed, the broom is king here. Thereby, the labour needs to be cheap, as they take all day to clean a house. It seems to me they like being there, as well as sharing the family meal times. Strange practice to many of us I'm sure. The streets are cared for in much the same way, brooms, dustpans, bins and wash/brooms outside the shops.

                       There are many beautiful beaches, none difficult to get to, or enjoy.

              You won't find many places open early, as I've said before. Nearer lunchtime, most shops and cafes begin to open. The beach here, as everywhere, relies on the sun. Some businesses will close soon after lunch, not to reopen in the late afternoon or evening. Some will remain closed until late afternoon, then stay open until no one else needs them. So, you have to learn where to find what you need, when you need it. I do like the self service cafes. It's like the set up we have for buffet meals at home, except your food is weighed to ascertain how much you need to pay. A much better way of doing things I thnk, avoiding people taking more than they can eat, just becasue it's there. It's makes you cautious about waste, which has to be a good thing. Of course there are many places where you choose from a menu. Mostly with pictures as in some Chinese places in Europe. Make sure you check the price is as stated though, as some places will see a Gringo, or Gringa and think we have unlimited funds...charging accordingly. I have been caught out a couple of times. Annoying, as I am not here with tourists funds, but only moderate ones. They then lose a customer, as you don't go back, no one likes being ripped off. Even if you are a tourist, which I'm not. Of course, it's still modest by European standards, but when on a restricted budget, every pound counts.

          With it being wet season, you quickly see how the rain affects everyone. Don't be surprised if appointments don't happen when it rains. People often just stay at home, or they may have experienced more trouble through floods or leaks than is normal for us. They seldom let you know of any change of plans either....expecting that what they do is normal. Many people live very simply, botched together houses, drainage is poor, septic drains are worse, water supply is undrinkable. Everyone buys water in for the house. Like the roads, many paths are still only compressed soil. The thing is, when it rains it really rains here. It's like standing under a high pressure shower. Of which, no one I know, has one installed. Showers are of piddling speed and often only luke warm. However houses can be surprisingly bright, cheerful and clean once inside. Its different, that's all. Plus, as I said before, even if your Portugese is poor, or non existent, people are very friendly. I trot about all over alone with no fear. Who's to say if I'm brave, or foolhardy......I just know it feels good to me.

As for the differences, well 'viva la difference' I say. It's all growing on me, even the language and I said a whole sentence today, so can't be bad.

More later my friends.

             

               A quick snapshot of the street and cafe where I sit today. Busy, ordinary, not a touristy place at all, but I like that.

                 

Brasil...walk, walk walk

          Yes 'shank's pony', or walking to the uninitiated, seems to be the favoured way of many people here to get from a to b. Those who don't zoom around on those crazy motorcycles that is. There are so many of those, it's like being buzzed by flies as you wander around the town. You never know where the sound you hear, is coming from next. Yes, it's mostly blokes.....and mostly the young, as you might expect. Well, why not, it's reasonably cheap to buy and run one of those things and they are speedy. I suppose they would prefer cars? Who wouldn't. Well I wouldn't really, not here, not in Brasil. Although I don't want a 'buzzy bee' bike either. Keep using the shoe leather I tell myself. This below, is a footpath, and very pretty..smaller cobblestones.

         As I am sure I have mentioned before, the roads here are bad, it seems they can't keep up with repairs, and then there are the many unpaved roads. When I first went to New Zealand, and Australia, a long time ago. How many years? I think 1987, yes that's a good while, the tarmac roads were in a better state of repair than here, but certainly the unpaved ones were everywhere still. It took the government in N.Z. many years to bring all the roads up to a good state...or even a reasonable state. For many years the roads were either red sandy earth as in Australia, but harder, or more ordinary mud in New Zealand. There was little difference in the dreadful state of many roads then, in that part of the World, than to now, here in Brazil. All three places were mainly mud tracks. Complete with craters, puddles and ridges.

                     Yes, just like this one. The approach to the very nice house in which  I reside.

