green!

After some extensive and diligent research (i.e. it occurred to me this morning in my car) I have another new theory.

AND IT IS THIS: (this required an ! but WHERE do you put the ! when you've already used a : ? Lynne Truss, where are you when I need you?)

Each country has its own car colour of crap-driving-ness.

Oh yes. You see, I've noticed recently (this morning) that among the different types of bad driver (of which Portugal, we all know, has more than its fair share) - the too fast, the too slow, the too keen to overtake you on a bend - there is a certain driver who is a bit ditzy, a bit scatty, a bit LOST at the wheel.

And do you know what colour car he/she drives? It's GREEN.

And I was thinking this think that I thunk (I was brought up on Winnie the Pooh, dontcha know) and thought, oh god, no, it can't be green, (but it is, I've been watching green cars all morning) it just can't be green, both the vit-parents have green cars and god forbid they get back home on Sunday night to discover that they are both better off the road because vit says so because, really, they are pretty good... really... (but the colour IS green for the love of god, tell the truth!) ... so then I thought a little harder and concretized my theory (I expect SOMEONE will have a go at me for concretized... well HAH, who cares, I'm tough, me... ) and decided that green is the crap driver car colour for Portugal. For Britain it must surely be BROWN! Though if it's up for discussion, maybe we should have an all-singing all-dancing international conference (with lots of booze, bloody good food and baby-sitters, cos let's face it, that's why I don't drink enough: a lack of baby-sitting) to thrash it out.

You see, you come here for god knows what, you leave with SCIENTIFIC FACT.

well, I lasted a week and a half...

A week and a half, that is, before I got irritated (more than I was already because of the ridiculous fuck up with that 3 ton concrete walkway that collapsed for reasons that soon became covered up AND because of the lack of teacher and the likelihood of several teacher changes in my daughter's first year at school) with the school system. I mean, I'm in love with state education, especially for primary school, giving kids the best grounding for life, not just for the rest of their education, so I've really wanted to keep my big fat gob shut and let them get on with it.

But when I see a six year old struggling to write these flowery (and particularly ugly) letters which she doesn't understand I get a little irked. She's my six year old, so I'm more irked, and I don't have an emotional connection with this horrible script like everyone who learnt this script as a child...so I'm irked even further.

But to me it smacks of wartime Europe and the days of Professor Salazar ... I hate it. HATE IT.

HATE IT!

(aaah, THAT's where the opionated old Vit went)

about the middle of the night

I fell asleep on the end of one of the girl's beds this evening. Which meant that I woke up at 12.30am with work still to do. And I'd had almost three hours of sleep. So I got to it and did the work feeling quite refreshed. Then I fancied a cup of tea while I finished what I was doing. So I went downstairs to the kitchen, made a cup of tea, came back up to the sitting room where I have constructed my second office (which consists of a specially bought vit-cushion which is just for me to sit on the floor, where I belong, the coffee table and a little basket for all my junk to be chucked into to save it from four little hands), forgot that tea makes me even more wired than coffee does and so decided to draw something.

And what better subject than me, in my newly constructed second office (which is a damn sight more comfortable that my corridor version), being really wound up by hearing strange noises all over the place.

I'm used to wooden houses creaking. But this one is made of concrete. How does concrete creak? But it does.

I've heard next door's cockerel going off on one again, though sadly, I haven't heard it being murdered or exploding or being taken by aliens. Maybe tomorrow.

I've heard foxes and owls in the wood.

I've heard stupid people racing cars on the main road.

I've heard several different people being brutally murdered with axes.

I've heard someone being dragged along the road rolled up in a carpet (presumably one of those brutally murdered with axes).

I've heard maniacal opera singing on the other side of the village.

I've heard a clock ticking that doesn't exist.

And I'm thinking maybe I should put a sticker on the kettle to remind me not to drink tea in the middle of the night.

Good morning.

it's an unusual day...

