In the old days there was one telephone in our house. When it rang, someone went to answer it. If it stopped before they got there, it was imagined that the caller would ring back if it was important. Then came the ‘answering machine’ with its funny bleep and pulsating red light to welcome you home …… to a message or two? Some people used this as a filter, deciding whether they wanted to talk to the caller, or not. Now people answer with: “Oh! It’s you. I can’t talk now ……. we just having dinner/about to take the dog out/sleeping!” Well, why did they answer the telephone in the first place …. if it wasn’t convenient? You can always find out who rang, either with your answering machine or by calling some telephone number that will tell you the last number called. Why let the telephone interrupt what you were doing?

When we first started using electronic mail (email) I imagined it was because the sender wanted a quick answer – so a week after sending an email to a chum in KL and having had no response, I sent another, a hastener if you like: “Did you get my email?” “Yes” Martin replied, “but I didn’t think it was urgent.” And to think in the 1930s Short Brothers built flying boats, to ensure that mail was speedily delivered to the ends of the British Empire; it only took two days to get a letter to India.

So I observe this table at a restaurant, someplace, somewhere, sometime – I’m sure you’ll recognise it? A party of chums have come to have supper, to catch up and to renew friendships. As soon as they arrive at the table and have said hello to everyone, they sit down …. and out comes the smart phone or tablet, which is placed down beside their tablemat. It’s become such a habit …….

Sam was on a night out away from his wife and young family. They knew where he was, but he was anxious that he was able to be reached immediately, in case  ….

Suzanne had often had troubles with the babysitter and tonight’s was no exception – she had arrived late and had been in a foul mood. Suzanne had given her her new mobile number and of course her phone had to be in sight in case it rang.

Stephanie was involved in the world of politics and was never off duty. Her tablet was linked to the party’s website in case there was some urgent matter to attend to … and, she admitted secretly to herself, it gave her certain kudos amongst her friends if there was during the evening. Or so she mistakenly thought!

Stuart had split up with his boyfriend, not something he had wanted to happen. Always wanting to be available, just in case Bill called and they could make up. Not that he wanted to be a slave to the ‘I’m always available’ label …. just, well, you know ………

Sonia lived in an anxious world, emotionally touched by global events she inevitably had no control over. So she had a constant ‘news’ feed – flashing information every few minutes … about which she could worry.

Sean was addicted to Facebook. It was completely incomprehensible to him that anyone would not check their messages every 5 minutes. “You never know what’s going on” he would exclaim – in the lives of his 2,034 close friends!

I don’t think I’m a technophobe but will admit, even proudly maybe, that I have never looked at anyone’s Twitter account. At the table, Sara was anxious that her Twitter followers were aware that she had chosen the King Prawns with a salad (“Oh! And go easy on the Mayo” she had told the waiter!). Did she do this in 160 characters? What happens if you go over this limit? Is it not posted?

Sophie was always keen to show her complete understanding of the latest topic, and would secretly access Google on her smart phone under the table to find information, so she could appear up-to-date.

Do you wonder, like me, why anybody like those above go out socially any more? No one seems to talk/chat/discuss/argue with those they have supposedly come to meet. It’s insidious, this perceived need to be constantly available/constantly in touch.

During ‘active service’ in the army, the Regimental Operations Room was manned around the clock; these days we would say “24/7”. It had banks of telephones and radios and duty personnel. Major John Harman was in charge one particular night, on the graveyard watch as it was colloquially known. The duty ended at 0800 and John was anxious that Staff Sergeant Craig would still provide breakfast in the Officers’ Mess, if he was late. At around 0600 he called Craig on the internal telephone number; he heard it ring; at that very moment the ‘hot ops’ ‘phone rang. “Hang on a minute, I’m on the other line” he said …… to himself …. having misdialled!!

Have you inwardly screamed when someone on their mobile asks: “Can you hear me?” at a volume which would negate making the call in the first place? They get so focused on the call they forget that other people can hear their conversation. The other day a woman left the table she was lunching at, to make a confidential call. She stood three feet away from us to make that call, completely oblivious that we could hear her whole conversation; how rude and inconsiderate! Soon, no place will be silent. How lucky Celina and I were to be able to experience complete silence in one of nature’s wildernesses, in the Pantanal. Maybe one of the few places where your heartbeat is the only sound you hear! “What, no mobiles?” “No, no coverage!!”

Richard Yates – richardyates24@gmail.com

This is a potential mine field, isn’t it? …… and I tread a path with care, although maybe I should have managed to find someone to clear it first! At the end of my last PC I said: “……but it stands in splendid silence, a memory to a different time and a different generation, and that silence is broken only by the bell being rung to summon the staff, to clear the dishes from the dining room table.” ….. and I am reminded of attending afternoon tea with my step father’s physically diminutive high-born Scottish mother. As a teenager one sat very formally, jacket and tie (!), at the huge, polished mahogany table, waited until we were spoken to, and tried not to grab too many scones!! When we had demolished the pile, Dummy (as she was called!!) would ring a little silver bell and we waited, expectantly, until Mrs Gold the cook came in with a large cake. She was good at her craft and we were not disappointed.

