Thursday, 29 January 2009
Who is Simões? He's my partner. Other half. Man. And he's broken ...
Apparently the problem is related to some old military injury (Simões is military to the chromosones) and it's coming back to haunt him. It's related to the pattella and ball and socket joint in his right knee. He's now at the stage where he can barely walk.
We've been to the hospital. He's had x-rays etc etc. Unfortunately - the military here is a slow turning machine. And ... I suspect ... not overly concerned with the knee of one staff sargent. However - I disagree. Simões has given years of his life to the military - not to mention literally hundreds of top quality men during the time he marched them up hill and down dale ... whilst turning them into soldiers.
And so today we are sat ... him in pain. Me in worry. I'm hoping that either something can be done about it or at the least ... it starts to heal itself.
Other than that ... it remains bloody freezing. I continue to wrap myself up like an egyptian mummy. Oh and some news ... one of my sons is coming to live in Lisbon. Sometime in or around April. I can't wait! Some part of my family ... here with me.
How absolutely fabulous!
Tuesday, 20 January 2009
It didn't actually work but that was possibly due to the fact that it was a Portuguese soap.
However, that said, I concur that the ‘standard’ is the same as say, Corrie or Eastenders. Lots of infighting, emotion, long stares and drama. Oh, and the sex of course. Not that you actually see any, its indirect sex. Must happen off camera then? Nevertheless, it did turn my mind back to the good old days, back in the UK. Hardly a day went by when a friend or acquaintance didn’t start trilling on about Kevin or Nick, Peggy or I don’t know, some other stock in trade character and oh my God…can you believe what he/she/they/the dog got up to? *yawns*
Ahhhh…now that’s when I started to realise that maybe…just maybe…my brain doesn’t fire quite the same as in other women. Because the answer is no, I don’t believe that so and so’s long-lost daughter finally turned up after 20 years with five kids to different men and oh my gosh she’s thinking of gender re-alignment and she’s already slept with half the square. And that is because I know something.
It’s not real. Honest. Its not. It’s make-believe. Like, ‘let’s pretend’ for grown-ups. Think Mickey Mouse, the Tooth Fairy. Santa Claus. IT'S. NOT. REAL.
And, while I'm on the soap agenda, why the hell are they called soap operas anyway? No-one ever washes their hands or uses the bathroom. And there's certainly no mezzo sopranos that order a G & T down the pub then suddenly burst into a rendition of 'L’amour est un oiseau rebelle'. I wish there was...
Soap Opera conclusion: read a book. At least you'll know for sure that it's fiction and you won't start
boring telling your friends/colleagues/me all about it.
*I’m not a firewoman, that was just an idiom. A practical way of saying “FFS, I haven’t got ten pairs of hands and eyes in the back of my bloody head. Oh, sorry…I have. I’m a WOMAN”
Monday, 12 January 2009
I have no idea what kicked it off - other than a trip to the UK. Maybe the fact that I eat differently when over there ... I don't know. All I know is I've had nothing but aggro since getting back.
So - in case you're about to 'expatriate' yourself, seriously consider the pros and cons of what language the country you're considering can speak ... otherwise you'll fast ascend to the lofty heights of being the local village english idiot.
For those that do suffer IBS, a few links. Useful ones too.
Disclaimer: I don't endorse (or whatever) any of the sites. I just read through them. Then employed common sense. So should you.
Monday, 5 January 2009
Thursday, 1 January 2009
I spent mine down the Praça do Comércio, along with ohhhhh ... a whole bunch of other people. There was a free concert plus mobile bars. Cool. Mobile toilets too. Not cool.
It would seem that the portuguese celebrate with family - if they have one. As in ... their little people, younglings - their children. I was almost lost in a sea of small folk - some hanging on tight to mummys hand, some a little older and the really young. The kind that laze around in chairs with wheels and expect the parents to do all the hard work ...
Are you amazed? I was. New Years Eve gets kinda rowdy in my neck of the woods. I never even considered taken my children with me on previous NYE's. Last night - I wished I was portuguese. Despite the alcohol, despite the merrymaking - I had a fabulous evening. And it was all the better for the fact that I was in great company ... and surrounded by little folk.
Portugal? Somethings you got absolutely spot on!