Last Night I had a Dream

I was wearing the most beautiful dress.  How can a dress look so much like me?

Afff...  Vitória! Go back to sleep. Keep dreaming, keep dreaming...  You are in NM, not London...

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On Babysitting and screaming babies

In London I worked as a babysitter for years. It was perfect after a day of hard work and after school. I placed an advert in a French expat magazine and it worked very well.

God was looking at me as I only had very nice families with wonderful babies to look at. First time I said I was the oldest in a large family and was used to look after my younger siblings. Truth is I am the youngest in my house and also in the extended family and have never held a baby for more than 3 seconds before. Experience zero, but how hard could it be to look after babies for a couple of hours while their parents are in the theatre or eating out?

I had a circle of regular families, of course I had some favourite children, but I think the fact that I am very calm and loving inspired confidence to all parents I had to work for. They all knew my address and where I worked during the day.

There was one household where things were always a bit chaotic though. I think they were artists. They had an adorable little girl, very active, who never wanted to go to bed on time. The mother was expecting twins. The twins were born and I thought I wouldn’t be called there for a good few months. Well, they call me after 2 weeks.

The house was transformed when I arrived, and baby talc smell in the air. Both babies were crying and the oldest one nervous talking loudly around them without stop. The mother told me the boy was nice, but the girl was a show off and she cried for attention all the time (?)! The instruction was for me to let her cry until she fall asleep and not to give any attention to her crying. I’m not a mother, really don’t understand much about babies, but in my mind newborns do not “cry for attention”: they cry to communicate there is something wrong.

The parents left. The boy seemed tired of crying and slept. The girl kept crying louder and screamer. The oldest girl wanted me to play with her, she was 4. But I was really worried with the baby. 2 hours passed and the baby girl hadn’t stop. I had to disobey my instructions, that baby was in pain or something. I called my mother (in Brazil) to ask what to do. She told me all the regulars: check the nappy, give her a bottle, hold her and try to calm her down. Nothing worked. I had orders not to change the nappies, period, so the baby would learn “to wait until a proper time to have nappies changed”. Well, I had to check – poor baby - it was dry but, my Lord! No wonder the baby was screaming as if someone was killing her. The smell was unbelievable, one could easily say there was a dead rat hidden inside those nappies. It was midnight but I had to run her a bath. Right before I finish bathing her, she was asleep in my arms. And then I didn’t know if they had any baby cream or what to use to calm the rash. I read all the labels in the twins’ bedroom, found something, apply on the baby and put a new nappy. At least now the baby was calm and sleeping. What a relief!

During all the “operation” the eldest girl was screaming around me telling me the baby girl was sleeping and it wasn’t for me to touch her. She even tried to grab the baby from my arms. It was like a battle. I would put her to bed and she would run away and disturb for hours. When she finally fell asleep, I was exhausted. The parents arrived and I only wanted to leave. They never called me again.

Small Things Are The Biggest Blessings

This afternoon I was strolling in Battersea Park with my husband. Miserable day, cold, windy, rainy, and I find London to be at its most beautiful under a weather like that. Suddenly I felt so happy and fulfilled and started thinking how blessed we both were to be brought together by God.

God is the centre of our lives and there is no day without thanking Him for our blessings, our health, our families. Anything else is really small when you can recognise the presence of God in everything.

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London Sunday

For weeks we've been planing to have a Sunday Roast in a pub. In my modest opinion if you never tried it is the same as going to Paris without having a crepe, or to Brazil and not try a rodízio.

The plan was to go to mass, then roast, then a walk to the museum, explore everything and return home by 6:30pm so we could watch The Adventures of Young Sherlock on tv.

I think my hubby hasn't realised how disgusting things can be at the Saatchi Gallery. But it is ok, I'm curious too, we can have a good laugh to say the least. After I've seen a glass of water hanging on the wall of the Tate Modern and people calling that art, I've decided I am now a peach and the best I can appreciate in that Museum is its architecture. Certainly things are much more pleasant at the Tate Britain instead, and much more to my taste.

Well, I'm a woman, and Sunday morning woke me up with a stonking headache for some reason. I decided to clean the house before heading out, lunch was eaten around 3pm, we walked until the Museum to find it closed and Mass was in a different parish that I wanted to show hubby and it happened to be starting at the exact time we arrived for the tour.

Thank Lord tomorrow is banking holiday, we will try the museum again. Or plan B: Greenwich. What I firmly believe, will be more interesting.

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Fish and Chips

Oh, boy! This is gorgeous! I will miss it!!!!!

Foreign Soul

It is very difficult to write in a language that is not yours. Everyday I try to write something in here, but it barely works. While writting in Portuguese is as easy as a breeze, if I try to translate those posts in here they can hardly work the same way. In Portuguese I have my soul, I know how people will perceive what I am saying or trying to say between the lines? How can I achieve this in a different language? I don't think it is possible.