          As you can see, it's not the easiest road to get down, and it's long. Now I have been here two weeks I have been driven in a car down it...very bumpy. As in, in danger of dislocating your spine. Been the passenger on the back of a motor bike......scary, slippery, deep puddles. The danger veered from the bikes engine cutting out because of the slow speed necessary, or being covered with mud through having to drive through the impossible to avoid holes and puddles. Then today, walking....well it was more under my control, but almost impossible in one or two places. Unless I was prepared to do the mud wrestling thing, and slide through. There were stretches where I had to be extremely cautious,a and got wet toes. However I made it! Now, I can only look forward to the day...or the night when the rain stops, so that this particularly long and winding lane will have the chance to dry out and harden up. Yes, isn't that a wonderful thought...no more mud. Someone may actually throw down some hard core, and regrade the thing too.....oh joy. However, I am informed it will have to be privately funded.

         As for walking.....many of the roads in the centre of town are cobble stones. Really I am so lucky...as I wanted to tone my legs. Ha ha, well you might as well look on the bright side. Happily cobblestones, well these particular thick ones anyway, are so uneven that it is the best excercise ever. Boy, it is also very hard work. As is the BIGGGGGG hill up and down to the top beach. There are no seats on the way up..or down. The only thing a person not in the peak of physical fitness, like me, can do, is lean against the wall when I am just too exhausted to keep going. It took me lots of care to get down because of the steepness, it must be more than a 1/4 gradient. It also took me a long time to get back up, due to lack of breath, trembling legs and all the rest that goes with 'will I make it?' Especially as the cars keep keep whizing by at what seems spectacular speeds....far too close to me, labouring as I was. It really is every man for himself on these roads. Another reason a car of my own is the last thing I want here.

     Yes, the state of all the main roads is bad. More especially the B roads, which don't get the care the motorways get. Yet even they, are not only short, but no one's 'dream' roads. This photo above is normal, there are, any number of assorted small holes, gaping Tarmac and then there are holes that are ginormous. Easily big enough to take a small child, or even one of the buzzy bee bikes. No...I don't want to drive here...I would be a nervous wreck in no time. I already am, just being a passenger. The only other frightening thing, is where as, in the west, the traffic must look out for pedestrians, here..they better look out for themselves. Because most of the traffic keeps going..regardless. Well, it makes you nimble on your feet.

       No, really, despite the options, and the hard work of walking in the heat...or the rain. Shanks pony really is the 'bom'! as they say here....see, I am slowly learning da a lingo! Honestly...would I lie to you?

Keeping on top of the small things....maintenance...everywhere

          No matter where you go, or how you choose to live, there is some housekeeping/maintenance to be done. Even if it is of only your own clothes, belongings or body. Because even if you were staying in the best hotel, there are things only you can do. O.K. If you are mega rich, or into self indulgence in a big way, you may have someone to cut and polish your nails, wash your hair, even help you choose your clothes and dress you. As well as which, we all enjoy a little self indulgence, such as going to a spa, having a massage, enjoying some reflexology, or almost any other luxurious treatments. However, no one can excercise for you, as it takes personal effort to keep fit, to keep mobile, or even to brush your own teeth. If women, or more and more today, men too, most of us do our own beauty routines, of cleansing, moisturising, or make up and all the rest. Many women do much more, it depends what you decide you need to be your best. Whether that be to have every little bit of you perfect to look at, or to be super fit with as many gruelling excercises as you can fit into your day. Perhaps even educate yourself with general knowledge and awareness of life, and/or educational qualifications. Many of us look to our spiritual well being as well. We may meditate, pray, give thanks or worship in a dozen ways. In fact housekeeping/maintenance is the upkeep of any area of our life, in order to maintain certain standards. To keep you, and your living environment pleasant.

        The same is true of of where we live, whether that be a house, a palace or even just a room. We must sweep, wash, polish whatever needs it to maintain it as a pleasant place to live. For me, what I really must have is good linen, nice clean, fresh towels and sheets. The newer, more attractive colours the better as far as I'm concerned. Ahh the pleasure of slipping into a freshly made bed, or drying on a clean, fluffy towel. In fact, the whole place must look attractive, and smell nice too. I like beautiful things around me. It doesn't mean they must be expensive. I can get as much pleasure from a few beautiful shells, pine cones or leaves, as an expensive ornament or piece of furniture. It's a daily requirement isn't it, maintainance. To pick up and put away our clothes, or things we have used. To clean the kitchen and equipment after meals, empty any rubbish, even put out the bins on the required day so they are taken away. If you are lucky enough to live in a place where that happens.