...if I can go to Lisbon and back and not have something jump out at me, saying BOO! Blog ME!... but it's that time of year, isn't it? when things are just getting going and nothing really happening... and my head is rather full, thinking a lot about the various projects and things I'm doing... one of which is trying to be funny for kids which is way harder than being funny for growed~ups.

So no horse's arse today (that was a rather surreal moment in vit-time, was it not?) nor anything taking the piss out of anything... but a girl can't take the piss ALL the time, can she? so back to my usual fave subject of an old lady in a cardigan.

vit in full vitness will vit back in a vit.

*sigh*

getting to know you...

...getting to know all about you....

my new sexpot mac, that is. ... not a horse's arse. that would be silly. anyway, the most important thing I have discovered so far is that I will be able to stay warm this winter (for the first time ever in this house) because I will have an electrically powered heater sitting on my lap, which right now I'm typing on.

*sharp intake of breath*

do you know, it's 12.30 am and all I can hear is people racing their stupid cars on the main road. Stupid bastards.

going to lisbon for inspiration in the morning. what fun. behave lisbon, or i'll blog you!

enough

I am rather fed up with human beings.

What a ridiculous and repulsive creature we are.

Looking at these two enormous storms just past and just coming, I can't help but imagine that we've pushed it just too far... that there's no possible going back. As the seas warm up, the polar ice caps melt, the storms get worse and the world's weather systems and ecosystems become more and more unpredictable, I watch humans continuing to be goddam fucking stupid. Sorry, but what is more important? Your car or your planet? Your holiday overseas or your childrens' future? Your recklessly uninsulated warmth or a place to live?

This ridiculous avarice demonstrated by everyone everywhere (I am not excluding myself from this... just look at how I drool over a new computer or iPod or a certain packet of chocolate biscuits in Sainsbury's (penguins... I won't tell you how many are left of the LARGE quantity I brought back with me two weeks ago) er...) makes me quite sick. We don't need 90% of the crap we buy and consume. We don't need 90% of the packaging we get through (and haphazardly recycle - and even recycling ain't that great, using up fairly enormous quantities of energy. We don't need to drive everywhere. We don't need to be entertained 24 hours a day. We don't need new clothes every season. We don't need to spend gazillions on nonsense. We don't need to wash ourselves or our clothes every five minutes or every day for that matter. You know what I mean. It is all quite bloody disgusting.

Then we try to justify everything we do with nonsensical arguments. "It is my right." " Society needs me to consume to keep people in jobs." "Society dictates that I spend vast amounts of energy to wash and IRON my clothes (including my knickers, in Portugal, and my teatowels, and my SOCKS) because I don't want anyone to think I'm common/a gypsy/poor." "It's a free country isn't it?" Stuff Society. What's society if it has nowhere to live?

After just two or three generations of first world riches, of widescale modernisation, vaccination and healthcare, enormously elevated disposable income, most MOST people believe it is their "right" to live to old age, eat what the hell they like, consume the resources of the world and blame the government for anything that goes wrong.

But there's no telling an awful lot of people. A lot of people who have a lot of polluting and wastefulness left in them carry on regardless because they think they are nearer the end of their lives so it doesn't matter or that their children will fix the mess. Or those who think "fuck it. I don't give a shit...why should I? the government hasn't told me too."

Hmmm. Can you tell I'm pissed off?

Can you tell I've been watching a bit of TV tonight to see what the hell has been going on in the world only to find that while the Gulf Coast of the States lays in wait of the next huge hurricane (no, I don't know if it's just one of those things or caused by global warming, but wouldn't it be better, safer to assume that this is a sign?) telenovellas and Big Brother for transvestites is all Portuguese TV thinks it has to say to anyone (anyone who can enlighten me about that "programme" presented by Herman, and female appendage, which does just seem to be BB for trannies, will be gratefully received in the comment box).