I am prompted to scribble about cutlery, table manners and etiquette because of something I observed towards the end of last year. I don’t set myself up as the arbiter of right or wrong generally, can be as hypocritical as the next person (!) and appreciate there are real cultural differences between nations and social classes. We were out at a local restaurant, a group of people, some we know well, some not at all. I was finishing my main course and looked across the table …… to see a woman licking the end of her knife. I wanted to ask her not to …. but I did not know her, and it would have been rude (ruder than …..?)! It might have been covered with yummy sauce but she should have resisted, surely? And then, to compound the felony, 10 minutes later when she had finished eating … out came the dental floss and …. and I sat there amazed while she proceeded to …. clean the food from between her teeth. I was speechless, completely lost for words; later I thought of many things I could have said, most extremely rude, but I’m slow with the acerbic retort! According to Wikipedia, that wonderful (?) online reference, toothpicks in some shape or form have been used since Neanderthal man or woman walked this earth ….. and Debretts tells you how to use them …. but dental floss? That’s a whole new ballgame!

If you haven’t heard of Debrett’s, (www.debretts.com) it’s been a guide to “the stewardship of Empire and the arbiter of society etiquette” since 1769 and, whilst it makes no mention of dental floss, it offers guidance on how to eat, use cutlery and how to behaviour at a table. For instance:

Ensure the handle of both knife and fork rest in the palm of your hand.

When eating, keep your mouth closed …. and don’t talk!

Pips and stones should be discretely spat out into a cupped left hand

          Puddings: “always eat with a spoon and fork.”

 …… and don’t gesticulate with either a knife or fork

For those tricky vegetables like Globe Artichokes and Asparagus it also offers advice. Cute huh? It even mentions the use of chopsticks, that ubiquitous eating implement used throughout Asia. Funny how eating utensils have developed differently, in this case because a fork will damage a lacquered bowl and chopsticks won’t! Some of us master their use, others can’t be bothered. Bit like eating spaghetti; here in the UK long Spaghetti is becoming very difficult to buy, as we seem to have lost the art of eating it without sucking hard, when the free end sprays tomato sauce everywhere. So the short stuff is more popular, and easier to eat.

My mother, who had been a very accomplished cook, became completely disinterested in food in her dotage. She simply cut the food up as if she was a child, and then pushed it around her plate ….  and around! If it was fish and someone said: “Be careful, there might be the odd bone!”, the eating process took forever.

Back in Germany in the 1970s as a junior officer, I was sent to the headquarters in Rheindaland to have what was generally referred to as a ‘knife & fork’ test. I was being ‘interviewed’ for a job with the most senior military general, which clearly required lots of wining and dining and I had to have lunch with General Sir Harry & Lady Tuzo! Mind you I could spin a yarn about dining with the Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh in 1976 and being on one’s best behaviour; well, me and 131 others!!

It was a Mrs Beeton, in her 1860’s book on ‘household management’, who observed that “all creatures eat but only man dines.”! So cutlery and its use became the norm, to stop our hands getting greasy ….. and then we got all ‘strict’ about how to use it, eat and behave. There were even special knives and forks for eating fish! I still have some but I don’t think I’ve used them this century. Then we started cooking chicken drumsticks using BBQs and eating Pizzas …. and we started to use our hands again!

In Singapore there is, or maybe ‘was’ for this was many years ago, an Indian restaurant called The Banana Leaf Apollo. It had a terrific reputation but was fairly basic. I have this rather romantic notion that the ‘plate’ was a real Banana leaf and the food simply dumped onto it. OK! It could have been green plastic but then if you’re a romantic that doesn’t sound so good! There was no cutlery so it was a choice of which hand, left or right. I know that there is a rule about this in Arabic countries, a rule I’ve never learned but I appreciate that we do other things with one’s hand!

A William of Wykeham wrote, in the late 1300s, ‘Manners Maketh Man’. And that’s right, isn’t it? Without developing good manners we run the risk of behaving like Neanderthal man … or woman.

Richard Yates – richardyates24@gmail.com

P.S. Chinese saying: “Man who can catch fly with chopsticks can achieve anything!”

“A Small Town in Germany” is the title of a 1968 John le Carré novel of the Cold War era. At the time, Germany was divided into ‘East’ and ‘West’, with the capital of the latter a small town called Bonn. The story is one of espionage and intrigue in Bonn. For some reason the title of the book remains with me, which is more than I can say for the contents!! This scribble has a European connection hence my mentioning the title (!) …. and I think it’s an interesting story …. OK! … rather historical but ……… see what you think?

The Canton of Friburg in Switzerland lies north east of Lake Leman; it’s capital on the river La Sanne, midway between Berne and Lausanne. In the early 1800s the Brazilian (Portuguese) government encouraged European emigration and in 1818 some 1500 people from Friburg settled in a mountainous area some 130kms north east from Rio. The place was chosen for its similarity with their Alpine home. Can you imagine making such a journey, in 1818 (three years after the Battle of Waterloo)? I guess the publicity campaign must have been extremely clever! Six years later a large party of German immigrants added to the population. Together they founded a little town and called it Nova Friburgo. Today Friburgo is mainly known for its tourism, but it has been, according to a guidebook, a thriving manufacturing hub for the ‘undergarment’ industry. Funny word that – ‘undergarment’!! These days we would probably say ‘lingerie’, and as you drive into Nova Friburgo the lingerie shops with scantily-clad models are ubiquitous. The architecture of this rather charming town reflects the nationality of its original inhabitants – somewhat Alpine and not a Portuguese-style church in sight.