              In addition. There is the wear and tear time and use brings to our belongings. Whether it is a stitch or two to mend a tear in fabric, or a nail or screw to repair broken wood. If you have carpets, or polished floors, they need cleaning or polishing at regular intervals. Hinges need to be oiled, walls repainted, yards kept tidy and clean. Flowers planted, watered, dead headed, or trees and grass trimmed, all on a regular basis. If not then things soon become unkempt, or overgrown. What was pleasant and beautiful, becomes an eyesore. Everything you use needs restocking, food, cleaning supplies, clothes and household goods. Some often, some not so often. Eventually things need to be replaced altogether, as there comes a time when they are just too old to last, or to look good anymore. We learn to be careful with our things so as not to damage, or break them. We need to take care of our stuff.

           The same goes for finances, money has to last, to do all you need it to do. You 'look after the pennies and the pounds will look after themselves'. Well, that's self explanatory isn't it. You can't just spend without thought, bills have to be paid, or you end up with no power, or even no home. What's that other saying....'a stitch in time, save nine'. So true, for the longer you ignore a small problem, the bigger it grows. Whether financial, or practical. It just doesn't stay the same, in fact, nothing stays the same. If you think about it, that holds true of individuals, their belongings, a town, a country, even the world....and beyond.

           Maintainance of anywhere and everywhere, requires observation, caring about it, then, a willingness to deal with all aspects of the problems encountered. Only in this way, can we have any hope of maintaining what's good in the world. Or on a much simpler level, what's good in our lives.

The same goes for town planning, government spending, world wars or anything else which may...and will ultimately effect us.

            All of this article came about because of me noticing general maintainance going on here, in Brasil. Yes, different to what I am used to seeing, but also strangely similar. The rubbish must be collected, the roads swept, holes mended ( although with the amount of heat and rain here, it's obvious they can't keep up with that!) houses painted, police evident on he streets, all for obvious reasons. On a smaller scale, shops restocked, set out, packed back, bread and other foodstuffs cooked, table set, tables cleared, furniture put out, taken in again.......I could go on and on. You get the picture. So many things have to be done on a daily basis, or a weekly basis or whatever.

            On a personal level, we take care of what we can, we must be responsible people. We care for ourselves and our loved ones, we care for the town by not throwing litter, by driving carefully, by being considerate to others. We are responsible for not hurting others, by respecting their space, their belongings. We do not lie or steal, we do not cheat or destroy, just because we can. We try to ensure the best politicians become elected to care for us, to speak for us, a minefield I know, but we must try. We care about our own family, our own house, our own town, our own country. But we must care about the world, for pollution effects us all, wars can effect us all.

            But first, it begins with your own small corner. Your body, your health, your spirit.....what you say, and what you think and what you do. Your small ripple in the universe can spread and spead wide. Just ensure that it's good ripples, positive ripples. Or, like this beautiful place, or all places like Brasil with its edge of poverty and third world effects can and will go the wrong way. We like the beauty, we like the natural resources, we like the friendly people here. Whereever we are, however we choose to live, enjoy the beauty around you and spread more. Improve yourself, and your surroundings, be nice to those near you, help who you can.........keep up the life maintainance........spread the love.

                                     ENJOY THE BEAUTY AROUND YOU.

             Just remember....do what You can to maintain and improve your little corner.