Maybe it's time for bed. night night.

radiowaves

I've finally managed (well, it helps to read the instructions properly) to set up my wireless network at home (well, network is stretching the truth, but at least I can get them online now) so i can sit in the room above my office-stroke-corridor and blog or spend money on iTunes or Amazon from the comfort of my bed while the signal strangs (strang is a thing radiowaves do... I said so) through the two feet of concrete of the floor-stroke-ceiling.

But now I've gone all wobbly... I'm sure I can feel the radiowaves zinging through me, especially when I was setting it up, sitting between three wireless things talking to each other. I know some boygeeks are going to say, "Oh, Vit, you naive thing you, you can't feel radiowaves".

oh yes I can.

I'm hoping these radiowaves travelling through me all day are going to help to enhance my psychic energy, of which I have none, (well, I've always wanted to be psychic) or my physical energy (well, I'm always pooped). Or my creative energy (a girl always needs help).... I'm probably hoping for too much.

But all this means that I can work harder on all my projects and not have to sit in my dark, dank corridor of an office all day and all night (when it becomes a strange spooky place (maybe I'm a bit more psychic than I thought)

I can't quite put my finger on it

...but there's something strange going on around here.

I've been a bit distracted since we got back, but as I look around it strikes me that SOMEONE is beautifying the village. Pavements that didn't exist suddenly exist. Walls that have been falling down are mysteriously being fixed. Scrub along the roads (and behind my house) has been cut down and swept up, rubbish picked up, potholes fixed, projects springing out of nowhere having been stagnant empty plots for the last four years...

a..HA! it hits me... Council elections are just round the corner.

Isn't it comforting to know things are so predictable?

how to break:

a. the bank

and

b. your mummy's heart.

a. Go to primary school in Portugal and come home with the following list for buying:

coloured card
ream of copier paper
new box of crayons
new box of coloured pencils
rubbers
Broad ring bound folder
pad of shiny paper
two large plain exercise books.
two lined exercise books
box plastecine
(amongst other stuff I can't remember right now)
€40ish

plus:

this year's choice of maths and portuguese learning books
€20
(this year is the cheapest for books ... it's only up from here)

what the hell happened to brown plastecine, boxes of crayons that were bought in the forties and ten-year-old textbooks for god's sake? or was it just in olde worlde England that that was acceptable?

b. go to school on the second day of school and cry your little heart out even more than the first day.

*sniff*

you can tell something's wrong when...

... I turn down chocolate.

She went to school today. I discovered at 10 o'clock this morning (as did the rest of the parents) that the first years WERE starting today... at 1 o'clock. She was SO excited, I couldn't believe it. She actually said "Mummy, I'm SO happy to be going to school!" And me? Well, I just held her hand. Then we got there and I still held her hand. And then she cried and cried and cried and clung onto me for dear life. And I spent four hours feeling TERRIBLE. So anxious that I really did... (no, REALLY, REALLY, this isn't blogxaggeration, this is REAL) I TURNED DOWN A CHOCOLATE BAR.

This is a very proud mummy you've got blogging here tonight, for she came out grinning from ear to ear... she loved it.

Still in catch up mode. Still a zombie. Still on auto pilot. Still don't know where my space ship is supposed to be picking me up from.

Dangers in modern life

Or "how to risk looking a complete tit".
So, I hadn't told you that I bought an iPod at the same time as I bought my brand spanking new mac (but bugger me if I can work out how to set up a wireless network in my house). I had only come out to andre. andre understands what it is about macs AND iPods. andre who was attending a très cool blogmeet in London tonight.

Anyway. I did buy an iPod. One that I will never be able to fill up, ever, with music. Even if I stick all the grumpy prof's 'orrible Wagnerian operas on (sorry luv, but you KNOW how I feel about that bloody Wagner crap) I'll never get close to filling it up. You'd have to be a serious muso to fill up my lovely new iPod. None of this namby pamby NANO nonsense. No. I've got a great big fat enormous 60Gb SUPERpod that's so shiny on the back that I don't need to carry a mirror in my handbag any more.

