Movie Time

Tough to entertain the kids in an empty flat... 

La Mudanza

We're moving house. Well, specifically we're moving from flat to house, from Buenos Aires to Lima,  

According to the google and people in bars, Moving House is one of the most stressful things you can experience, which I maintain is a pile of crap. Death, new job, booking flights online... they're more stressful without even thinking about it.

That said, I'm not saying it isn't a monumental pain. You never mention to a mate that you're moving and have them reply: Oh, packing boxes and sorting through piles of important time consuming crap? Count me in! Dust particles behind your retina? Love it. When do you want me there? How's 0830 for you?

Fortunately, Katie's work saved us the most of the hassle by sending strong men with their own boxes to do all the work for us, which was excellent, as even without doing the heavy lifting I am as tired as I have been for a long long time typing this.

But it's cathartic.

So now about everything we own is in boxes in the van below. The furniture goes tomorrow...

.. and so when the strong men left, they left a handful of industrial sized toys - such as giant bubble wrap - that the girls thought would be cracking to play with... We wrapped Maia in it and played house pinball. Quite fun really. For the three of us, anyway. Maia's cries of delight/terror were muffled.

And they also left a series of murder weapons that we found Maia sizing up, possibly in revenge for House Pinball. Nice touch, Men.

Yup. That's a stanley knife, a tape cutter... and a saw.

Una Cabala

Boca Campeon, and the cabala...

Tramites

Sir Ben Kinsley, rather type cast in Gandhi II

There is very very little new that I can possibly hope to add on this subject. Suffice to say that after three hours of queuing at the Peruvian Consulate, I reached a new tramites low.

My visit culminated in me being shown the door.

I wasn't at all rude, just a bumbling, clueless foreigner, trying to bust his way into the man's country, and The Man was having none of it. Something hadn't been signed, or apostiled, or pre-approved by the approved body.

So, in a rather undignified denouement, a door was opened, and the only mean Peruvian I've met so far pronounced:

Senor, and with exaggerated ceremony. La puerta.

For Sale

We're leaving, and we're selling the following! Buyer organises pick up, comment if you want any further info. Nos vamos y estamos vendiendo el sigiuente. El comprador debe organizar la mudanza, para mas informacion, dejame un commentario. Dougs 

Entertainment Unit $1200
SOLD/VENDIDO

Couch and cushions: $550
SOLD/VENDIDO

Purple Lamp: $350

Kitchen table: $400
Chairs: $75 each (there are 4...)
or $600 for everything.   

Red writer's desk: $450 matching chair: $150
or  $550 for both.  

Parilla! $350 

Bumbo Baby Seat, from 3 months: $120 

Phil & Ted: double stroller and all accessories, including newborn carry cot. rain shield, adaptors.
$1900  

Dougs 

If You Do These Things, Stop It.

Yeah. Like that. Exactly like that. 

Here's a list of the most annoying things people can ever do. They're mundane, but that just elevates the amount that I want my own heart to explode, just to give me an escape.

1. Laughing in public, for attention.  You know. That laugh? Technically it's identical to a sincere laugh, but just a millisecond less spontaneous, a microsecond more forced. We're onto you, attention-seaking-laughers. You crave our attention. We loathe you still. No one is going to ask you what's so funny. Note: if people do this, do NOT ask them what was funny. Poke them in the eye.

2. Reading what's on your t-shirt. Just die. Please. Thanks.

In 34 years, I have never even killed so
much as killed someone in a cinema.
And yet do I have even one medal? No.  

3. Almost anything in a cinema screening. Is there anything another human can do in the cinema that doesn't make you want to strangle them with their own intestines? Eating popcorn, checking their phone, talking, chewing, explaining the plot to their half witted friend. When I went to the King's Speech, at the end, a woman turned to her partner and said, as if she's worked out The Usual Suspects after half an hour: Oh, look at that! He did the whole speech without stuttering once! Oh. Wow. Ruined. 