Let's all head to the beach

        O.K. folks, here I am still in South America, the year of the World Cup in Brasil, not that it matters to me...as someone definitely 'un sporty'. As I mentioned in an earlier blog, after a hectic couple of months. Packing up my home, my Mother dying, wrestling with finances  and the long, exhausting flight over to brasil, I was quite culture shocked when I first arrived. Sometimes countries with even a touch of the Third World can appear abandoned and poverty stricken. Parts of Brasil have more than a touch, so my arrival in the middle of the night was a bit of a nightmare. It all looked very strange to my l obviously Westernised eyes. Picked up by family, who were a joy to see, our drive through mostly quiet streets was strange to say the least. At first, you see and feel the dreadful roads, those that are still cobblestones, are buckled and bumpy. Those that are Tarmac,  because of the heat and the  rain, are badly holed. Never a good passenger in a car, the rough ride did nothing for my peace of mind, or tiredness. Then, arriving at the Balsa, the ferry over to the peninsular they call an island, we had an hours wait for the next sailing. Rather than sit in a queue, squashed up with passengers and luggage, we went to an all night snack bar.  Another culture shock, as what was described as a good place to eat, turned out to be an open room with seventies red plastic furniture, badly worn, and desiccated looking savouries you see everywhere in Brasil. None of the types of familier food I had inadvertently visualised. Even coffee, which I badly needed, turned out to be difficult to supply. It arrived, very small, luke warm from a flask, and very sweet. After an uncomfortable half hour, being stared at like bugs in a cage by the two very small men on duty, I was pleased to go find the ferry again.

         The ferry, I called a 'sailing,' but it isn't really. Yes it's on water but the car carrying ferry, big enough for twenty to so cars, is in fact winched across on chains and by smelly diesel motor. I soon remembered that, as I made the mistake of opening my window to the steamy night as we sat ready to sail. What I got was not cool air, but diesel fumes. Just the thing to give me a taste of island living. However, it's a short trip, only about five minutes, then we're driving off the scary incline on the other side, jostling for position with other cars in a hurry, and foot passengers. The collection of huts, pay booth, bar and small shops look old and cobbled together. Although I know they have all been there for years. Then we're off, along more cobbled streets, having the bejesus shaken out of us as we head up the steep hill to the little town of Arrail d'Adjuda at the top. At this point I am quite excited, because I remember the town as pretty, lively and full of people I know.

        That night the drive on the other side of the ferry, along the quiet streets lit only by the odd street lamp, and our headlights, looked the worst kind of abandoned and run down street ever. How does anyone live here, I asked myself. Has no one got out the paint brush, or hammer and nails since last I was here? Certainly, despite being told the place had gone quite upmarket with lots of grand new buildings, I could see none. My mood plummeted, but all will be better in the light of day, once refreshed,  I told myself.

My sons house, large and only a few years old, was an oasis of modernity and light. Set behind high walls, strung along the top with extra electric wires. Inside, it was light, roomy and comfortable. I soon availed myself of the nice bedroom, sinking into the harder bed than I was used to, as well as I could. Regardless, I slept through without problems. Except for heading into the next bedroom to find a blanket pointed out to me before I slept. It was cold in the middle if the night. At least the rainy season keeps the nights cooler, better than sweltering I know. Most of the rooms have air conditioning as a fixture, mine had a fan should I need it. As my family know with my asthma,  I and air conditioning does not go well. Ahhhh, how thoughtful of them I thought as I drifted off. Tomorrow will be better, I am just tired.

        Yet, a week and a half later, I am still in culture shock. Yes, some of it has become a little more familiar. I am slowly finding my way around to cultivate new favourite places. Much of what was here, gas changed hands, or morphed into something else. What used to be my all time favourite, the bar on the corner of the town square, is now only open at night. We, living a bit out of town cannot so easily get there without asking to be ferried about. Which is not on really. Back those few years, owned by the previous owner, it was open all hours. With the gringos like me, on extended stays, tourists and locals all ended up there at some point. We only had the hear the language and within minutes would be making new friends of all ages, from all over the globe. You might be surprised how many people speak quite good English. From many South American countries, as well as Western ones. So far, I have actually seen no old freinds to speak to, although I thought I saw one passing from a distance. I live in hopes though.

                 The town square, on the rare time I visited it at night. Something of a mud bath.