But, music has a profound effect on me. It makes me either sing along LOUDLY (which is terrible, as I never remember enough of a song to sing along properly) or to dance (which doesn't matter... as long as I'm in my kitchen). So, out and about with my iPod on "shuffle" (of which there has been an awful lot writ in recent months) I'm taken by surprise by what comes next... unlike the olden days of walkmans when you stuck in one tape or cd and you knew what you were getting... you set the mood... you were prepared! The temptation to put on shuffle is far stronger than the urge to hear one particular album or artist that it goes on straight away. And that's when it gets me. Boom, in there with a misery song from coldplay, or a strange radiohead mood maker, and worst are the musical numbers and jazz.

so if you see a ditzy bird doing the razzle dazzle down the street with bright white ear phones stuck in her ears (I call it fosse-ing... look it up!), that'll be me.

and ALL - THAT - JAAAAAAA---AAAAAAZZZZZZ!

BTW: If you want to see a fabulous film (even if you ARE a roald dahl aficionado like me and get a bit irritated by odd plot changes) go and see "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory... if only to wallow in Tim Burton-ness. God I love that man. And Johnny Depp, even while doing a credible impression of Michael Jackson at his creepiest is still a sex god (sorry luv, but you KNOW how I feel about that Johnny Depp). I saw it today with my babies... the grown-ups in the audience laughed and snorted and giggled and sighed with appreciation far more than the kids... though my beautiful clever witty sassy six year old grinned wildly at the whole two hours of it. Remember the Gene Wilder version? With brown water that looked like diarhorrea? Well, this time the chocolate river was made with something that actually resembled chocolate.

You wanted an update?

Here's your update (you may have even seen this on the news): The school DID have its first day for 2nd year and upwards pupils, yesterday, Friday. And while they were all inside the brand new porch/walkway (made from concrete as everything here seems to be) that was started a week ago (to be ready for this monday when school is meant to go back proper) collapsed. Because it wasn't nearly dry enough. Because the builder had left it for three days instead of two weeks. The only thing funny I can think of is... erm... bugger. I can't.

optimism is bad for your health

I don't know yet if "banging one's head against a brick wall" has an equivalent in Portugalese (I suspect I'll know by morning) but when my inate optimism (that says that things will somehow SOMETIMES go swimmingly and usually pretty okay, really) just lets me down too many times in one week, I feel as though banging the bonce on a wall may be a just as useful way of getting things done.

Every year I see on the telejornais (tv news) that this school or other is unable to start its academic year because the school is unfinished, unplumbed, unattended, unelectrified, untaught or unwhatevered. And I always think "poor sods, how disruptive that must be for all the children and parents ... jolly good job I live near to Lisbon, in a (strangely) desirable postcode (look, it just ain't the place you think it is, this Azeitão... honest... or is this just me bluffing, trying to stop so many bloomin' people moving here?) where there couldn't POSSIBLY be a teacher shortage".

Wanna bloody bet?

My baby ISN'T starting her first year at school tomorrow, for they haven't yet found a replacement teacher for the one who is EIGHT MONTHS pregnant. I wonder when they started looking? Last bloody Tuesday?

Don't get me started, just DON'T get me started on the ed. system in this country. For, like many things, it is the object of much twaddle and associated silliness (look, the pills I took last week that enabled me to get on two aeroplanes in one day (although it took two days.. but you KNOW what I mean) have really done for my brain power this week... you'll have to forgive my lack of eloquence... "WHAT eloquence? you screaming Devonian freak, you!" I hear you cry... well, you KNOW what I mean).

Anyway. banging one's head against a brick wall is too painful. I prefer a "lean and desist" method. far more relaxing.

*sigh*

it came out! at bloody last.