4. Offer their opinion. Here's a good rule of thumb. If you know my name, you may express an opinion to me. Taxi drivers and hairdressers, take special note. 

5. People who still act as though they are bewildered by technology that really is so common that the joke is woefully out of date.
- Idiot: Oh have you got one of those iPods, or iSmabs, or, what are they called, iSpoons?
- Human: Yes, I have an iPad.
- Idiot: Oh, aren't you just the hippest! All the gadgets. What happened to people just talking to each other anyway?
- Human: They used to, then people like you started talking and now they play Angry Birds infinitely as a way of avoiding any social contact ever again.
- Idiot: Hey, what does your t-shirt say... Just. Die. Please.... I don't get it. Are you going to Twoot that? Is that it. Are you on Twoot.com? Am I saying it right? 
- Human: No. 

6. Other jokes woefully out of date: middle class jokes with the punchline hummus or organic. Enough's enough.  

7. People who haven't watched enough TV to find something you say funny. If make a reference to the Hoff, and you don't know who the Hoff is, shame on you. This is your fault, and the awkwardness as you look at me, lost, is entirely your doing. You have killed the moment. Find out what you are doing wrong, correct it, and get back to me as soon as you can: tell me how much you laughed, retrospectively, apologise, and I will forgive you. But have no doubt that it is you who is at fault.

8. Saying Wo-ah when a waiter brings your food to the table. In a really decent restaurant. Seriously: that was painfully embarrassing when you said it at an 8 years old's birthday party at TFIs. Don't do it here, they've a maitre d' and everything. It killed me to get a reservation... Wo-oah, hummus!

9. Asinine Facebook updates. Examples: 

Alex Long has got to get fit. Bill likes this. 

Don't encourage him, Bill.   


Then again, sometimes you get something like this. 

10. Ah, forget it, life's alright. Just re the Alex the werewolf thing again. Credit where it's due.

Road Trip

Packed up the car for a week at the beach in Carilo - idyllic little hideaway about a 5 hour drive south of Buenos Aires on the coast. Everything was going absolutely fine until Katie, trying to strap Maia in to her car seat, accidentally caught her own arm in the harness.    

Monglike, but putting on a brave face, she was unable to free her left arm.

Leah and I went for a coffee... as truly we thought she would have freed herself pretty quickly. Aron Ralsten would have bitten his arm off for such a simple conundrum.  

127 hours later, still mystified by the working of the dual strap. Child safety, for you. 

Leah and I talked about continuing on foot.  

Still there. Light starting to fade... 

Infiltrated!

After 5 happy years of blogging, I have somehow remained under the radar.

However, at work today I was given a present, by two of our most excellent senior students.

Here, Sir, we got you this, they chuckled, conspiratorially, as they produced a Starbucks cup with DOUGAL FERGUSSON written on it (photo to follow).

I laughed, thanked them, but as I did so, thought Hang on a minute, how the hell do you... 

We found your blog!! they said

As I never blog about work, I figure I'll keep on blogging. And maybe fail them for the year, just to keep them on their toes.

Child Psychology For Idiots

New game!

Rules:
1. Get a Mr Potato Head and one or more small people.
2. Leave said Mr Potato Head out for children to play with.
3. Pick up Mr Potato Head at end of the day.

How To Play: 
Based on the way in which they leave the Mr Potato Head... psychoanalyse them. If you're playing properly, base all future decisions based on that. More fun that advice from babycenter.com

(Editor/Creator's Note: My kids have one each. No, not because we're minted, but because teaching them to share takes like way longer than clicking Buy Another! on Amazon).

Here's how Day 1 went:

Maia's Projection

 Maia, bless her, couldn't tell her ear from her eyeelbow. 

And last but not least messed up, here's Leah's Projection 

Not wanting to hurt its feelings, and slightly scared it may attack,
I chose not to point out that the lipstick was foolin' no one.   