        So far, I and my younger son, who arrived the day after me, and my older son, who lives here, have visited a few coffee places, and between school runs and my daughter in laws family visits in a nearby town, nothing much else. We enjoy the times we can sit outdoors, which are increasing. We do a bit of walking, and mooching about the town, filling time. My younger son is out on the town a bit at night, there is always night life to be found here, if you have the money. Or, if you haven't, there are bars all the place, where you can sit, talk and drink whatever you fancy for as long as you care to. Me, well being older, not yet connected with any old freinds as he has now done, I am tired by the time 8/9 p.m. comes. After all, despite being mostly over any jet lag, that is 12/1am to me. Hopefully, I will improve as time passes. The trouble is, last time, my son was not living here, so we moved out of this house, and into town to live. It was easy to walk out day or night, or to go all around the town easily. There was not this barrier of how do we get there. My younger son, either walks or takes motor cycle taxis, I am not zooming around with those skinny boy drivers in the dark...so I stay in.

       Yesterday though, despite the long, steep hill up and down, I went down to what is known as the top beach. The beach at the top, near the town, rather than the beach on the flat, near the Balsa. I had quite forgotten what it's like, ridiculous as that might seem. I let the walk put me off, as it's quite a steep hill. Even yesterday, I only went there because my elder son took me in the car. Loose sand, odd steps and all the heat, yes it got hot yesterday, made me think moany thoughts. Also this week, more than once I have thought 'what ever am I doing here. It's not like I remember, everything seems hard work', I was quite fed up with myself. Why, even the chairs in the cafes are hard wood, not a cushion in evidence anywhere. Nowhere designed for comfort, or relaxing. 

         The thought occurred to me, perhaps I am too unwell or old for all this travel, strange places, strange houses and routines. Perhaps it's time I found somewhere to settle down. Then I thought of the last eighteen months in England. A nice town near the coast, some favourite cafes, I like the cafe culture. Yet I hated that flat I lived in, too small, too crowded, no outside space and definitely too expensive. I like being outside, not cooped up like we must very often be in England. Not squashed in small spaces, with too much furniture because we need the storage. Even there during that time, I disappeared for six months on a trip to New Zealand, and Australia. So....maybe staying put is not the answer either. Even though moving to France has been investigated quite a bit this last year too. Which is still an option for the future.

        Yesterday,  as I slipped, and toiled my way to the beach from the road, seeing umbrellas in the distance, people in swim gear, the day brightened. Ohhh. I thought, I had forgotten how lively this was, how busy and colourful. As some of the problems with my time here so far, is the fact that the town really doesn't get going until lunch time, or late afternoon. Places are closed up, chairs and tables stacked away, why it's not easy to find even a coffee somewhere nice. With us all being up and excercising before nine in the morning, the mornings have become a bit of a bore. Yes, really, what to do to fill the time? I guess not having the sun either, just rain, has held us back from anything much in the way of entertainment, or enjoyment. 

        Now, as I breasted the rise, saw the beach, saw the waves almost in and the plethora of tables, chairs, umbrellas, people wearing not much at all, and waiters running to and fro with trays, my eyes opened. Ahhh yes, this is what I liked before, this is what's been missing. If you have your days with all of this, the sun, the sand, the water, the warmth, food and people all around relaxing and having a good time, what can be wrong? Absolutely nothing is the answer, everything is right with your world. As down here, is where the people are, where the life is, no wonder the town stays shut until later, then all night. They have the right of it. Where has my brain been. How could. I have forgotten? Last time I left Brasil, I took with me a selection of bikinis in every style and colour. A suitcase of colour and life, a suitcase that never made home with me. Lost in the strike we went through in France en route home. Then afterwards, forgotten it seems.

                                     The beach, top beach. Crowded, but happy.

