Recently there have been headline-grabbing news items of madness …. bikers in Waco in the USA having a fight over ‘who ran over whose toe’ ….. and nine motorcyclists died! Or a family, husband, wife and housekeeper, gunned down and the house set on fire …… probably caused by someone ‘slighted’ in some way. A father in the Balkans not happy with whom his son had married, so he shot them all, the new wife and her parents. We seem so quick to take offence! The continuing barbarism of ISIS in the Middle East, in our C21st world, suggests that the human race has not developed and evolved as one would wish, that in a blink of an eye we can revert to the very basics in behaviour, as exemplified in the C13th and earlier. These headlines remind me how precious this life of ours, this existence, is and how we must try to live it to the full.

Do you remember that glorious television series “Life on Earth” by the indefatigable David Attenborough? There were many memorable pieces but one particular one has stayed with me, the life cycle of a fly on Lake Malawi. The eggs geminate on the lake bed, the larvae float to the surface, become adult, and rise up into the sky in such numbers that it looks like a cloud, or smoke from a fire, as there are billions of them. The females mate, the eggs fall to the lake surface and thence to the bottom, and the cycle starts again – apparently every month near the time of the new moon, such is the rhythm of some of nature’s wonders! The adults get eaten by birds – and their existence is over in a few hours!! Do you think they know? Know that their life, their existence, is measured in minutes ….. and in this short existence they have to mate, to ensure the longevity of the species? Or maybe for them, it feels like days/months/years – their perception of time is, well, their perception of time!

I imagine it’s only us humans who know that life is finite. Did the fly above Lake Malawi know? Did an oak tree know it would finally develop a disease, grow weak and fall to the ground? Did my lovely Labrador Tom, when his body began to pain him and he looked more mournful that normal? I don’t think so!

Babies certainly don’t as their focus is on the immediate needs of food and sleep. The young don’t care, don’t think, spending all their energies on growing, on learning and on living this exciting existence; and why not?! It’s only in middle age when you begin to think that time has come to matter …. and by the time your parents are both in another world, you really really know. It’s funny this feeling, as if there is no one ‘above you’. You start seeing obituaries of people you know …. and think “Oh! No!Not him/her, not yet, .. surely!”

I have a wonderful ‘Anthology of Great Lives’ culled from the obituary pages of a British newspaper; it’s a good book to leave in the loo. The editor has ensured that the stories of the lives who grace its pages are mirrored by the title, “Thinker, Failure, Soldier, Jailer” a nod to “Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Sailor”! The people whose existence is written about certainly had a colourful time.

A chum encapsulated a thought beautifully the other day, walking above Brighton on the South Downs. “But we are intrigued as to what comes after death …… and we will never know!” he said, with a slight smile on his face. Various religions make cast-iron suggestions, describe a heaven with numerous virgins or pearly gates and someone welcoming you, or some vision of purgatory if you don’t follow this or that doctrine. There was that film ‘Flatliners’ in 1990 when a group of medical students tried to journey into the ‘afterlife’ and return ….. so they could tell everyone what it was like.

The insignificance of the human race in relation to the scale of space is mind-boggling. Have you heard how you could fit the entire global population into a sugar cube? Let me explain! We are all a mass of atoms; but each atom is formed of a nucleus and a spinning electron. In scale terms, if the nucleus was on the altar in the centre of St Paul’s Cathedral in London, the electron could move from alongside it to up into the Whispering Gallery in the dome. Take all that space away within each atom, and between each atom, and …….. we could fit into a sugar cube. (Does anyone still use cube (loaf) sugar anymore?) Well, some nice nerds did some mathematical calculations on Goggle and reckoned that actually the cube would be about 72 cubic metres ie approximately 4x4x4 metres; an enormous sugar cube but the image of scale is easier to understand.

I guess we’ve all known friends or relatives whose existence has not been the biblical four score years and ten; in early adulthood, too soon, too young. My PC 22 observed this uncertainty of life. There is no certainty in the length of our existence ….. and how we cope with that uncertainty can colour our own existence here on this earth.

I must have seen it somewhere, sometime, a picture of God holding the Universe in the palm of his hand – sorry I’m being sexist here, thinking of an old man with a flowing beard, not a woman-God. He’s looking at it with a smile on his face as if he has a sense of humour – and why wouldn’t he? He could be looking within the universe at ….. a single sugar cube? And those who leave their existence, leave this sugar cube, are simply dust …… just like the seeds of a dandelion blown by the wind from his breath.

Mere musings at the start of our summer here in the Northern Hemisphere.