So... Freud? Lacan? JBarton9? Anyone? What's going on with these dudes?

Getting Kids Back Into School

One The Guardian this week was a superb article about the Improvements in public education in Argentina. Sandcastles against a Tsumani it may be, but any positive story on education, in Argentina or anywhere else, is worth a read in my opinion.

Physically getting kids into school and involved in the institution is the first in what is a long journey to success. Education is one consistent differentiator between where someone is born and where that person end up in life.

And, whilst I am being pious, allow me to offer my own solution in this link - let's get these kids back into school: quick fix here. 

Dia del.. qualquiera



Dia del Maestro advert in Tucuman.
Hot Teacher + Chalk = Photoshop

Argentina has 18 Bank Holidays. EIGHTEEN. It's bloody brilliant.
As a teacher, throw in a strike or two, a day's illness and a school trip and you're down to about a 4 day year. And people wonder why standards are slipping! Your teachers are hammered, every long weekend, people, that's why.

Anyway, it's actually quite hard to keep track of what you're celebrating. I've coloured coded this entry to help you.
  

I for one am losing track of the dias. It was Dia del Maestro yesterday, Teacher's Day: we were served a massive buffet of superb food by the parents, and showered with gifts. Quite right too, we're bloody important, teachers, and frankly it is impressive organisation sneaking in a Teacher's Day in amongst all the holi-days.


Weird Science celebrate Dia de la Secretaria.
Kelly Le Brock, anyone? Seriously, anyone?

I got in trouble with the Secretaries last week, as I missed Dia de la Secreteria. If you are a male secretary, you find that you have been grammatically written out of this day. Then again, if you are a male secretary in Argentina, everyday is a gender equality struggle.

Not very good at this, am I? Dia del Amigo I missed completely. I was in the pub drinking with mates, so I hope they forgive me. And yes, through the colour choice I am trying to infer that Dia del Amigo is the campest day yet. Yes including Madri Gras. What are guys supposed to do on Friends Day? Well, here I suppose they sit around in cafes sharing a tiramasu and talk about their feelings.

The reason I missed Secretary Day was because it was completely pointless, and I had only just recovered from Children's Day.

And yes, I draw the line at Dia del Niño.

What are you doing for Dia del Niño? I was asked a dozen times an hour for a week. Finally, I snapped, as I was innocently asked what special treatsome plans I had in store for my darlings by a colleague in the Staff Room.



Piss off, you get every day anyway.

I'm not doing f*** all, if I'm honest. That's what, Carina, thanks for asking. Every frikkin day is Children's Day. I wake up every Saturday morning with a mental blueprint of the best possible weekend in store for the little uns. Sleep, sport, night out. Do I ever do it? Do I bollox! When's lie in with your wife day? When's get a good night's sleep day?

Every weekend is a tailor made kiddie holiday. Cause I'm a good father? No. Survival instinct and a very slow learning process teaches you that you base the day around them, not you.

If we did what I wanted - namely, write sarcastic blog entries all morning in a cafe, then go for a run, then spent the afternoon drinking and watching sport - then the day would be horrendous. I'd come home to a justifiably fuming wife and two bored, irritated children. So we don't do that: we go to the zoo, or the park, or play the Maisy the Retarded Mouse bored game (no typo), or watch Waybuloo and discuss NokTop's feelings about Ee-low (real names), or a thousand and one other things to get us through to 8 o'clock bedtime and booze. 

And is it fun? Yeah. It's amazing, and I love it. 

But don't expect me to do something special on Dia del Niño. Trip to the moon, kids? It's your special day after all.

Ingrates.

Flashmob Buenos Aires

Gotta love a flashmob... que buena onda

Tramites

Many things have been said about Argentine bureaucracy. None funnier or better than here:

Taller de la Ribera

It was Dia del Nino in Argentina on Sunday. More on that in the following entry, but this wonderful Taller de la Ribera was running painting workshops for little 'uns. So we took Leah.

