HO HO freakin' HO.


After 17 years in Tropical Climes, Christmas with air temperatures in the 90s is still something that impedes me from getting into the HOHOHO spirit of things. Actually I'm not sure at all if it's the high temperatures, the way Brazilians celebrate (well, more like "when" not "the way") or whether it's just that I'm getting to be an old cynical bugger. The Shopping Centres of Porto Alegre of course are having a grand time, despite the world crisis. What Credit Crunch?
Christmas here is celebrated on the night of the 24th. Families get together for the traditional Christmas Supper, which varies a little from the British turkey, roasts and cooked veggies with gravy. The turkey is still a part of the main dish but there lots of salads and cold dishes. Dessert differs a lot too, no steamy rum soaked pud in custard, instead there are sweets made of sugar (DUH!), milk, chocolate, whipped eggs, caramel (the thick stuff we find in mars bars and such, here called doce de leite and available in jars by the kilo, not the burned sugar variety). The family night thing I find a little irritating, boring, stressful. The matriarch commands the night's procedings and, in many cases, insists that the main meal be served and presents exchanged only at midnight. What happens is, everyone gets bored, tired, irritated, HUNGRY! Nibbles are allowed so we end up stuffing ourselves with peanuts, crisps, bread and dips; when midnight comes around, no-one's hungry anymore. Then there are the kids, crazy to open the presents which are in full view under the tree, how on earth Father Christmas leaves them there without being seen, I have no idea, that's another thing to try and explain for the kids.
Christmas in Aberbachgenbach with the blazing fireplace, friends in the pub singing carols that nobody knows the words to excepting "we wish you a merry christmas and Happy New Year!", "When Shepherds Wash their Socks" etc. Rolling home drunk at night and shouting Merry Christmas at the good humoured and patient Old Bill on Eve duty (are they still good humoured and patient?). Waking up to presents IN THE MORNING, Father Christmas having passed through during the night when everyone is sleeping. Turkey and roast spuds, Real Ale and Hot Noggin (OOEERR!).
Speen a long time!

This is a Goodbye Kiss you Dog!

What a way to get international fame! (and doubtless, future TV appearances, interviews and lecture tours, bringing in possibly thousands in dosh) - Hurl your shoes at a U.S. (outgoing) president! This defiant, and I at least find hilarious, act, has united Sunni and Shia in countrywide protest, "We wunt freedom to Zaidi !" say the banners (to which the reply is perhaps "Well, we cunt give it for him!"). US patrolling troops are being pelted by shoes in protest for (or maybe "to") Zaidi's release.

Which makes me wonder.

Do they sneak back later, perhaps at night to cover their embarrassment, to recover their shoes? I mean, are they lobbing around quality footware here? Do they all walk home from the protests stocking-footed? Or do they take along extra pairs of shoes to the protest? Are there specialist shops or bazar stalls that sell crappy shoes, as single items, just for throwing in protests? Rather like the rock stall for the stoning in Python's Life of Brian. Do you have to haggle to buy a throwing shoe? Does a flip-flop carry as much weight, psychologically speaking that is, as a patent leather Italian designer shoe? And there are also some deeper, theological questions - Is a shoe thrower entitled to A Thousand Virgins in Paradise?

Would all world conflicts be resolved if the leaders got together, at the United Nations perhaps, and threw their shoes at each other?

Yours in Bewilderment.

CHARRÚA

ODDS BONKIN'S ! The last time I had played rugby was in 1979. When I went to 'Twit in '74 then Y Pant in '76, rugby was compulsory PT once a week. We formed up two teams and just ... well played! 20 or 30 kids just running around, bashing into each other and trying to get that ball over the line. I didn't have a clue and don't think I ever scored a try at any time!

Now 30 years later, in the far south of Brazil, Gaúcho country, beef and pampas, barbecues and enormous moustaches, on a blazing Sat'day afternoon, at 45 years of age (me that is not the blazing Sat'day afternoon) - I SCORED A TRY!!!!! The roar of the crowd! The glory and
Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau ringing in my yers, mun, Arms Park (yes, yes I know I'm hopelessly out of date, now it's "Millenium Stadium" I believe) as one rose to its feet (arms, feet???) and roared with 50 thousand Welsh voices, the commentator exulting in ... uhm uhm... exulting in exultation, "Fear has done it! In the last minutes of the game! mun. Curingas' winning try against... against... what was the other team called again??"

Charrúa Rugby Club was founded in 2001 by a bunch of guys who were fed up with that whoozes game, football (or soccer for my North American readers) which everyone likes here in Brazil. Rugby here is still relatively unkown but there are a few clubs around in the major cities. Charrúa have won several major championships and players have been selected for the Brazilian national team (yes, Brazil has a national rugby union team!).

The occassion was an end of season fun afternoon, they had organized 6 teams for 7 a-side tag rugby, that is - you have a coloured ribbon attached to either side of your hips and a "tackle" is when the ribbon is whipped from your person. As I had been taking my son to regular training each week I found myself recruited into one of the teams - "Curingas" (jokers, as in a pack of cards). No one was more surprised than me when I found myself with the ball and ran like the blazes! As soon as the line was within diving distance I took that dive! Hell, my first (and I hope not my last) try was going to be spectacular, I was sure there was someone right behind me about to whip that ribbon away.

As I was a guest player, my try was worth double (in our 7 a side tag a try was just one point). Curingas 3, The Others 0.

I want to do it again. Are the WRU Dragons recruiting?