Well, it's a Saturday and my mother would like to visit a Brazilian festival on the other side of London. Having avoided these occasions several times, guilt caught up to me and forced me to go. My brother can run faster than me, therefore guilt/my father has not caught him yet.
45 minutes on the District Line. Creative Zen M running out of battery. The day already looks bleak.
I arrived (with my mother, obviously) and was instantly shocked by its looks. The only way it could have been more low-key was if it was actually just a key. School fetes look at this "festival" and thank their lucky stars for their £5 budget. There were the traditional food stalls, a highlight as when I have food in my mouth, I am not requested to talk. You could buy cheap sunglasses, always fun. Unfortunately, I was too big for the bouncy castle.
I have jumped the gun. I am Brazilian. Half of my family is. Therefore, it is not weird for me or my family to go to one of these. However, I cannot speak Portuguese, but I can understand it very well. This is used for comic effect later in my day.
Anyway, we go and meet my mother's friend, Krazee. No real names are used in this blog, just random associations of letters. We meet Krazee, who cannot seem to shut up and she introduces us to the rest of the workers there. I stay quiet, yet polite and say hi. I say "Hi" not, "Oi", so they immediately assume I do not speak Portuguese. "Oi" is a colloquial word for "Hello" in Brazil, not something that scum shout at you whilst trying to gain your attention and rob you. What was I saying?
Oh, right. They assume I know nothing about Portuguese, so it is fine to speak about me and what a terrible person I am because I do not know the language. Talking about me in front of my back, just in a different language. I understand all of this and reply with "Interesting conversation, good thing I don't know Portuguese, eh?" Silence is made. I am content.
Next, Krazee takes us to see the local church which has just been restored. This might be good. The history of some buildings is actually interesting at times. It all fell apart after one sentence.
"The angels are holding shields, I don't know what any of them mean, but..."
I was not aware she was a professional guide.
Afterwards, she starts talking about the restoration of the church, thanks to the local Brazilian community. She seems very proud, despite only being part of this community for three months. This is also after the rant about the Irish community being to small to make any significant steps in restoring the Church. I have found the only place where the Irish are not a major part of the community. Except Ireland, of course. They're just born there and immediately emigrate.
At this point, some other people walk into the church, one of whom is my age. And female. We introduce ourselves and take a liking to each other, mainly because we are probably the only two people with ages that round (to the nearest 18) to 18. Just when the conversation gets going, Krazee insists we have no time to chat, as does 18's mother, and we go separate ways. Take a drink. Fate has cockblocked me again.
I think now is a good time to describe the sheer idiocy of the purchasing system at this festival. They have added a middle man. You pay your money to someone to get tokens (everything was at the same price, £1.50, awful business scheme) and then you exchange the tokens for what you want. It seemed unnecessarily awkward. I tried to avoid this middle person, but was shot down by a woman wearing a cowboy hat. I think word had spread that I knew Portuguese and Sarcasm. Sarcasm offends the Portuguese a lot, it seems, as there is no sarcasm in Brazil. Apart from that, humour in Brazil and Britain is very similar. Male chicken can also mean penis. Very similar.
There was also a prison system. Lemme explain. You pay 50p and the local sheriff, a boy of about seven, takes you off to prison. The garage. You then pay £1 if you want to release that person. I thought this ingenious and paid 50p for Krazee to be taken away so I could go the fuck home.
45 minutes on the District line. Kill me now.
I blame the Irish community. If they had been bigger, it would be an Irish festival and they would have had better beer. Not SKOL. Why SKOL?
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