I had seen a number of Leah's previous artistic efforts from jardin, and it is fair to say that she is still in a very abstract experimental stage. I understand that one is subjective as a parent, but I would argue that she is revelling in the juxtaposition of convention, colour and form, whilst a more objective response might be that she doesn't know what the frikk she's doing.

However, I had never seen her painting live. I was excited about seeing first hand her process.

First though, we had to decide on a subject. Leah has been going through a fascination of the interplay of light and canvas, so we though we should try to depict something relevant but also something that is very 'now', without descending into anything too derivative.

Pointilism.

After a brief, but I have to say fraught 'discussion' about the niceties of pointilism

After what could be describes as a clash of artistic ideals, she decided to do her own thing.

Reduced to a mere photographer, I sat back, judged, and snapped at people.

I'll be honest, I was quite impressed by the final effort. Remember, she is only 3.

Exam Questions You Will Never See

It's getting close to exam season with my Poli3 students (oldest ones, A level types). Reading through a Past Paper, one young chispa brillante (bright spark?) asked why exam questions were so incredibly dull.

- No one ever asks anything interesting, Sir? Why is that? They're always set in these ridiculous made up situations that would never occur in real life. 

He was bang on. Anyone who has sat an exam in the UK in the last 20 years will remember the classic Maths GCSE:

Question: Abdul, Takul and Wee Billy are playing in the sand pit. Abdul has 3 sandcastles, Takul has 2, Billy has none. Why is this?
Answer: Coz Billy's da says he's no ti play wi Pakis. 

That may not be factually accurate, nor is ever Billy a hideous racist (some of my best mates are called Billy. I would have loved to be a Billy myself...) but I do remember that it brought up more issues of race than it did arithmetic.

We had just looked at a Past Paper for the English Language paper, which had the following question:

Your local politician is organising a fun run, and would like to hear from students in the area who have fundraising ideas for charity. Write a letter outlining your ideas for a fun, fundraising idea. 

- For a start, Sir, if this was in Argentina, they would just be trying to steal our money, so no would send ideas. Secondly, what politician has to ask for school students - who can't vote anyway - for suggestions on how to raise money. That's their job. And, shouldn't they have taxes to spend on local charities?

Inspired by this rebellious thinking, I set them a homework task. Based on the themes of Carol Ann Duffy's The World's Wife, write an example exam question that you will never see. They had to state a form, an audience and a purpose. The themes are marriage, sexual orientation, gender roles, social expectations...

I don't think I have ever been so proud of a set of students based on some homework:

1. Discursive writing. Some people believe a woman's place is in the home. Others believe it is in the kitchen. Discuss.

2. You are a horrible racist. Write the transcipt of a 'listener phone in' conversation you have with your local radio station on the subject of immigration.

3. You are gay. Defend yourself.

4. Some people believe that homosexuals should be locked up. Others believe they should be shot! Write an essay arguing both sides of this argument.  

5. Write a magazine article exploring the following statement: An ugly (rich) man is more likely to get a beautiful woman than an ugly woman is a handsome man.

Anyone for a Karry?

Take the most irritating parts of living in Indian and Argentina, combine them into one restaurant, call it ALI, and what have you got?

That's right. The Worst Restaurant In The World. I tried to order food from them last year, and the process took over SIX hours. Full story below. 

Inexplicable, in a city where over 50% of the restaurants closed last year including a couple of gems, this place is not only still open for business but has just upscaled and moved to the prime location of MY STREET in Martinez. Well, one away, but it's alarmingly close for comfort. 

Lies, Damn Lies, and Ali: Indian Restaurant

Based on my own experience, I would have to say that the advertising board above the restaurant contains the following misleading information:  

1. That it is Indian. 

2. That it is a Restaurant. 

3. That it does Catering. 

4. That they will do Delivery. 

And if you don't believe me and think this is simple hyperbole, take the Special's Board from last Tuesday as a test of competency:   

Unable to decide between Spanish, English or Indian, the
brain trust behind ALI decided to make up their own language. 