The largest coffee plantation owner in Friburgo was not, however, of Swiss descent but a member of the Portuguese aristocracy, a Baron San Clemente. He was a hugely rich landowner and had become the mayor of Friburgo. In 1860 he built a large mansion befitting his status; these days one might think it suggests a certain ostentatious display of his wealth. A French landscaper, Glaziou, created a wonderful park and numerous lakes to complement the scale of the house. Today it’s known as Parque Sāo Clemente and is open to the public. In the late 1800s coffee was a major export of Brazil and the plantations up and down the country were only economically viable if they were worked by slaves. Somehow the plantation owners never believed that their vested interests would be ignored, but slavery was eventually abolished by royal degree in 1888, a year before Brazil expelled the ex-Portuguese monarch and declared itself a republic. The lack of cheap labour created a crisis and Baron San Clemente was not the only one to be affected. Unable to harvest his coffee bean crop, he eventually went bankrupt. In 1913 his large house on the outskirts of Friburgo was bought by Eduardo Guinle, the oldest son of Eduardo Palassim Guinle, a wealthy industrialist. Guinle senior, whose family had emigrated from the Haute Pyrenees area of France in the C19th, had been educated in the United States and, with two other entrepreneurs, developed under licence the main port of Port Santos, near Sāo Paulo. Additionally he became the Brazilian representative for, inter alia, two giant American companies, General Electric and Otis Elevators …. just when Brazil was embracing electricity! Talk about right place, right time!! He and his partners worked extremely hard ……. and made a fortune! His son clearly had the money to buy the large mansion from the bankrupt Baron.

In 1953 his grandson César divided the estate in Friburgo, selling the mansion to the Nova Frigurgo Country Club and building a house for himself in another part of the grounds. Whilst the current drought remains a top story here in Brazil, in 1995 it was severe floods that caught the headlines. The water from heavy rains in the mountains surrounding the town eventually made its way into Friburgo. Accumulated rubbish thrown into the river channels dammed up under bridges. Eventually the pressure was sufficient for it to break free, causing a wall of water to rush downstream, engulfing the Guinles’ house. It was Christmas Day …. lunchtime … and various members of the Guinle family had travelled up from Rio. They were eventually evacuated to safety by the local fire brigade. Once the waters had subsided, it was clear to see the enormous damage that the water had done and the house was never the same again. You can still see the ‘tide mark’ of the water in the exposed stone walls.

In 2011 another terrific thunderstorm brought further flooding and landslips to Friburgo, killing 1000 people and again inundating the ground floor of the family home. The lake in the garden retains a huge amount of silt and today needs to be dredged. The dark wood floors, once much lighter …..and polished …. and even, are rather dull and warped. The house is owned by four siblings who want to sell it …. but so far they have been unsuccessful and it’s become a real millstone around their necks. And whilst they attempt to interest those developers with money to convert it to something different, it soaks up money just keeping it secure and rainproof.

Old Long Playing records lie abandoned on the dusty top of the grand piano, as if the last guests from some fun 1950’s weekend had just left. I felt somewhat awkward visiting this house that I had heard so much about, a house that holds so many memories …… yet belongs to another time. Family portraits and photographs stare at the empty rooms, the office of the man who built it a shrine; dusty and untouched …. but very much loved. There is a reverential feel to the place, this family ‘millstone’, and I can understand the conflicting emotions that run through those who own it. But it stands in splendid silence, a memory to a different time and a different generation, and that silence is broken only by the bell being rung to summon the staff to clear the dishes from the dining room table.

Richard Yates – richardyates24@gmail.com

P.S. Celina is the great great granddaughter of Eduardo Palassim Guinle

“I sit on the chair, up against the dining room table, with my laptop in front of me. Through the windows I can glimpse the palm trees and tropical plants of the family garden and in the distance the tower blocks that line the shore of Sāo Conrado. The electric fan, sitting on the floor, stirs the air and keeps me moderately cool.

“Dateline Monday 2^nd March 2015 Rio de Janeiro . ……” I stare at the empty screen, praying my weekly ‘copy’ for the Times of London (I can dream, can’t I?!!) is going to flow ….. although I know from experience it never does! My battered notebook, full of scribbles, lies open. Yesterday was the 450^th anniversary of the city of Rio de Janeiro; the founding fathers would not recognise this beautiful city of 2015.”

It depends on your perspective and the reliability of your information, as to how you view this world of ours. But recently I have been rather open-mouthed, hence this PC follows sharply on the heels on the last one!! In The Times of London of Saturday last week there was a long article on how much money the Blair government of New Labour, in 2005, had wasted or was unaccountable. The author has suggested the figure was some £230bn! There was the normal run-list of items such as failed IT projects and how the taxman had written off some £37.6 bn but most interesting to me was the amount of smuggling that apparently goes on. I thought that that had disappeared with sailing ships and rocky shores in Cornwall … but I can be very naïve sometimes!! It seems that enough fuel oil is smuggled into the UK to deprive the country of some £5.5bn of tax. And tobacco? Well, just how many cartons of packets of 20 cigarettes account for £21.4bn of lost tax? Unbelievably, the Government announced that they would increase the surveillance at 11 of the 43 points of entry. So the smugglers simply used the other 32! I was shocked. But I guess I shouldn’t have been. It’s natural that everyone wants to pay as little as possible to the government, especially if the Government wastes money, so tax avoidance becomes a game. And this report says that the government wasted £230bn, that’s £230,000,000,000! Isn’t someone accountable, you might think?

In simplistic terms we have a National Audit Office that scrutinises public expenditure and a Parliamentary Accounts Committee that can call anyone to appear before it, to question them. Both bodies write reports and everyone goes: “Oh!” and “Ah!” at some revelation of waste or profligacy …and shakes hands:  “Job well done”.  And ……… that’s it. Neither organisation points the finger of blame and cries: “Off to the Tower!” Maybe they should. Ah! But these are the people, those we elect to govern us, who bend the rules governing their own expenses … and declare all innocence when they get caught. There was the famous case of one Member of Parliament who used public money to do maintenance on a little duck house on the island in the lake of his country house. And he thought he could!! The arrogance!

