Wednesday, 8 November 2017

The Thing

Let me introduce you to The Thing. A ridiculous attire that came along with a gorgeous hat (one of my many weaknesses), and it's now just using my space. No, it is not as fluffy as it tries to look; no, it's definitely not like having a cat. It ain't good for anything, not even good as a stress ball. For as I already said, it's not fluffy. At all.
So, what the heck should I do with you?

Friday, 27 October 2017

Love II

We love to fall in love. Even if it's falling in love with an illusion, an impossibility. Or maybe even more so. Because it is unreachable, it becomes magical. Ethereal.

Friday, 22 September 2017

What's aging?

Just got asked for ID. I instinctively replied “why, thank you.” Now, isn’t that an old person’s answer? I should be all like “oh, sorry, of course, my bad...” Right? Right?!

Thursday, 21 September 2017

Me and the tube. Again.

Autumn used to be my favourite season. The most gorgeous colours all around. Not too cold… not too warm… the perfect balanced breeze.

Until I met the tube.

(No worries though, my beloved season: you will always be the most beautiful of them all! When the falling leaves start to change to millions of Autumnal hues. And the light peeks through the trees... oh, isn't that light so deliciously warm?)

Friday, 15 September 2017


Every single language has words no other one has, that's what makes the study of different languages so interesting. As well as when they intercept each other. E.g. many German words infiltrated the modern English language: 'Kindergarten', 'Gesundheit', 'Rucksack', 'Angst', 'Wanderlust', just to name a few. Language is organic, it has a life of its own. Und gut so.

Wednesday, 17 May 2017

'An ode to the Tube'

I miss driving. I miss the road. I miss the gears and the asphalt down below. The open road and the purr of the motor. The thrill and the bliss. The freedom of my own.

Wednesday, 3 May 2017

A Buch

One dia, je werde escrever the livre I sonhei eine fois in wenigstens 3/4 languages. Aber for agora, je estou very müde.

Interesting, the word

One day, someone asked me to write about the most interesting thing I have ever read. Me, a bookworm. Me, a lover of words. Me, who has always said there could never be top-fives in my life. And how could I, when I like so many, so much? There’s ‘interesting’ everywhere!

Interesting the word ‘interesting’. Such a subjective word, isn’t it?

There’s no two people in the world who share exactly the same interests. Impossible. Not even identical twins. And good so. If everybody liked Blue what would be of Yellow? Different strokes for different folks, they say.

Imagine a world where the most interesting colour is grey. Let’s go with this colour for it surely has a bad reputation in our minds for representing ‘boring’ in the best possible way.
Everything is grey: our clothes, houses, cars, toys... Don’t visualise it as being some kind of film noir, or even the movie “Pleasantville”. No, the whole planet still has its colours, the green pastures, the blue waters, the glorious fauna and the beautiful flora. The Earth is as interesting as it has ever been.

Where we want to focus is on people’s interests. What if every single one of us would like exactly the same things, have exactly the same interests? All without a single hint of boredom.
Imagine. Our people only like the colour grey. What else? They only eat potatoes. Nothing more. They only drink water. That’s it. They all sleep 8 hours, 11pm to 7am. Always. They only hear Mozart. Got lucky there. They only read Shakespeare. Yes, please. They only watch Coronation Street. Ouch.

And here’s the (yes, I am using the word) interesting thing: there is nothing out there but potatoes, water, Mozart, Shakespeare and Coronation Street. Why should it be? Nobody would be interested nor would anybody come up with different things in the first place. Would you cook, write, play, paint, invent something you wouldn’t find interesting? Of course not.
And what about relationships? If everybody finds the same thing interesting, they’d surely find the same person interesting. There wouldn’t be any importance on the gender. This person would have to be locked for security reasons. But who would help this person? For they too would be interested in the person in question. Oh dear, poor person…

What about jobs? Hobbies? Studies? There’d be nothing different to learn, to try out, to conceive and perceive. To dream and believe. To feel. Ugh, the horror!

It’s hard to wrap our minds around such a very grey and disconcerting utopia for if we delve deeper and deeper into it, the more disturbing it becomes. It’s just a downward spiral spattering our grey cells all over the place, almost to the point of ebullition. Dead end.

‘Interesting’ is indeed a very interesting word. Without what it represents, we just wouldn’t be. Humans could never function in such an absurd universe. Where there’s no ‘boring’ there can be no ‘interesting’. It’s an impossible world. Wonderfully ridiculous. Well, thank goodness for that!

Sunday, 16 April 2017

Nursery rhyme for creatives

Left brain, right brain, playing on a minefield.
Go right, go left, don't allow ‘em to be killed.