Milanesa is breaded, battered steak, as Indian as... breaded battered steak. Or Chicken Breasts, which is your second option.

Take Away (Your Will To Live)

When I ordered delivery from them last year, I assumed that a place so incompetent would be out of business within a month. Just before Maia was born, craving some Indian spice, I foolishly stepped forth into ALI, San Isidro one fateful afternoon in March.

After the maitre d' confirmed that they did do delivery, I took a menu, made my order, which the maitre d' seemed to take down meticulously, paid the bill of $104 then and there, and cycled back towards home.

After an hour, I thought I'd just call, having written the number down as displayed on their menus. An Argentine girl answered the phone. She appeared to know absolutely nothing about an Indian Restaurant called ALI.

I tried again, assuming I had mis-dialed. Eventually, the idiot girl admitted that she did work at the ALI, but did not know anything about my order. I can only guess that the maitre d' was just visiting mates, and spoke not a word of Spanish, and therein began the confusion.

Me - Si, Fergusson: chicken karry, motton para dos... ?

My recitation of our order seemed to trigger something in her because she cut me off and started, I assumed, reading back my order, only wrongly:

Idiot Girl - Chicken Kebap, Lamb Kebap, Motton Kebap, Sheema Naan, Korma de Pollo, Korma de Carne, Carne con Naan, Carne sin Naan...

... as I realised during her monotonous enumerating drone that she was reading back the entire menu to me.

Exasperated, I put Katie on the phone. Katie repeated the request to trace the Fergusson order that, I remembered with horror, was ALREADY PAID FOR. If I gave up, as any sane person would do at this point, I would have given away $104. To idiots. I was in this for the long haul.

The Idiot Girl replied, as if to clarify - Chicken Kebap, Lamb Kebap, Motton Kebap, Sheema Naan, Korma de Pollo, Korma de Carne, Carne con Naan, Carne sin Naan...


Katie handed back the phone.

This is almost the exact opposite
of the food we never actually at.  

Idiot Girl, in fairness, was at quite disadvantage, clearly knowing nothing at all about Indian food, food, how to work in a restaurant nor how to conduct a conversation. Makes being a waitress dealing with phone orders in a karry house rather a tough gig.

Katie gave up and handed me the phone. I asked to speak to someone... at the restaurant?

She put someone from the restaurant on. An Indian male, by his voice. Within seconds I was starting to miss Idiot Girl like a dear friend.

Indian Male - Yes, hello, si, kepab pollo, chikken con kenap, motton sir would you like to try the Sheema Naan, Korman de Pollo, Ferrgussun, carne Naan...
Me - Oh, put Idiot Girl back on the phone, I shouted.
Idiot Girl took the phone.
Idiot Girl - Chicken Kebap, Lamb Kebap, Motton Ke...
Me - Oh don't you start that sh... 

Somehow we fell into a system where I would speak Spanish with Idiot Girl, but she would need assistance on anything to do with food, delivery or life: from Indian Man. She could read a menu, from start to finish, but could not apparently do anything else.

Somehow I communicated that we would like $104 worth of food (any Indian food will do!), as already paid for, and I communicated our address, triple confirmed everything, and put the phone down.

About an hour and a half later, still no food. I called back. We communicated the following:

Me - Hi, remember me? Is my food, you know, ready?
Indian Man - Yes, Fergussam, your food is ready. Actually, it is getting quite cold.
Me - What do you mean?
Indian Man - Ah, Ferboomsong, but we don't have a car or any means of transport.

Well, of course you don't.


Me - Can't you order a taxi, and send them to us with the food?
Indian Man - No. 