And yet I suppose if you’re Greek, you have a different perspective; you think you’re the only country in the world with corrupt politicians and civil servants. It simply depends on where you live. The other day the ex-president of Yemen, one of the poorest countries on the planet, was accused of taking kickbacks from foreign companies wanting oil & gas exploration rights. Ali Abdullah Saleh also took a 10% slice of the ‘National Fuel Subsidiary Programme’. He is accused of amassing a personal fortune of $60 billion ….. robbing one of the poorest countries of its wealth. There is news everywhere of people milking the system and thinking it’s OK

And where am I typing this from? Well, Rio de Janeiro in Brazil, where for some months now the absolute scandalous story of corruption at the highest levels in government and business is laid bare through one company – Petrobras. Founded in 1953 this semi-public company (public 36% Government 64%) dominates the Oil & Gas Sector here and accounts for 90% of oil production and some 1/5^th of the Brazilian economy. The figures appearing daily are breath-taking. One spotlight shone on the story of the Pasadena (USA) Oil Refinery. Bought by a Belgian company in 2004 for $50m, it was then sold to Petrobras two years later for $1bn, twenty times the earlier price!! Or the chairman of Petrobras who seemingly had 5% of the turnover of the company added to his paypacket! The money has allegedly gone to fund the governing Workers’ Party for years, despite continuing denials from the past and current Presidents. Completely unbelievable!! Sitting in a makeshift jail in Curitiba, those who stole billions of the nation’s wealth protest ….. some offering millions of dollars to buy their ‘plea bargain’. Disgusting!

Brazilians love their Soap Operas and now we have a real life story that sounds like one. It runs alongside the daily dosage of corruption news from Petrobras, and is a bankruptcy hearing of a faded industrialist, Eike Batista. He had built his fortune on oil forecasts from unproven drillings. The judge hearing this case is one Flavio Roberto de Souza. Well, maybe he isn’t anymore, as last week he was seen driving around in Batista’s impounded Porsche Cayenne and parking it in the underground garage …. of his apartment block! “I felt it needed to be protected from the sun and rain.” he said in mitigation! And the ex-Batista grand piano was also seen on its way to an apartment in the same building! You seriously couldn’t make up a script such as this for a soap opera – except this is life here in Brazil.

It’s often thought that in Britain we ‘do the right thing’ and that we are an ethical country. Sometimes I wonder what we would really find if we did more than scratch the surface. Waste and corruption, greed and dishonesty? Probably!

Something to chew on over breakfast, wherever you are. Just scribbles really!

Richard Yates – richardyates24@gmail.com

I sit on the little chair, up against the old wooden table, with the Olivetti typewriter in front of me. Through the window I can glimpse palm trees and the deep turquoise of the sea in the distance; the view over Flamingo Bay towards Sugar Loaf Mountain is breath-taking. On the coat stand hangs my Panama hat and linen jacket, essential items of one’s wardrobe. Overhead the lazy fan stirs the air like a reluctant Indian punkawallah, its circular motion somewhat erratic. “God! It’s hot!” As I struggle to keep cool, feeling the sweat forming in the small of my back, I hope that my iced tea is going to cool me down.

“Dateline Monday 21^st June 1932. Rio de Janeiro . ……” I stare at the paper in the typewriter, praying my weekly ‘copy’ for the Times of London is going to flow ….. although I know from experience it never does! My battered notebook, full of scribbles, lies open; I take a drag of my cigarette and look out of the window!

‘An Englishman abroad’. Nice expression, isn’t it? Conjures up soft images such as the one described above. And these days it’s still possible to ‘feel’ like an Englishman abroad. I even look like one, and here in Brazil stand out if only by the colour of my skin, which even after a few weeks of tropical sun is nothing more than tanned pink! We were meeting two girls on their Gap year, one the daughter of a chum, on Saturday for lunch; having never met before, we helped them by saying that I look English. They immediately saw us across the crowded café without a problem!

The European scramble for colonies in the C19th often determined spoken languages across the world. For example, in India the lingua franca is English, whereas parts of the Caribbean speak French. Here in Brazil they speak a sort of Portuguese, as they do in Angola and Mozambique. I learned French at school (mais je ai oublié la plupart de celui-ci), some German when stationed there (nur ein bisschen), Italian at evening class for some holidays (troppo tempo fa!) ….. but Portuguese? Not uma palavra! Staying in an English-speaking house here makes life easy for me, but I am trying! Not speaking the local language reinforces the ‘Englishman abroad’ label. What did the archetypal Englishman do (and some still do!)? Too lazy to learn the language, if the native didn’t understand they simply spoke louder! With a combination of online courses (DuoLingo and MemRise) and after many visits, I now know lots of words but haven’t yet got the confidence to join them together, in an appropriate order that makes sense, and pronounce them in such a way as to be understandable. I’ll get there sometime! Até amanha!

As Englishmen, did we really look down on those in Southern Europe and elsewhere who had a siesta during the heat of the day? Those lazy Latins? Do we still? When you live in the tropics, if you can be indoors during the heat of midday, with that fan or air conditioning on, why wouldn’t you be so? Noel Coward’s 1932 observation was right: “But (only) mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun!” He also observed that when it came to clothing, “The English garb of the English sahib merely gets a bit more creased.” How the hell did they manage? When I first came to Brazil, I packet my linen jacket; it’s still in the cupboard, unused! But the Panama hat, ah! Yes! Essential in … er … the midday sun!! Well, I am English!