Richard Yates – richardyates24@gmail.com

OK! OK! I know I am not the greatest example of the lasting strength of marriage but maybe that gives me a different slant on this institution, just as we prepared for a family wedding in deepest Dorset. So it’s with slight trepidation that I write about this social event.

Some of you may be single, some may have been married for a short while, for some it may seem for ever, to the first person you ever met, to someone you ‘courted’, some of you may be on your second or even third marriage. No one starts a relationship believing it will only last for a specific time; it’s always going to last forever … and ever! Maybe some of you have taken advantage of more liberal laws that allow same-sex marriages, and we know of one such couple expecting their first baby next week. It’s a funny world!

It seems that marriage as an institution is still the aim of many, remaining socially the ‘thing to do’. A modern habit is to live together for months, even years – to try it out, so to speak. Imagine if, after a long courtship, you got married and you suddenly found you were not compatible; he/she squeezed the toothpaste in the middle/end, left the loo seat up/down, didn’t imagining empty the rubbish bin, taking her/his iPad to bed, left their clothes all over the place. Am I admitting to pet hates here? Ooopps!

We heard that my nephew and his long term girlfriend had got engaged!! How exciting this news, wondering when they were getting married, where, imagining the flowers, the whole ceremony …. that lovely film “Four Weddings and a Funeral” comes to mind ….. everyone in their best clothes, gorgeous food, champagne, speeches .… and awful jokes from the best man.

The invitation indicated ‘morning suit’ or suits, a nod to the ‘younger’ generation perhaps, although it’s obvious they like making an effort too. I suppose I have a predilection for ‘dressing up’, having been seduced to join the army for the dress uniforms (well, not really!!), so I looked forward to the prospect of wearing a morning suit and all the accoutrements. Some men turned up in suits, but a couple looked as if they were wearing their gardening ones ….. and I wondered what they would wear to a more formal occasion? Am I missing something here? Did they want to appear ‘different’, perceiving themselves as rather ‘above’ the social convention? It’s not that they were not educated ….. maybe an unconscious need to ‘cock a snoop’ at the rest of us, who had made the effort? There was a nice story from an Army chum who had been Officer of the Watch at the Tower of London when the Queen dropped in for supper; well, she has to eat somewhere! One officer was wearing his soft mess shirt and not a stiff one. The queen remarked on it: “Oh! Stiff ones are for more formal occasions.”!! I think dressing up for a wedding is de rigueur!

The small church in the village of Abbotsbury, a mile or two from the coast in Dorset and nestling under an escarpment, was the location for this wonderful celebration. Abbotsbury dates from the C10th and had a thriving Abbey until it was dissolved by Henry VIII; a huge barn is all that remains of the abbey, but on a hill overlooking the village stands a lovely little chapel used by monks for private contemplation. Nowadays Abbotsbury is famous for its swannery; started 600 years ago as a source of food for the monks, it has a large colony of mute swans, and is an important nesting and breeding ground.

Time before the service to gather one’s thoughts, admiring the wonderful flowers and looking at the other guests, wondering who they all were!! The church had a large wooden board above the altar with the Ten Commandments written in gold letters. Made me think of a discussion with Celina’s father about when to use ‘shall’ and when to use ‘will’ in English! The Commandments are all ‘shall’! But I was intrigued to read that, whereas numbers 6 to 10 start “Thou shalt not  ……”, the one concerning taking another’s life read: “Thou shalt do no murder.” Rather quaint wording for a serious subject!

The bride’s parents’ initials are ‘H’ and ‘H’, and my nephew and his now bride’s – H&H, or H² as it was written on their wedding invitation. The vicar made much of this, and added Hope and Hospitality in his homily about the benefits of marriage and how these two could embrace hope and hospitality in their union. The bridesmaids and the page boy and girl looked gorgeous. H² exchanged the traditional vows: “…… for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love cherish and (maybe?) obey, till death do us part ……..”. It’s good to have a faith and a belief.

All too soon the dinner, the speeches and the dancing at the reception were behind us, the live music group was packing up, the newlyweds departing and ‘mwah mwah’ everywhere; it was time to wend our way back to our Bed &Breakfast, The Old Rectory in Winterbourne Steepleton – doesn’t that sound just wonderfully English? And it was!

My father’s father married three times, my father married three times, and me? Well, yes, following the family tradition, but I really really didn’t set out to!! “Rather be an “incurable romantic than love’s loser with an estranged wife” as Cosmo Landesman says. Funny world, innit?

Richard Yates – richardyates24@gmail.com

I’m no petrol head but like most of us (?) enjoy driving, so was intrigued when I saw a question in a magazine about whether one should use the car brakes to slow down or change down a gear and use the engine to brake. I had been taught to use the engine as it was safer and produced less wear on the brake pad. So I was surprised that, with the advent of disc brakes, the perceived wisdom is now to use the brake … and not the engine. Old habits die hard, so I remain deaf to this new advice!