Sunday, 26 March 2017

23rd of March, Puppy Day!

Puppy Day today, hey? Well then, I dedicate it to most clever puppy ever. You've remained a child at heart, even when you were the mighty boss in your reign. Your story started in a flat filled with lunatics, just above the States Club in Coimbra. They asked for you and then left you as if you were less than nothing. Not even a name. When I still didn't know that I could take you, I was listening to this song, looked at you and asked: "What do you think?..." Your big eyes and baby tail said yes so firmly that from then on your name was Dougy Giro. A small golden retriever mix with your gorgeous painted face as if from a comic book, you knew how to lead the way to your devoted fans, Lucas and Junior, two huge Great Danes that worshiped you. You were one of a kind and it was hard, not only for me, but for all of us who've met you... to let you go.

Friday, 3 March 2017

The Sea

The Sea, please, the Sea. Brighton, or any other, I'll be coming back soon. The Sea, you see, I can't live without the Sea. The Sea, grander than we'll ever be.

Tuesday, 14 February 2017

Real poets only lie to themselves

There’s nothing more unfair than to translate a poem, for it loses so much of its essence, more than any other writing form. That is why, whenever I can, I try to read in each one’s own language. Although this writer in particular did write a lot in English, and I must say, I’m quite happy with whomever translated this poem:

"The poet is a faker
Who’s so good at his act
He even fakes the pain
Of pain he feels in fact.

And those who read his words
Will feel in his writing
Neither of the pains he has
But just the one they’re missing.

And so around its track
This thing called the heart winds,
A little clockwork train
To entertain our minds."

Edited: translation by Richard Zenith, 2006, NYC


“O poeta é um fingidor.
Finge tão completamente
Que chega a fingir que é dor
A dor que deveras sente.

E os que lêem o que escreve,
Na dor lida sentem bem,
Não as duas que ele teve,
Mas só a que eles não têm.

E assim nas calhas da roda
Gira, a entreter a razão,
Esse comboio de corda
Que se chama o coração.”

By Fernando Pessoa

Thursday, 9 February 2017

The Penelopes

So, Charlie told me these guys are playing tomorrow at the Lexington. Questions:
First of all... plural? Really?! There's only one Penelope, ya hear me? "There Can Be Only One." Muahaha!
Secondly... when did I aprove this? Where's the memo? Ya know, a simple 'thank you' note would also suffice.
But no, nonono, you didn't even tell me you're coming. How rude! No matter, we will meet one day, and you, misters, will have some explaining to do. Throwing another Muahaha!
Oh, wait, this just reminded me... I've met a really nice guy this weekend who goes by Penny on stage.
Awww, my names are so loved!... Good for you, Names!!
No more Muahahas.

The Penelopes

Tuesday, 10 January 2017

Spicy is good for you

Piri-Piri, just crawl back to the shadow of real chilli like the masters Malagueta and Jalapeño. You will never ascend to their superiority. Mate, even your name is a joke. Sorry, not sorry. 🌶

Penny's flight adventure nr. 73531497,3

The flight was, surprise!, super punctual. However, I didn't know about the tube strike... So this time, I was the one 'delayed'. It took me 2.30 hours to get to Victoria Station. Uber, minivans and the like would be even worse. Only a flying unicorn could save me now. I knew my only hope was to try and buy a new flight ticket whilst standing in the overfilled buses stuck in this morning/Monday/strike traffic chaos. Tried once with PayPal, got an error instead. The money is there still pending though. Tried a second time with debit card. Success! Then, rush into the mobile check-in. Clumsily take out passport from rucksack, whilst holding debit card, iPhone and suitcase which keeps on wanting to roll away. Sorry, oops, thanks. Finally arrived at Victoria Station with the Gatwick Express e-ticket ready to show when... iPhone battery dies on me. Fly to the info desk, ask for power, get into the train 2 minutes before departure. Use Mac with the iPhone internet to try to cancel PayPal payment. No can do. Arrive at Gatwick. Ask hopefully for the first flight, TAP, to be delayed. No luck. Fine. Get the shuttle to the other side for the second flight. Ask BA what might happen with my first attempt at buying the ticket via PayPal. Nothing in the system. Hope it won't go away. Double Fine. Now what? Suddenly time has stopped. I have three hours to kill. Where's VHS? There! Books. Bowie and Lemmy. Triple Fine. Eat something yummy. Eggs of course. Mexican of course. Ask for powered table. Super Fine. Great '60s playlist on the speakers. Ultra Fine. And the remaining time? Corona to the rescue! Uff...