Wow! How the world has changed since those interwar years …… when they shrugged off the ghastly memories of the ‘Great War’ and tried to enjoy life. And the change never more apparent than in the attitude of our societies towards dress. I grew up in what I sense was quite a strict environment. My stepfather was not a Victorian by birth but by upbringing certainly. His was a childhood of “children are seen but not heard” and of always dressing for the occasion. This manifested itself in what he expected at home, what I had to wear for dinner during the school holidays. Once I was 14 I could join my parents and brother for dinner, providing I wore a jacket and tie! I tried a sweater once … with a tie! And of course one wore shoes and socks; not wearing socks was not an option. If it was warm, you simply bought a pair of thin cotton ones. It seemed rather Italian not to wear socks with shoes; maybe we were rather jealous of their ability to carry it off, even if we branded them rather louche for doing so.

I hope I’m not alone in admitting that one of my pet hates is men wearing socks and sandals. Such a nightmare! In my mind, just so so wrong! Men’s feet, often not their best attribute, are normally covered with socks, so when it’s possible to give them an airing, what do we do (well! Not me! Of course!)? It’s a curious sight and style – ‘milk bottle’ white legs with white (at best) socks and heavy sandals. Looks silly on women, even sillier on men. “Now, where’s that podiatrist?” Here the standard footwear is the ubiquitous ‘flip-flop’ made by Havaianas of Brazil, or a moccasin-type slip-on.

As well as defining the local language, the European colonies adopted the mother country’s driving norm; here in Brazil they drive on the right. One learns the local idiosyncrasies quickly; motorcycles everywhere, everyone on their mobile phone, … and drivers on the third lane on the left suddenly realising they want to turn off to the … right. And they do, completely oblivious of the other traffic, cutting across everyone. And no one cares!! No horns, no hoots, no shouts ….. for this is Brazil!

I am lucky in having had a good education. Values were taught, and reinforced; certain standards became the norm; codes of behaviour and dress defined one’s life. But gradually, even reluctantly, some of these slip as society’s mores change and develop. Once upon a time my shirt collars were stiffened by starch, but by a process akin to osmosis the stiffness leaves the collar and me, the starch damp and eventually useless …. and rightly so. Even for a relaxed Englishman abroad!

Some jumbled thoughts to amuse – or not!

Richard Yates – richardyates24@gmail.com

Palm trees …… sea breezes …… the sound of the surf … and warm air; it’s easy to conjure up a typical tropical shore, huh? So we went north to Recife, a city at the eastern tip of Brazil, closest to Africa, where we found palm trees, sea breezes, the sound of surf and warm air. If you will indulge me with a little imagination and time travel, we met Robert Avé-Lallemant, an explorer from Lübeck in Germany, who described his visit to Recife in 1859 thus:

“A city entirely devoted to commerce with a population of around 100,000 souls. Lining the enchanted lagoons and in the city centre, the recently constructed houses and public buildings have already begun to take on a certain air of distinguished beauty which promises, one day, to make this city, risen from the waters, one of the most beautiful in the world, to rival even Hamburg with its magnificent Alster Bay. The views from the various bridges in all directions, especially to the north where the old city of Olinda sits majestically on a hill, are indescribably beautiful. With all this Recife in Pernambuco State is the true city of the future of Brazil.”

“So clearly, Robert, you enjoyed your time in Recife and saw its potential?”

“Absolutely! It is a wonderful location, ja, with the Sāo Francisco river estuary creating these three main islands. Thanks to the Dutch and their experience of waterworks in Holland, they managed to drain and channel the river in a way that the Portuguese never imagined. The natural off-shore reef allowed for a wonderful protected harbour and this city became the major port of Brazil. Incidentally, the Dutch were thrown out in 1654and most sailed to New Amsterdam, which became New York.”

 “But wasn’t it the capital of Brazil?”

“Ach! So! But as the trade in sugar in the north dropped off and that of gold and coffee in the south grew, the political focus shifted and Rio de Janeiro became the capital in 1763. It held that crown until 1960 when Brasilia superseded it.

“So what do you think people fly to Recife for?”

 “Fly? What is this “Fly”?”

“OK! We’ve learned to travel in the air! It takes three hours to travel from Rio to Recife …. a little bit quicker than your journey by sailing ship …. but if you can imagine looking down on Recife in 2015, the first thing you would see is the unconstrained building of high-rise apartment blocks as far south down the coast as the eye can see; like pins sticking up from a pincushion. Your prophecy that Recife is ‘the true city of the future of Brazil’ has sadly not been fulfilled. It now only attracts holiday makers to its beaches further south, particularly Porto de Galinhas.”

“So why did you come?”

“Eight years before you were here, my great grandfather Richard Sidney Corbett was born on a ship in the harbour. In those days I guess this now empty harbour was full of sailing ships. Along the old waterfront is a half a kilometre long line of abandoned sugar warehouses. I wanted to see this place, smell it, imagine the hustle and bustle of old. I also wanted to see the Cemitério dos Ingleses where a relative or two might have been buried.”

“But Olinda is beautiful, nicht wahr?”

“Robert, you probably saw it at its best! Today the small cobbled streets of this town that the Portuguese established in 1535 are crowded with cars and, whilst the little brightly-coloured houses are extremely picturesque and the churches numerous and ornate, it has a sad, rundown feel about it.”