Got me thinking about how habits scope our behaviour … and wondered what other habits I had that belonged to the last century (and why not?!) Gosh, so many, but one or two stand out from the crowd!  For those of you who sometimes judge me to be hypocritical … and talk of glass houses and stones … or pots and kettles and the colour black …. I’m only human!

I am a morning person. I love getting up early; it feels good to occasionally see the dawn. When Tom my Labrador was alive, in his last year (2011/12) I used to get up at 0520 to walk him, before going off at 0610 to the 0630 Bikram Yoga class. There were not many people about, and we always passed an oldish chap, walking with a rolling gait, on our way and said “Good Morning!”. No response – nothing; but I persevered! After 3 months he eventually said: “Er’! Yer not English, are yer?” “Well, actually I am, from the West Country.” I said, rather affronted!! “Well, I’m a Londoner and no one says ‘good morning’!!” “Well, I do!” …. and we said hello and from then on we both felt good at acknowledging each other! A cheery “Good morning!” never hurt anyone, except those whose head hurt from too much wine the night before. In the institutional setting of the Officers’ Mess dining room, it was not ‘done’ to say ‘Good Morning’ – and the breakfast crowd hid behind their newspaper. The paper was placed on a wooden stand, rather like a music stand, thoughtfully provided by the Mess in front of their place. Celina’s father has a similar tale of an Oxford college’s lecturers’ accommodation; “Good Grief, man, Sssshhhhh!!” Even in our morning Bikram session, the teacher’s enthusiastic ‘Good Morning!’ is often met at best with a grunt!

An old habit of mine that has driven my early mornings for many years is to have three boiled eggs for breakfast. I love the ritual of correctly cooking them, of cracking the shell with a teaspoon, the wonderful deep yellow of the gooey yolk – and the salt & black pepper!! Can’t have a boiled egg without salt. I have however dispensed with the ‘soldiers’! For those readers unfamiliar with English habits, traditionally a boiled egg came with fingers of buttered toast that looked like soldiers on parade. You could dunk the ‘soldier’ into the soft yolk and eat; yum! yum! (In Australia they make ‘marmite’ soldiers.) On Northcote Road in Battersea there was even a café called ‘The Boiled Egg and Soldiers’!

Why do they make a cover to fit over the loo seat (sorry, I hate the word ‘toilet’ although it was very socially acceptable to use ‘lavatory’. Maybe it still is!!?)? They make a cover so that the place for one’s daily deposit is covered; never sure how some people don’t develop some very basic standards here …. but there you go. So why do some people leave the loo seat UP and not down? Our local Bikram studio fitted one of those self-closing lids ….. to the men’s loo. This is somehow sexist, isn’t it? Is it only men that leave the seat up? I don’t think so! Anyway, I can’t abide a raised loo seat, so wherever I am, in someone’s house, in a restaurant or even a motorway service station loo ….. and I find the loo seat up, I ensure it’s down when I leave. So if you unexpectedly find the loo seat in a motorway service station down, you know I may have been there recently!! …. And I think this is a good habit!

Then there are “Thank you letters”. This is such a generational thing, this need to say ‘thank you’ properly. You read about it in agony columns (what? You think I don’t occasionally read an agony column? Well, very, very occasionally). A grandmother moaning that their carefully chosen gift to their grandchild has gone unacknowledged. Asking whether she should simple stop sending a present! Then there’s the ‘After Supper’ note. I was always led to believe that if you use a knife and fork in someone else’s home, you should write a note of thanks; ie after cocktails, no – after a meal, yes! Is email OK? Better than nothing and in some countries where the postal service is abysmal maybe the better option. But a manuscript note is best, simply expressing gratitude at their efforts. Some people have come to dine with us, clearly enjoyed themselves and not a squeak of appreciation …  nothing .. da nada … niente!

Someone close to me has kept all of his bank statements, I mean all, ever since he first started banking; what he will do as more and more banks dispense with paper statements and go digital I don’t know. But it’s worth keeping a monthly check, isn’t it? So, back in the last century, when I eventually mastered an Excel Spreadsheet, I created one of my income and expenditure. So ever month I take the figures off my bank statement and put them into the spreadsheet, making sure the figures correlate. But then what? What do you mean? That’s it! They all check out, and I’m happy. Do I use the data in any other way? No! Er! So why do you do it? I need to keep a handle on my finances! This is a habit I sense I should just give up, the spreadsheet I mean, but I am wedded to it.

Just some mumblings on this first day of May.

Richard Yates – richardyates24@gmail.com

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