No thought must go unblogged, so…
I like how languages adapt themselves to incorporate foreign words, and just spell them so they can be pronounced the same. For example: bikini is spelt biquíni here. And sandwich is sanduíche. Hurrah.
It’s completely understandable, because we are humans and we tend to like comfort; but isn’t there something fundamentally odd about going to the seaside and using an umbrella to shade you from the sun, a blanket to stop you getting covered in sand, and a towel to cut short the amount of time you are wet? I know it could be said about most activities we do, but, I dunno, it just seems amusing to me.
I saw a guy in an old-fashioned swimsuit. A proper all-in-one job, like a guy from the early 20th century. He had a baseball cap on, which destroyed my imagination that I’d travelled back in time, though.
I was walking along the beach last night and the busboy from the hotel came up to me, and apologised for the hotel telling me they had wifi in the rooms when that was quite clearly false. (There may well be a wifi signal thingy, but it doesn’t seem to actually be connected to the Internet.) How nice is that? Can you imagine that happening in, say, Berlin?
Today, three people have mentioned David Beckham after I told them I was English.
And this morning, I did something so ridiculously like a ’70s sitcom moment. In the restaurant at breakfast, I was in front of the pushy-lever thingy full of orange juice. I pushed the glass forward so that the lever began releasing juice into the glass. Then I got distracted by a very pretty lady in a bikini who was walking to her table. I was still pushing the lever. The juice overflowed.
Is it just a really bad sign at how easy it is to become part of the modern corporate world’s devious plans to dominate our brains that I automatically assume that anyone wearing Nike is Brazilian, and anyone wearing Adidas is Argentinian just because they are the manufacturers of those nations’ football team kits?
And finally, after a few hours sunbathing today, I’ve managed to turn my pasty white English skin into a nice landscape of pink pain. With my tanned arms, neck and exposed-due-to-lots-of-flip-flop-use feet, I now look like Neapolitan ice cream.