Finally, after about six months of waggling, the first of the baby teeth came out last night. I'm hoping the novelty of wiggly teeth will wear off quickly, because it STILL makes me feel sick.

I used said six year old to model for me the other day for a job, and luckily this is all digital art, so here she is again, with added blood. Ain't I lovely?

The poor thing starts REAL school on Friday, so this has distracted her a little bit. But she is terrified.

Do you remember your first day at school? I remember mine. All etched well in. Hard wired. To make me cringe for my whole life. The first day at primary school, the first day at secondary school, the first day at sixth form college, the first day at art school. All bloody awful. Without fail. Terrifying. Embarrassing. Awkward. Maddening. Always exacerbated by having a "funny" name, the name I love now, wouldn't change for anything, but suffered then. "Wow! Is that really your name? Great!" Not so bloody great when you're ten years old and don't know anyone and are already dying from embarrassment for just being there. "ooh, 'Pepper' as in Salt?" Yes you fucking twat, now sign the register and make all these other people stop staring at me.

Of course, I'm lying through my teeth to my beautiful nervous, very sensitive little girl, saying that everything will be lovely, that the day will go swimmingly.

But I know the truth. Poor little bugger.

London Sept. 05

It was a long time since I'd been in London. And longer still since I'd been in London without a child sitting in a backpack on my back or holding my hand. It was very strange. It was a bit nerve wracking getting on the tube (which seemed a bit emptier than it used to) but, like I do with flying, I just gritted my teeth and got on with it.

But the enduring feeling during my fun computer buying day out in London was the feeling of being in an unstoppable flow of people and energy and excitement; something I noticed far less when I lived there.

I think I'll develop this drawing when I have more time...once I've caught up with life here again. Aren't holidays disruptive? But necessary.

more of the old lalalalalala

not entirely sure what I did this for (ages ago)... but feeling like singing a bit of fado. Aren't you?

You know you're getting old when hellish travelling and ridiculously little sleep take their toll on you and you turn into a walking zombie... unable to sleep at the right time, unable to set up a simple wireless network for your brand spanking new macintosh... and it's one in the morning again. arse.

this WILL turn back into a blog. I promise. Just. Need. Sleep.

"mummy!"

here we go again.

well, what a fun journey that was....n't

Thrown into disarray by a twenty four hour journey, which should have been a twelve hour one, putting me a day behind with everything, making me fly on 11th of September... something I haven't been able to even consider for the last four years, being a flyingophobe already... our first flight included a security alert when we were all shunted back off an aeroplane... can you imagine? ... I've got my six year old starting PROPER school this week, though the bloody school can't even tell us WHICH day... can you imagine? and I can't even get near to my lovely new macintosh to try and get it wired up and wireless... can you imagine? Does this make any sense? I doubt it.

so, here's a photoblogograph for my dear friend Aggy's birthday today, with whom I spent a lovely afternoon on a hot and blustery beach last week. It is her thirty-somethingth... i'm too much of a lady to say...(yeah right).

And mike and alan and docrob and mish, thank you for the lovely things in my post box.

frazzled.
later.
dudes.

hmmmmmm

Packing, repacking, finding things, repacking again, washing another load of clothes found under a pile of newspapers, waiting for them to dry, trying to stuff them in on top, resolving to nip into town to buy emergency cheap luggage, finding more indispensable unmissable things to buy in town, finding more space, freaking out looking for my phone charger (the phone of which didn't work the whole time I've been here ... so, tough), where the HELL did it go? I didn't use it!, getting the train to get a one way hire car that will fit we four, plus the Letitia sister and the new nephew blob (very very adorable blob he is too) to take us all to the airport tomorrow where we will wend our little ways to Portugal and South Africa respectively and hope that we put the right children in the right planes, taking two aeroplanes to get back to Lisbon thanks to last minutes booking, and aiming to get home before midnight, hoping that the girls let me sleep on Sunday morning and praying that nothing has HAPPENED to my little house while we've been gone.