“Bitte? What is a car?”

“We can not only fly, Robert, but burn minerals to drive carriages; no horses!”

“Wunderbar! So did you like modern day Recife?”

“Well, some parts! Those buildings you talked about are still there; the pink Teatro de Santa Isabel and the Palacio do Campas das Princesas are gorgeous and they have restored some houses on the oldest island Bairro do Recife, although others are gaunt shells. The prison you saw, that one built in 1850 mimicking US gaols, is now the Casa da Cultura, with each cell occupied by a shop selling leather, lace or ceramic crafts. We enjoyed the Mercado de Sāo José, a covered market selling everything from crafts, to clothing, to fish ….. and some mounds of meat which defy description (!) but this was only built in 1875 so you would not have seen it. And then there are the two enormous forts, a mixture of Portuguese and Dutch architecture, which guarded the entrance to the harbour.”

“Ah! Yes! I remember them. Magnificent! Maybe it’s best if I keep my lovely memories as they are and not allow them to be influenced with your modern view. Now, tell me more about flying and cars …… bitte?”

Richard Yates – richardyates24@gmail.com

Rush! Rush! Rush! Is this what we do? And how often do we cry: “Stop the world, I want to get off!” remembering that show from the last century. Today I’m reminded we do need to pause occasionally, if only to draw breath!

“What is this life if, full of care, we don’t have time to stand and stare…..  No time to see, when woods we pass, where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.” I often used this quotation from the Welsh poet WH Davies to get clients to think about creating space in their busy lives, to actually acknowledge that life was to be enjoyed. We get caught up in the doing and give no time for thinking, not allowing ourselves to pause. For what is this life of ours if we don’t give ourselves time, time to pause …. and look …. and wonder …. and marvel?

Creating space between ‘doing things’ is actually very important to our emotional health. I love expressing ideas in pictures, so when confronted with a stressed client, I would say: “Imagine you’re holding a bucket of water, and I ask you to walk down to the end of the room and come back, as quickly as you can. When you turn around at the end, some water pours out of the bucket. Do this a few times and you have no water! Your emotions are like the water …. so when you get to the end, pause, allow the water to come to rest, (2 seconds? That’s all it takes for sure!), turn around and come back ….. with a full bucket of water.”

You may recall my discovery back in December last year of a grammatical construct called a Zeugma (see PC 26)? For some time I have loved people using alliteration, where continuing words start with the same letter, as in “Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled pepper” …. or “dragging the lazy languid line across the rocks”. I gave Celina’s father a copy of Lynn Truss’s book ‘Eats, Shoots and Leaves” for his birthday and, whilst fluent and extremely knowledgeable about English, he’s marvelling at the easy complexities of the language that Lynn discusses. What other language can have, for example, ‘hear and here’ or ‘there and their’ and each word meaning something completely different from the other.  I am drawn to words which rhyme with pause for this PC – words which aurally are identical, as in pause, pours and paws, and it’s only the context which allows us to understand the meaning.

The gift of the 15 minute timer by Someone for Christmas got me thinking more about time and its use. “Why don’t you do ….? I’m asked. “Because I chose to do other things which take up my time.” “So make time!” “Oh! But if I wanted to, I would.” And you remember that the sand pouring into the bottom half of the glass ……. paused!

My favourite animal with paws is Pooh Bear. Read “The Tao of Pooh” by Benjamin Hoof. It’ll help you understand in simplistic terms us humans. Here’s Pooh “standing … and … staring”:

“I say, Pooh, why aren’t you busy?” I said. “Because it’s a nice day,” said Pooh. “Yes, but …” “Why ruin it?” he said. “But you could be doing something important.” “I am,” said Pooh. “Oh? Doing what?” “Listening,” he said. “Listening to what?” “To the birds, and that squirrel over there.” “What are they saying?” I asked. “That it’s a nice day,” said Pooh “But you know that already.” I said. “Yes, but it’s always good to hear that somebody else thinks so too,” he replied.

There is a contradictory nature to our lives, with people singing about having ‘all the time in the world’ in one breath and in a second bemoaning about having wasted this precious dimension, as in ‘Lost, yesterday, somewhere between sunrise and sunset, two golden hours, each set with sixty diamond minutes. No reward is offered, for they are gone forever.’ (Horace Mann)

Our washing machine has a spin cycle that lasts for 13 minutes. When it indicates ‘1’ you imagine you have one minute before it bleeps and you can open the door. But this is an Italian machine and time can move slowly. That one minute can sometimes last 5; the frustration while waiting for it to turn to ‘0’ for the door to unlock can test the patience of a saint.

You’ve heard of the expression “As boring as waiting for paint to dry”? In August last year I heard of an experiment which has been running at the University of Queensland in Australia …. since 1930 ….. and it must be even more boring! It was set up by physicist Thomas Parnell to illustrate that although pitch (tar/bitumen) appears solid, shattering when hit with a hammer at room temperature, it is actually a very viscous liquid. A container of pitch was set up and they waited for a drop to form at the open bottom. They had a long wait – 8 years! By August 2014 the ninth drop had formed, having taken 13 years. And the sad thing? That the scientist overseeing the experiment for 50 years missed it three times – the last time in 2000 because a power cut put the recording instruments out of action!! Think of this experiment when you’re rushing around, not pausing between doing things!

Often one pauses to collect one’s thoughts, focus one’s actions – such as when you are about to serve in a game of tennis, or about to squeeze the trigger of a rifle, or when you are about to ‘go about’ when tacking on a yacht, to check that everyone/everything is ready. Or when a lion is on its tip-paws (aka tiptoes!) ready to launch itself at some potential prey.