In English I feel there is a part of me missing. It is hard not to feel comfortable making a joke or expressing inner feelings. I've been many times through situations where people took me as stupid only because I have an accent, and totally disqualify any opinion of mine because I am a foreigner. All my curiosity and intelect diminished because there are no intelectual pairs to share a thought with.



Being a foreigner meant that many times I had to deal with shallow people of disposable conversations. Everything would be ok around a pint of beer at the pub, but I mainly missed those afternoons sitting at the beach discussing the meaning of our lives. That fullfilment is missing and makes me feel opressed at times. What to do in a foreign land?

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Happy European Advertisement

I love this advert. It is a new campaign on British TV. For me, it is innocent funny, but my hubby found it saucy. Really? Or is that somewhat showing cultural differences? I don't have any parameter as I never lived in the US. Roughly I know it is a puritan society. I saw him blushing with a bra advert. He turned to me and asked, "Has she just said 'bra for big boobed women' ?". In the UK people say that all the time, on TV and everywhere else. If it is rude or not I don't have any idea, English is not my first language, I miss certain subtleties.
Well, I think it will take some time until learn what is acceptable and what is not in social circles in the US. Until then I will play safe, staying quiet. If I say something very wrong, my apologies, but tell me first what the problem is , I can't guess.

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MY LOVE!!!!!

No, I haven't forgotten, it was yesterday. But we had a very busy day cycling around London, having diner, and trying to dominate the fire in the kitchen!!!!! :-D

London Bikes

Do you think I am kidding? Have a look at Gerald's favorite past time while walking around London... So bad it can make a calendar:

January -

February -

March -

April -

May - June -

July -
August - September -
October -

November -

December -

Well, I guess it is Happy New Year now...

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Raining day

It's been raining without stop since last Friday. For me, to stay inside the house with a cup of tea and my duvet is just perfect, but Gerald is dying to go out and run... So this morning we had maybe half an hour of sunshine and I told him to go to the park, to what he replied "Are you not coming with me for a walk?"

Well, this is London survival lesson number 1:

Can you see any sunshine? Are you ready to go out? Run to the park and don't waste your time combing your hair or inviting other people to come with you. It can last 5 minutes. If you are lucky, this can happen again for another 5 minutes sometime in the next few months. If not, only next year now, if the SUN turn up for summer.

Welcome to Autumn London.

PS. - This is my fav book. Without reading it you might think Ils sont fous ces anglais!

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Car Porn for Women

Many times, while trying to walk, I had to stop for some pictures I wasn't really interested in... Honestly, for me a car is something with four wheels that takes me from A to B, differing from a bicycle just on the number of wheels.

So, London is a fertile ground for whoever enjoys "automobile watching":

This one is small and red -

This one is black -
AAAAAARGH! This one is ORANGE! Who on Earth would buy this?

This one is Smart - This one is a Bentley, parked in prohibited space, about to get a ticket -

What is THAT??????

And a nice little shop - On Chelsea Bridge, once a month there is an old car collectors gathering. Yes, it is ON the Bridge, not around it. And we got off the bus to have a closer look at it -

Don't I look amused? I only know it is a Cadillac because I read at its back:

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Walking and walking and walking.

Gerald loves running, I don't, so we compromise walking, and London is perfect for that. He starts to look bored and doesn't say what he wants to do, so I grab him for a walk... I should tone all my leg and butt muscles in a flash if we keep like that, last time we walked for 6 hours! My belly, I give up, that will never go.

He also has some Japanese genes for sure, his photo camera is a natural attachment to his hands. Our computer is now loaded with pics from every London postcard (and their bikes), so we have our walks documented for posterity...

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Bicycles and stuff

A bicycle for me was always a thing with two wheels that, depending on the friendliness of the town you live in, could be used as a way of transport and not only for an occasional ride through the park.

Well, so recently I found out that there is a whole nerds bike's world out there that I'd never knew existed if it were not by Gerald. Before he got to London I bought us a pair of bikes and all I cared was if they would take us from point A to point B and now I came to know that every metal bit of those are more important than the ride itself... At least he is not mad about football.

In Brazil we have a saying that translates roughly into "if you get out in the rain is because you want to get wet" and that is what I am trying to do. On 21 Sep some important streets of London will be closed to the traffic to allow bikers to run freely through world famous postcards, the London Freewheel.

It is Gerald's birthday and he signed up, and so did I...

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Sunday Salami

Gerald was so fascinated by the street market that it was impossible to get him out of there. On his last stop searching for bike brake's bits I left him behind and kept walking to a French stall selling cheese, salumi and confitures.