         Well, my friends, all rediscovered now, it's all coming back to me. It makes no difference what size you are, yes there are many young and beautiful girls on the beach, but many much older too. As I come somewhere In between, it matters not. What matters is how it makes you feel...forget that you may not be the most beautiful on the beach. It's not a beauty contest, who would want to be in one anyway, life is about much more than that. It's about getting as free of as many clothes as you can, letting the air and the sun caress your body. Or, keeping under a sunshade if you prefer. It's about getting comfortable on either a chair, or a lounger, of which there are many and relaxing. Reading, talking or watching the world at play, I'm sure the South of France could not be more pleasant than this. For a few pounds, or reis, you can lie there while a waiter brings you anything your heart desires...well, almost anything. It's very nice anyway, you relax, they make a living, all of us are happy. Yes, I shall make an effort to get down to the beach on a regular basis now. In addition, the walk up and down the hill, as well as across the town will all be extra excercise for me. It's all good, I am suddenly much more at ease with the differences between the South and the West. Who wouldn't be, perhaps I'm not so old after all........ha ha

                               Which of us are too old for a slice of Paradise?

Brasil...Bahia

         Ahh Brasil in the rainy season, for that is what we have right now. It's July, perhaps a month earlier than when I was here a few years ago, so the sun is sadly lacking. Yes, we get a glimpse for an hour some days, but mostly the rain falls in a steady stream, relentlessly. Somtimes, it's fairly fast and furious, at others it's hard and heavy. Giving the sun little or no chance to break through. Regardless, it's still brasil...South America in all it's diversity. 

         Yesterday, beleaguered by barking dogs, of which there are a great number, both tame and wild. I wrote a scathing piece on how they sound, disrupt your peace, or wake you, often all of the a over. Is there anything worse than dogs competing to bark the loudest, from every possible direction. Sometimes, if you let it get to you, it's like being crazy, in a mad house. You must find a way to ignore the noise, especially when, as the night before, they howled like wolves at the full moon, for most of the night. This, I hasten to add, is with ear plugs in, which obviously are not big enough. No one stops them, quiets them or seems in anyway, aware of them. Apart from this household of mostly Gringos...who all moan about them sometimes, where are the noise abatement laws we ask, where are the dog catchers? Of course, there are none, the dogs, many are good looking dogs, even pedigree breeds run the streets. Are other Gringos responsible for leaving then when they move I wonder. How else are many of the wild ones pedigree in appearance? Unless they just have exceptional genes here in this country, somewhat unlikely I think.i mentioned how most houses have dogs, even they join in the noise with no censure. It's a measure of the easy going attitude to everything here.

        So, today I want to speak of some of the more positive things in Brasil. Although even as I say that, I know when you speak of Brasil, half of its charm is the third world aspect of the place. Including the attitudes you meet and the general colour around the streets, around the life lived there. I have only been back here for a week after an absence of several years, so am still in something of culture shock. It does take some getting used to, as at first the place looks to be poverty stricken, sort of washed out by the sun, overgrown by the green. You see derelict huts, yards looking abandoned, than realise they are homes. Your mind is still on western time, workmen coming on time when you call, jobs done properly, people answering phones. Whilst here, those things seldom happen, if at all. You must remember the manyana attitude, even at the same time as everyone is looking for every opportunity to make a buck. Often, they hope from your pocket. Once they know you though, they do their best. Of course I'm generalising, people come in every type as they do the world over. Mostly, they work to live, whereas in the west we live to work. Or, more honestly, have to work hard to pay the raft of bills we have here. Whether it's what we prefer or not. Money is king, we need things, here, they are happy with very little. A space to sleep, food in their bellies, their family. If you can somehow find a middle ground, then you have it made. You can live the good life here very easily, which many Eupeans do.

        Some unchanged from the seventies when the hippies first found this peninsular, that looks like an island, and acts like an island. Nothing wrong with island living by the beach, under the lush foliage they thought. Many are still here, living side by side with many others from all over the world, who discovered it too. I think we all like the colour of the place, the way every little traditional shop is painted a bright colour. Yes of course the heat fades the colours, but cannot detract from the charm. Some of the newer streets ar paved with tessellated chunks of white/ cream marble, it looks beautiful. The older ones with grey stones, a little like European cobblestones. Of course it's interspersed with chunks of concrete, or pebbles. They make do here, with roads on which traffic runs a nightmare of hand made speed bumps, rough repairs and holes. 