Mere scribbles and thoughts!

Richard Yates – richardyates24@gmail.com

This PC comes with a warning label – do not not read!!

When I first started travelling abroad I used to buy traveller’s cheques and cash them as I need some money. Then came the ubiquitous credit card ….. and then the debit card.

During the first part of last year Celina and I spent 3 months here in Rio de Janeiro and every time I used my HSBC debit card I got charged a small fee, some 1.8% if my memory serves me well. Over the course of our stay that little percentage mounted up and became sizeable. On returning to the UK I investigated the various recommended cheaper options for taking money abroad. One of the most mentioned was a MyTravelCash card which you simply load up from your domestic bank, and use at an ATM to withdraw cash. You can use it for nothing else. If you chose to buy a sterling one, they charge you a transaction fee if you use it in the UK, but not if you use it overseas.

At the end of August last year we flew to Rio for another month – I know, it’s a tough life but someone has to keep British Airways flying. During our stay I used my MyTravelCash card to withdraw money and it felt safe! Before we flew out to the Pantanal for our wonderful trip to the world’s largest wetland, I checked my HSBC account. I had used the HSBC Debit card 6 times, buying Yoga sessions and paying for some meals in restaurants. I was overdrawn! Agghhh! Not possible! I went online, checked my statement and found someone had withdrawn cash on a total of 7 times through ATMs.

I won’t bore you with all the details, but I do recall Sineta from HSBC Bangalore saying over the telephone: “But Mr Yates! You have the card, you say you have not told the PIN to anyone …… so you must have withdrawn the cash! It’s not possible to do otherwise!!” Fortunately I then spoke to Kasim from their fraud department who told me there had been a couple of attempts to withdraw cash ….. in Miami …… while I was here in Brazil. Fortunately I got all the money back and picked up my new bank card when I returned to the UK.

On this trip I decided to use cash wherever and whenever I needed to. I knew that MyTravelCash card had a few hundred pounds on it, as I hadn’t used it in the UK. So today I put my MyTravelCash card into a bank ATM and …….. was surprised to find the balance much less than I thought it should be. Back at Celina’s parents’ house where we stay, I went onto the MyTravelCash website ….. to find that someone had taken cash out on three occasions, once here in Rio and three times in Miami, since October. So now that card is useless.

It seems that cash is king …… and that if you have a card, any card, no matter how careful you are with shielding your PIN and keeping the card in sight, you risk someone cloning it. I am at my wits end! Maybe I should go back to buying Traveller’s Cheques?

Needed to get this of my chest …….aaaaggggghhhhhhhh!!

Mere scribbles …… in the heat.

Love etc

Richard

P.S. Every time Celina used a bank card at Terminal 5 Duty Free she had some fraudulent transactions – and now only uses cash there

Rio de Janeiro is hot at this time of year as it’s high summer, and the contrast after leaving the winter in Hove is startling.

On our second evening, completely unpacked, I stand in the hot bathroom vigorously using my electric toothbrush in the prescribed manner. I notice that the bottle of Listerine mouthwash (Zero Alcohol of course!) we brought out from England is unopened. My toothbrush is in my right hand but, being reasonably ambidextrous, I think I can multitask ….. despite being a man! Occasionally I’ve done more than two things at once; do I hear applause from you men (?) or is this drowned out by cries of disbelief from you women?

Anyway, the Listerine bottle has a childproof top (boy! sometimes it’s bloody adult proof) and one of those plastic wrappers with a thoughtful arrowed part down its side to make it easy to open. With my left hand I grasp the bottle and try using a fingernail to rip the plastic; I continue to clean my teeth. After some minutes, the only progress I’ve made is to change the colour of the plastic from clear to white …. but no rip! I give up. I finish my teeth cleaning, take a pair of nail-clippers from my bag and cut the plastic. Result!

It got me thinking of other times when I have really struggled with packaging. Some modern plastic is particularly strong, some very brittle. I was on a business trip to Japan some years ago and raided the hotel minibar before going out for dinner. That bloody plastic bag of peanuts! I remember spending some 10 minutes pulling, tearing, ripping ….. I would have died of hunger if I hadn’t stopped, glaring at the unopened bag which seemed to say: “I won!” (Or whatever the Japanese equivalent is?)

Celina loves French mustard and if we’re eating out somewhere it often comes in a little plastic sachet (we go to all the posh places!!). At the top it says “tear” – being helpful I guess. So you try and tear it – along that little dotted line. Nothing happens! You check you’re in the right place and try again. Nothing happens! In desperation you get a fork and push a tine into the plastic sachet – often with so much force that mustard squirts out in all directions! Agh!

My dear step-father Philip believed that if something was difficult to unscrew, you should tighten it first. The Gherkin glass jar top was tight; I tried tightening it but nothing happened. I knew if I put a rubber band around a top, I would get a better purchase. Nothing happened. There was a little pressure inside; I gripped and twisted, I gripped and tightened, I got my arms lower to get a better angle of attack ……. and after some 5 minutes eventually it popped open; I felt I had been in the gym!

Part of my daily medication is an Asprin and they come in a foil pack. For some reason better known to the manufacturer, the foil is quite thick. Actually I think there’s a micron of plastic on the underside of the foil for …. freshness?! Maybe they think Asprin is a dangerous drug as it is extremely difficult to push the little tablet out through the foil. If I had arthritic hands, it would have been impossible. Not sure why they aren’t sold in a simple plastic tub with a twist-off lid?

