Wednesday, 30 December 2009

Going Forward?

P I just found out that the Prins Willem burned.
P Hopefully 2010 shall be less horrible a year than 2009.

Friday, 20 November 2009

Remember Bill Barker

P The Hero, fallen in Cumbria while saving lives.
P My sentiments go to his family, and to his friends, and to his colleagues, and also to all those affected by the flooding.

Saturday, 24 October 2009


P Not three hours ago I dreamt that I had found the perfect woman, and that she had accepted me, despite my flaws. I don't think her looks matter, though she she was quite beautiful; what I think does matter is she was sweet, and kind... and then the phone rang, waking me.
P This, I find, is not something to mourn. What I must search for is a perfect woman in the real world.
P Still, sigh...

Sunday, 16 August 2009


P My very last sprig of Morning Glory is gone, just like that. It was finally thriving and now it has ceased to be.
P There were a few Dandelion shoots in a pot by the railing; My Quail are insanely fond of the leaves. That pot now sits empty but for a few measly weeds.
P The Lily of the Nile was all over the place, now it is cut down to a few stems.
P This is but part of the ghastly spectacle with which I was faced as I got to the kitchen balcony this morning; I simply cannot bear to describe anything further.
P Oh, the pain...
P I do know the maid to be quite well-intentioned, the poor fool, but why must this keep happening?
P It would seem that my life has been plagued by this sort of thing: I take an interest in something and make an effort, only to see the fruits of my labours crushed or torn apart before my very eyes; what follows is a long period of self-pity so overwhelming that I cannot bring myself to commit to anything meaningful.
P Today was different. I beheld the devastation before me but charged onwards and watered the plants. All of them, even the empty pots.
P They need me to live.
P And then I went and watered the ones in the living room, which were mercifully untouched, and went about my usual dealings.
P Perhaps this is a good sign, however painful. It could be that I grow wiser.
P The maid shall still get a telling off, though.

Thursday, 23 July 2009

Andy Warhol Would Be Proud

P As I took this picture (sorry about the flash) someone going by behind me commented to someone else that this [on the door of which this picture is held] was the locker of one by the name of Inês. I know not if it was the unusualness of the situation or the fact that I am actually rather fond of Homer Simpson, but kudos, Inês, thou hast awaken me from my society-induced state of apathy!

Friday, 5 June 2009

When they make me a statue I want it to have a hat

P This grand old boy stands outside the Science Faculty. However great his gravitas, though, I think the pigeons are quite indifferent to his legacy.

Tuesday, 2 June 2009


P I took this picture near the administration building of my alma mater, the University of Lisbon. I don't normally like graffiti, but this kitty is absolutely precious.

Sunday, 24 May 2009

Lisbon? Is that in Spain? II: The Return of the Inacuracy.


Lisbon? Is that in Spain?

P I met a rather sympathetic fellow online once. He was from Texas, and asked me if Portugal was off the shore of Spain, as Sicily is off the shore of Italy.
P This sort of thing happens quite a lot, which is starting to annoy me.
P If you have doubts regarding my country, then, by all means, go here.

Friday, 13 March 2009

Doctor Jocular and Mister Snyde

P Do you know what is really funny? A dry plum telling jokes!
P Or you could go here...

Pound Cake

P This is the only cake that I know how to make, but I do know how to make it; so here’s the recipe.
P That’s right, a recipe. I did say there would be recipes... didn’t I?
P Moving on.
P You shall need the same amount (weight) of flour, eggs, butter and sugar. I find it is best to first weigh the eggs to know how much of everything else you will need. The size of this culinary endeavour I leave to your best judgement (also, I hereby declare that I take responsibility for nothing at all whatsoever).
P Select a suitably sized, microwave-safe bowl. Throw the butter in and mash it a bit with a wooden spoon. If you have just taken it out of the fridge it will be a bit tough, so break it into a few chunks; throw in the the flour and mix it in a bit, then put the bowl in the microwave for about twenty seconds (don’t forget to turn it on).
P You will notice the contents of the bowl are now much more pliable. Stir them for a while and then start adding the sugar in small portions, mixing it in as you go.
P When you have turned all of the butter, flour, and sugar into a more-or-less homogeneous mix, you may add the first egg (without the shell). Mix it in until you can’t tell any bits of yolk or albumen from the rest. Add the other eggs one at a time in this fashion until they are all in, and make sure to stir until there are no lumps, however minute they may be. It is at this time that you might want to add raisins, or berries of some sort, or any sort of fruit, really, as long as there are no excessively large bits; I am especially fond of freshly picked blackberries, but they can be difficult to procure; be creative, is my advice.
P Now that you have the prospective cake ready, it is time to bake it. Select a suitable pan or form (shape is up to you), rub the inside thoroughly with butter, give it a light dusting of flour and then pour in the dough. Put it in the very centre of the oven at 160ºC and wait until it turns golden, then stick something slender in it (seriously): if it looks as though your cake is still “wet” inside then it is not done. Keep probing every five minutes and be careful not to leave it in for too long or it will become unpleasantly dry. After it has cooled, turn the form upside down over a clean dishcloth and tap lightly until your work of art comes off.
P And there you go, you have a pound cake.
P Bon appétit.

What Are Those Interregnum Chronicles Of Which You Speak?

P Yes, well. On the fifth of October 1910 (the very date makes me shudder) a great monstrosity took place: a republic was imposed upon my country. Now, I am one of precious few who still resist the brainwashing tendencies of mainstream thought, and it is not easy. Being a monarchist (not the same as a royalist) in Portugal nowadays is very unusual, and we are not treated politely when we come out of the garderobe, so to speak (“You’re a what?”; “Have you no shame?”; “Now, don’t be silly, you silly person.”; “Oh, I’m sure he’ll grow out of it, Mrs L.”; woe be me...). And all this just for having beliefs that’ve been out of fashion for almost a century. Well, I’m sorry if I’m not a fashion victim (I am not sorry).
P It is thus that I stand up proudly and say, Yes, I’m a monarchist, and no, I have no shame.
P And I shall not be put down.

The Beginning of Something... Bloggish

P The idea of a blog has been fluttering about this room of mine for a while now (ideas flutter, you know – and this one also speaks: ‘A blog,’ quoth the idea upon my chamber door...), but alas, I knew not about what to blog... until, a few days ago, the idea struck me (they do that, too) to write about politics, and society, and recipes, and pets, and stuff. ‘Tis not much of an epiphany, I know, but together with circumstance it finally made me do it: recent intimate contact with blogging (doesn't this sound silly), together with finding in advance I would have a Friday to myself (always a dangerous thing, when my mind starts to wander – and she does call on all sorts of interesting ideas when she goes out) and that it would be the thirteenth – well, I just had to do something (that this something should be starting a blog says a bit about me, I suppose).
P So here’s a blog. I hope I like it – and I do hope you like it too, whoever you are (welcome, by the way).
P Here goes...