This is Brasil!

Maybe i should just turn this inti a travel blog as that seems to be the only time i have to write now. I assume no-one is following this anymore anyway so this is more like a digital time capsule when some unlucky sod types the wrong string into google.

It’s World Cup time again. 3rd one in a row for Australia and i imagine the last. We’re looking at probably our lowest goal total since ’74 which brings a nice circular end to the journey.

I got to heathrow yesterday after work and was mortified by the groups of English fans absolutely smashed off their collective faces. But the thing was, they were young scallies or anything. These were 50-60 year old blokes, with matching (from what i could make out) faded forearm tattoos, accessorised by random smatterings of other tattoo’s in various visible areas – some of which completed – and most involving george’s cross and/or a lion or three. I can just imagine their dad’s taking them out in ’66 as pale 4 year olds to emblazen their future on their arms.

I could have lived with it were it not for the unimaginative songs they were creating. Thank god i am not going anywhere near an England game.

But wait…

Apparently to get to the jungle where England are going to try to match Italy, they needed to change in Lisbon also.


So now i find myself sat down next to two guys that have apparently been drinking since February – neither of which in their correct seats and i fess up to being Australian. The lack of any distinct accent from any country did not seem to trouble these two scholars as they proceeded to display their profound knowledge of Australia.

You’re all gay!

You’re shit at sports!

Who was i to argue.

Sloshed Brits: So what are you on this flight for?
Me: I’m making my way to Brazil.
SB: What the fuck are you going there for? It can’t be for the football, cause you’re shit at sports…must be for shark hunting or something.
Me: …yes, it is for shark hunting.
SB: Why Brazil then, why don’t you do it in your own fucking country?
Me: Because the gays are against it…

The longer the conversation went on, the more i learnt about myself from these incredible minds. It was like a bastardised variant of chinese whispers or that game they make you play as kids where each person adds something to the story and you take turns relaying it from the start.

By the end of the flight i had fled from the gays and lack of sportsmanship in Sydney, to move to the UK where i became a famous expat (due to my name – Marshall – being written on my headphones) who travelled the world as an imitation seal for various shark hunting cartels living off the danger money and was travelling to Brazil for further business opportunities.

When we got split up after disembarking i was unable to find them to carry on the conversation so instead looked to the bar of soap in my hotel bathroom as their intellectual equals.

I was not best-pleased at the Captain’s decision to turn it into a dry flight, though could completely understand his reasonings. He of course did not have three lions tattooed on his chest and was unlikely to change that in the very near future.

Having migrated from a pre-pubescent excuse for a plane for the London to Lisbon leg to his older brother for the Lisbon-Porto Alegre leg, i must say i am a little disappointed in TAP airlines. My top 5 reasons so far (i have between 8 or 9 hours still to go so there may be an addendum or two) :

1. There is chewing gum on the floor right where my right foot wants to be.
2. The meal ‘option’ was fish. I asked what are the alternatives and was told there wasn’t any.
3. They have provided the most uncomfortable pair of headphones i have every experienced that are most likely going to do more damage to my hearing and bone structure in my ears than Rembrandt could have imagined…it was Rembrandt wasn’t it?
4. That i can’t remember which artist cut off his ear for my previous punchline.
5. That it took me three hours to figure out i could put my headphones in one of the holes and they still work…


2 witty retorts to “This is Brasil!”

  1. squires says:

    still just me…

    How do you know what the pilot had on his chest?

    Van Gogh.
    The italians pronounce it funny so in my company they have to repeat it 2 or 3 times before I understand.


  2. squires says:

    recent comments thing on the right of the page is a little bit awesome.

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