Whenever I see plastic simply elongating under the force from my hands, I think of Young’s Modulus of Elasticity. This English scientist proved that material will revert to its original shape once a force is removed, providing it has not past a certain point. If that point is exceeded, the material will ‘run’ until it breaks. Sometimes I think modern strong plastic hasn’t heard of Thomas Young!

I buy yoghurt in 500ml plastic containers (Yeo Valley if you’re interested!). It has a hard plastic cap, and then a flimsy piece that seals in the yoghurt. I take the corner and rip it off; most of the times I’m successful, but sometimes I end up with little strips of plastic. So I remove it all and put it in the bin. Sometime the next day you remember that those friendly people at Yeo Valley have printed the ‘use by’ date …… on the piece of plastic now in the bin!

I bought a bag of Pasta the other day ……. and it was a plastic bag. It had one of those little ‘replace for freshness’ stickers you could fold over the bag once you had taken some pasta out ….. but the type of plastic is too brittle, making it almost impossible to actually open the bag easily. The plastic rips and the pasta spills out. So you decant it into a container.

Before this rant ends, how about Cling Film? (glad wrap/pvc/plastic wrap) The most useful material in a kitchen but woe betide you if you don’t cut it cleanly. I’ve watched grown men and women weep at the frustration of trying to clear a piece/find the start/get it to come off the roll cleanly.

A year ago it was almost impossible to extract one brush from a pack of three Braun replacement electric toothbrushes; they’ve got much better!! Pray that the Listerine bottle will similarly improve. Just some idle thoughts for the new year.

Richard Yates – richardyates24@gmail.com

I started the after Christmas Thank You note with “Thanks for nothing!” … and I meant it. Because someone dear to me had given me …….nothing! It went something like:

“Thank you for nothing. No, really, it was so so kind of you to give me nothing for Christmas. The vacuous thought that decided that nothing was appropriate was spot-on, I just love the empty, expurgated, expunged, evaporated plastic enclosure of nothing. It complements the sand timer someone else gave me, which for a reason better known to itself, measures 15 minutes of …… time! Maybe it measure 15 minutes of ….. nothing. I don’t know, ‘cos I know nothing.”

My bubble pack of ‘Nothing’ was ‘guaranteed to do absolutely nothing’ … and if something happened I was to return it for a full refund! So clever … to get someone to pay for …. nothing! I just had to share this with you as a fortnight after Christmas I’m still thinking about …. nothing!

This fifteen-minute measurer I’m just not sure about! That’s ten times the time it takes for my three eggs to boil every morning ….. only a sixth of my daily Bikram Yoga session …… more or less than the time it takes me to complete the Killer Sudoku puzzle as they vary in difficulty …. half the time it takes for the dishwasher to complete its business … Oh! I know! A timer to measure boiling an Ostrich egg? The giver feels I should recognise that “15 minutes is longer than we often give to many of the things we ostensibly think of as so important.”!

I’ve upturned the timer by my laptop, to measure the time it takes to write this PC. Have you ever read a dictionary definition of ‘time’? “Indefinite continuous duration regarded as a dimension in which a sequence of events takes place, but it has a finite duration as distinct from eternity.” Oh! Yes! It’s a dimension. Space and time have their own peculiarities. Space has three dimensions; length breadth and height but Time has only one, from the past through the present to the future. It is inevitable, unrepeatable and irreversible.

Time? You can’t physically feel it, touch it, but you know it passes …er …. as sure as day leads into night? Well! Of course; the early humans recognised there was a pattern, a rhythm to this earthly existence and they called it time.

In Yoga one of the postures is Savasana or ‘dead-body pose’ in which you are meant to lie still, unresponsive to sweat dripping or muscles aching or a nose needing twitching (well, you get the drift?), clearing your mind of stuff so that nothing takes its place. Going from ‘mindful’ to ‘mindless’! So easy to do – not! And still the clock ticks …..

But guess what? The timer’s stopped!! No! Really! The sand was in too much of a hurry to get into the bottom glass …….  and the grains got jammed! Uncle Tommy gave it a nudge and off it went again …… but this time measuring more than 15 minutes!

There are so many good quotations concerning time and why not! It affects all of us who are alive, all of the ….. er ….. time, even when we’re thinking of nothing. I love Brutus in Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar: “There is a time in the affairs of men which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune. Omitted, all the voyage of one’s life is bound in shallows and in miseries. On such a full sea am I now afloat, and I must take the current when it serves or lose my venture”. The nautical theme echoes in “Time and tide wait for no man”

In my post major surgery existence, my time seems to be measured by the bloody box of medication! Every week I fill it up with the morning and evening pills (the betablockers, statins and other stuff which my doctor says I must take)  Suddenly the box is empty again, there’s nothing in it and I have to go through the whole rigmarole again of filling it up. Another week of my life just gone. So much for Louis Armstrong’s “We have all the time in the world.” Not true!

I recently was challenged by someone who had a very contrary view to me about life. I couldn’t crudely dismiss their view as it was earnestly put but what was before this life, and what was after this life, was/is surely better than life itself? I tried to make light of this in conversation, as for me life is for living, in every way possible, sucking the very breath out of it, and whilst I accept that death is inevitable, it’ll come soon enough I don’t need to think about it … or prepare for it!! “Before” I might have been a pig; “after” I might be a flying pig, even pink! But right now is my time, my life; as sure as eggs are eggs (ostrich eggs?) my time will come to an end ……… but time itself will simply run on …. and on.

Richard Yates – richardyates24@gmail.com