        Yet if you want something off the tourist map a little, almost anywhere in the body or coast of Brasil will entertain, and captivate you. Discover any of the small towns, with their little shops, where there is plenty of tourist stuff to buy. Or, plenty of artistic locals or Gringos selling all sorts of art work from leather bracelets to oil painting of colourful local traditions or places. Sample the local food, the deserts all made with condensed milk and utterly scrumptious. The array of small savoury or sweet pastries, the balls of cheese bread, best eaten hot. Or, sample the salads, the meats, not all with beans, all sorts is available. If you use a self service place, where you go around the loaded table, helping yourself. The food will be weighed for cost before you eat. A great way to stop anyone taking more than they can eat. Or any of the other foods creeping in, such as Italian, Argentinian, or even Japanese and sushi bars. There are little cafes every few yards, of every type and standard you need.

        Yes, like the dogs some things are strange to us, but isn't that why we travel? You will meet at least a couple of speaker vans trolling the street. Advertising at blasting volume the latest party venue or other place you must see. You may see a Brasilian horseman, always a smart, small, lean man on a beautiful graceful horse. Riding as if born to the saddle, just as prone to appear in the middle of town, with spare horse on tow, as travelling accross the campo, the local green space. Of motor bikes and cars there is every kind. Most carry passengers of some kind. Even very small children, with crash helmet now, belted to its Father, or driver will zoom past fearlessly. There are motor cycle taxis too, bright green, who will take you anywhere for not much money. Ordinary taxis usually have assorted passengers sharing the cost. Local buses run around the town and up and down to the Balsa, the ferry, going to the mainland as often as there is enough people to go. All night on the hour too, so travel is fairly easy and cheap if you want to exert your self in the heat or rain.

       The nicest thing Is that people are friendly. If you smile, they will smile back. If you try your broken Portugese even on a small child with its Mother, both will respond. A child yesterday even offered me a sweet, just so cute, I thought. Safety, well you hear the tales of robbery, and danger but I can only say, as long as you are sensible, don't walk around flashing big expensive watches, or jewellery, no one takes any notice of you. I, a woman have and will walk anywhere I want to go. The last time I was here, some of the local young men I got to speak to through my son even escorted me home in the dark whenever I wanted to go. So much did they want it be safe for me! Although even alone, I found no trouble. I think the running dogs boast more of a danger than any robbers. So, as long as you have a loud voice you are alright. It works for me anyway.

         Visit Brasil, enjoy it's difference....more from me as I acclimatise. This...is just a taste.

          

         

Looking for a sandwich, in Sandwich, Kent, England

        Habit is a funny thing, it keeps you going back to the same places, at the same time. Or journeying in the same general direction at least.  It's not a good thing is it, to take the same route every time. Maybe getting favourites, and perhaps eating the same dishes off a menu. Or cooking the same food, "it's my favourite", we say. Perhaps it's only me, this getting stuck into habits, but I don't think so. I think we all fall into habits, either through choice, perhaps through lack of choice, or is it lack of imagination. The silly thing is, I really pride myself on being a more adventurous type, of enjoying trying new things, be it food places, or adventures. So what's going 

              I could end up somewhere different, like this swish cafe, nowhere near Sandwich.

           The thing is, today I made more of an effort to break the mould. Mainly becasue it had only them occurred to me, I might be in a rut. It was cold, bitterly cold, I found myself more than tired of the fact that spring had regressed back into winter. I was already so happy that we had avoided a harsh winter, like the one before. Particularly, after last year, which we shivered through, suffering the coldest, longest winter in many years.  I found it hard, really hard to get through it, my health suffered, and my equilibrium even more. I was virtually house bound, for months. This year I knew it had to be different, I could not just let my health deteriorate further.

           Lately though, the weather has been picking up, daffodils dancing, soft green buds on the trees, all showing promise, that warmth is, at last in the ground.  'Its finished', I thought, 'the dread of harsh weather'. I can relax, enjoy the onset of Spring, and, I was sure, a hot Summer to follow. Boy, did we all deserve it, especially myself. Who, not only had the hardest Winter, but also missed the (very hot summer, thank you) by having to travel to be with my Mother, ill on the other side of the World. I was not happy, on so many levels. Still everything came right, my Mother's health, an easy winter this year, but now....this! This return of the cold, and winter weather. Just when I thought I had seen the last of it.