What I'm trying to say is ... see you in a couple of days. Back there. In Portugalandia. Ready to play with my new love. my new mac. *sigh*

just GUESS where I went yesterday

if you are a newish arrival to the Ite of the Vit you will not understand the enormous ground breaking significance of this post... you will, you will.

I'll be resuming normal service next week (hopefully) when this wonderful hol that I'm having is over. Back to excessive blogging and neglecting the dishes. yay.

REMEMBER MONKEYGIRL???

(big blogger 2005..wot i won, obviously)

Well, this is her new boyfriend, a rare "Ukrainian Purple Yellow Spot Shoulder Hugger".





Doc Rob remembered monkeygirl's desperate need for a boyfriend on a recent trip to the Ukraine and smuggled him back in his underwear.

itchy!

blistering - thundery - freezing - foggy - burning - mild

The title is an apt description of the range of weather we've been having. Aaaah, Britain.

I'll probably be coming back to Portugalandia with a better sun tan than I left with, which will astound some of my neighbours who genuinely believe that the sun actually doesn't shine over Great Britain EVER.

Yesterday a blistering hot AND really windy day on the beach with my babies and an old friend and the grumpy prof. And I was watching these old easter island moais sitting watching the estuary, sitting on the street benches behind the wall. All in bowling whites. All just sitting there. Lovely. Quintessential englishness. You don't have to look far to find it.

Brendon, UK

Exmoor is a moor on the northern coast of Devon and Somerset (South West England). It is a very beautiful place and one day when I have time (probably in about 20 years when my children have grown up and are well on their way to being brain surgeons and astro-physicists) then I shall spend some more time trying to paint it. even with real paint.


*sigh*

oh lorks,

i wonder if YOU can see any pictures here. cos I can't.
er.... first problem fixed at least. they've changed the urls a bit for the photies, so clear the cache of your browser and the piccies will show up again.

As for the disappeared comments, I'm at a loss... hmmph... at least I have a copy of them all somewhere for posterity (whose posterity I dunno) But, this is as good a reason as any for going back to blogger comments and staying with them.. I can't be arsed with anymore signing up with people whose servers might blow up... happened too many times now. I love blogger. Really I do. So, nyeugh.



So, in my quiet blogoliday, here's another photie, took at Lyn Gorge, where fifty three years ago there was a devastating flood much like Boscastle's last year. And all the way along the path one finds tree stumps and felled tree trunks with coins embedded in them (2 pence and 10 pence pieces if you're interested). I wonder if it's some kind of memorial thing. Anyone heard of/seen this anywhere else?

(btw. piccies are visible if you click on the space where they're hiding, while I look into it ("looking into it" means looking vaguely at the keyboard for a couple of hours) thanks for pointing out the problem wasn't just mine, Dr "wibbletastic" Rob)

Oi! Papavit, your anti-squirrel devices ain't working!

oh, god, I AM tuga!

When I could first mangle the Portuguese language into some semblance of sense, I would have conversations with REAL Portuguese people, and they would tell me terrible generalizations like "OH, yes, England is always so cold", "In England it rains everyday" and "The English are all blond"...this said to an englishwoman with dark brown hair and at the time olivey dark skin, before I lost the joy of sunbathing (don't forget, there's no distinction to OTHER people in the world between English and British, before I get grumpy of Tunbridge Wells writing to me, or Keith (nice holiday love?), writing to me saying "do you, in fact, KNOW the difference between British and English in your scattered little mind? I believe this may be confusing to our continental cousins etc etc etc).

I would think "Pah! You've obviously never been to England, you silly person you, it's full of dark swarthy people!"

What is the first thing that pops into my head on entering a touristy kind of place yesterday, full to the gunnels/gunwhales with people... British holiday makers?

"Blimey, they're all so PALE!"

Oh heck. The transformation is almost complete.