There was a special offer, any 3 for £10 - bargain! - and I was obviously very interested. The guy was explaining me about the salamis - I'm mad about them - and after he told me the base for all were pork meat he started to show me the combinations. Gerald arrived when the French guy was showing me the horse meat and donkey meat salami... To convince Gerald to taste the black pepper salami after that was quite a task, and he is the type that can eat only pepper itself.

Something is telling me that I will have to eat all special offer salami by myself...

PS. - By the way, I bought plain pork, pork with walnuts and pepper coated salami.

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07 Sep 2008 update - Brazilian Independence Day - only last night Gerald had the courage to taste the salami. I opened the walnut one and was eating with cheese bread. I insisted, he didn't want it then I ate that myself. Only after that he sniffed a piece and then ate :-)

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L'Etranger

Life abroad is not easy. Once you leave your motherland you will never belong anywhere else again, will be a foreigner even in the very town where you were born. Your life change, your outlook in life change. Sometimes reality seems a big blur, you feel like floating above life.

One need to be strong to be a foreigner. Anything "normal" requires strength and patience as a foreigner is not allowed to be normal. We are required to prove ourselves over and over, only being three times better than a local is that will make those locals find you reasonable, or even mediocre. Having any accent many times is synonym to be stupid and incapable. Never mind you speak your own language and THEIR language, that rarely counts as a sign of dedication and willingness to overcome barriers.

Being bitter is normal. Many times we are stripped of our smiles and our faith in justice or good in other human beings. I know those are moments and not life itself. But sometimes it hurts, and at least for me, I can only dream of those times when I was quietly happy at home, having diner with my parents.

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English faux pas 2

One day I was in a party with a big mixture of nationalities. I was engaged in a conversation with some English people and the subject was something about London at the end of the 19th Century. For some reason I wanted to make a comment on Jack, the Ripper. But being in London for just a few months at that time I didn't know how to say it in English, so I said the closest thing to Portuguese that came to my mind - Jack, the Stripper ("o estripador", in Portuguese). OMG! I don't even remember what was the comment I wanted to make, everybody was laughing. My friend James pointed: Believe me, Vicky, if Jack were a Stripper London would be a much safer place today.

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Criminals in Nottingham over bank holiday

On Sunday morning I swear I saw Robin Hood escaping through dangerous waters. I was about to call the Sheriff but there were too many foreigners gathered for a canoeing competition along the river and I lost track of him. So, my friend Louise and I headed to the city horrified and we definitely were in need of some lunch.

Oh, no! There he was again, near the castle, and I’m sure he ran and hid in there. I did try to find him once more but there were too much Ale on the way, Real ones, and I could not get rid of them.

But then, you see, things do turn around and here I was… I must confess that I committed horrid crimes against nature yesterday. There is probably not an inch of grass in place anymore and Robin Hood might soon come to chase me, together with Greenpeace bores…

Well, I have been advised that Nottingham is a very dangerous place to visit. My arms can tell you, ouch! :-)

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London always have a bonus for you

After 6 months in London I got the student job of my dreams: in a bookshop. What is even better, a catholic bookshop.

Those nuns were everything for me and I always loved working for them. Because I feel very cold in London and had to stay at the till close to the door I was always fully covered and no rare people would mistake me as a nun... I lost account of how many "God bless you" I've said to smiley customers.

In April 2003 I went to Rome for the beatification of Giacomo Alberione, founder of the Pauline Family. The nuns paid accommodation and full board to all employees to go celebrate with them. That was truly a once in a lifetime experience.

We attended Sunday mass celebrated by Pope John Paul II at Piazza di San Pietro, festive mass at San Paolo Fuori le Mura and a special Audience with the Pope for the Pauline Family. Not to mention the delight of being in Rome.

The nuns were at their HQ house and me and the other girls were lodged in a convent a bit further down the Colisseum. I was quite proud of being able to help people at the table at lunch time, I needed to make myself understood in 4 different languages: English, Italian, French and bits of Spanish. The only one I haven't spoke was my own: Portuguese. But, being in Rome, who cares?

Walking on those streets, sorving that air, delighted with the architecture. Fontana di Trevi, Piazza Navona, Basilica de San Pietro, and, mainly, Sao Paolo Fuori le Mura, Castel Sant'Angelo, the ruins of old Rome. Real cappuccino, gorgeous pasta and people, wine and lots of prayers and enchantment. Ah! And there is Michelangelo. Absolutely magnificent, perfect, enormous. I am sure he wasn't a human being, but something like God's hands in a man's body. One can hardly believe that the marble he touched wasn't really a piece of cloth until he finished his works. There is no words to describe him, his works were the most perfect things I have ever seen.

Walking on and around History & beautiful architecture, what else could I want? Life is just perfect, anywhere. Simply learn how to smile...

Late note on Apr 2008 - Who could believe that that would be the same Italy where I was going to live a year later?

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