            Today, on impulse, trying to do something different because of all the above, I turned the car in the opposite direction to the usual. Away from my favourite place of Broadstairs, and towards the further destination of Sandwich. Now, Sandwich has an excellent fish & chip shop, ' Papas', with the freshest fish ever! Also, a great French delicatessen, called 'No Name', after the street in which it stands, and a couple of quite ordinary pubs...I thought. The lovely hotel, 'The Bell', near the river, and swing bridge, is too expensive for a snack today, I thought. Although, I just love the place. One day, I vow, I am going to have a great weekend, or longer there, enjoying everything it has to offer, including being spoilt, and pampered by old fashioned service. Already, over the last few years, I have had some nice lunches in the restaurant, with family, as treats. Always good food, served traditionally,with crisp white tablecloths, subdued conversation, and attentive waiters.

                          The Bell Hotel, Sandwich. A grand old lady.

        Although today, It is more expensive than we want to spend, and I want to relax. I love the foyer of the hotel too, we could sit there, with its sumptuous seating arrangement of couches, and plump chairs, around a large open fire, yet it is out of favour for many months. The fire is probably old news too. Or, more honestly, we are all just too hard up at present for buying real lunches. Better to keep it simple I decide. At least, we are out of the house.

          So, why am I heading to that particular town today? When I have no idea where to go for the best. The third member of our party wants to eat fish & chips, but that's a big meal, and the dining room is not the most comfortable in the world, nor the cheapest. I always seem to be on a strict budget lately, as are the other people with me. A direct result of the enconomy, with fast rising prices, and incomes staying the same. It is impossible to have any kind of social life!  Except for the very cheapest of reasons, to leave the house. I have to get out, with space inside so restricted, and no outside space at all, the only alternative is to get out altogether, away from the house. It gives a pattern to the day,  staves off boredom, or depression for a while. 

                           Papa's wonderful fish & chips..Hadock for me.

             I resisted dropping in for fish, after all there must be places so far, untried. Again on impulse, we spotted the two closest establishments to the Bell as we came over the bridge into town, the pub, 'The Crispin', a wonderful old original 'Medieval building. This originally, I discovered later, used as a meeting house for leather workers, who have 'st Crispin' as their patron saint. Along with the little restaurant by the river, next to it, a little riverside cafe. For unknown reasons I don't have good memories of either. Reluctantly, perished with the cold on the short walk from the parked car, dived into the nearest of the two places. St Crispin. Intent on keeping right on going if it did not look appealing. Ridiculously, the lover of fish& chips spotted the specials board outside, full of West Indian, or. Jamaican food. Curried Goat, jerk chicken and the like, unbelievable really. Of course he went into raptures over the idea he could get typically London style food down here, in this quaint little Medieval town.

       St Crispins pub, closest, painted yellow, and white.

           It was a lovely little pub inside with dried hops hanging from the beams. Plenty of couches about, and bar seats, but the waitress took us through to hard chairs, and the dining area. Empty on a Monday. We snacked, the bread was fresh, and fillings generous. We didn't stop long, not liking the chairs, we should have insisted on a move. No one could be bothered by then, as she was a nice little girl, who thought she was doing right. Deciding to coffee later, elsewhere, comfortably, we left. But just then the hail came down, large lumps, and fast. Bouncing like tiny cannon balls along the pavement before our feet, as we huddled in the doorway. The nice man in the pub found us two abandoned umbrellas, and off we scampered. Completely frozen in double quick time. Five minutes later, we hustled into a new doorway, of the New Inn. Near to No Name deli, discovered they did a much bigger menu, for cheap snacks, vowing to return again another day.

         I tell you, it's a neat trick. Finding the right ambience, the right price, and decent fresh food. It can be done if you take time to explore. I vow now, to explore more often and not stay stuck in a rut. After that, epwe braved the cold again....only to pleased to peach home, and comparative warmth of the tiny living room.

            Oh well, warmer weather is coming soon..... So the weather reports say. I can only hope....