Turns out he was right. He couldn't get a taxi to deliver the food. I called our local taxi company, and asked them to send a taxi to ALI's. They wouldn't - saying they don't send taxis unless there is someone at that address. They also said they would not send a taxi to the ALI restaurant.

So I called a different taxi company, intending to lie, saying that I was in the ALI restaurant, and when the taxi was to arrive, the Indian Man could then ask them to deliver the food to me. And pay for the taxi.

This is almost too complicated to write, so you can imagine how unsuccessful I would be explaining this on the phone to Idiot Girl and co.

Incidentally, by this time we'd already had a pizza. It was about 11pm, I think. But I wanted my bloody $104 worth of food!!

But the thought of trying to explain all of that to ALI was too much, so I gave up on the whole taxi thing, and the whole Indian food thing, cancelled the taxi and went to bed.    

Just as I dropped off to sleep, there was a buzz on the door. Wandering downstairs half asleep, I picked up the receiver:

Me - Hola?
Indian Man - Yes, hello, si, kepab pollo, chikken con kenap, motton sir would you like to try the Sheema Naan, Korman de Pollo, Ferrgussun, carne Naan...

Popularity Ratings

So, Cristina - quite recently the least popular Premier in Latin America (click right to enlarge) - won the primaries last weekend, hands down, with a smooth 50% of the vote, 38% more than the next best candidate.

Cristina made several statements about how the Primaries show Argentina's voting system is more transparent than ever. That may be, but the net is hardly thrown wider: the three main candidates were the current President, who's husband was the previous Prez, Duhalde, President in 2002-3, and Alfonsín, a President's son.

Not even following the politics closely, it would impossible not to know that La Presidenta's popularity rating fell like a lead cliché in her first term, dropping as low as 23%. Then again, if you use the Maths by which they calculate inflation, that figure is actually 67%. Go fiddle. 

Her rating did rise after her husband, Nestor, died of a heart attack suddenly last year, an experience she faced with dignity.

Time to buy some choripan?

But it does not explain how she then got 50% of the vote, 38% more than the next best candidate? A classic Argentine paradox?

Marriage

It was explained to me as follows: It's like a marriage. You may well find that your initial popularity rating with the other half is quite high, but that will plummet after a brief honeymoon period. That said, when it comes round to decision time, there are simply no other credible candidates so, in spite of a pop rating of around 14%, you still get the nod for another term.

Vote: Green screen or rent-a-crowd? 

Still, Fuerza, Crissie, and good luck in the next term. It should be an interesting second round, given that in her first round Wikip will tell you , not necessarily in these words, that she pissed off:
- the United States (suitcases of dollars, rocking up late to the G20, WikiLeaks...)
- all the farmers (hiking levies up by over 10% overnight)
- people who like water (vetoing a law that "jeopardised 75% of the world's water supplies")
- more than half of the press tried (trying to bully out of publication the opposition newspaper, Clarín
- the British (Malvinas/Falklands, and her refusal to say sorry more)
- her country's Central Bank (trying to re-route $6.7b of public funds to pay off interest: when blocked by the Central Bank's President, she had him removed, which turned out to be illegal, whereupon he was reinstated, whereupon he resigned with the famous parting line: "Fuck this")
- people who aren't millionaires (her private asset wealth has rise 572% during her and her husband's Presidency)
- Brazil (can't recall why).

Now, obviously if you dislike many of the above - and who doesn't get pissed off with the Yanks, the Brits and water from time to time? -  then you'll find a vote or two.

This entry is ridiculously one-sided of course and mostly partly sort-of made up for humorous reasons. I  state for partiality that many would point to the massive improvements she has made in reforming children's education, in promotion of Human and Equal Rights, and that she presides over a country with an economy that continues to grow. Oh, and whose teenagers don't do allota lootin', are nice to children, and give their seats to people on buses.

Family Photo

Surfing in Pipa

It has always upset me how women seem to fancy surfers rather than cricketers. Being a cricketer, I devoted my teenage winters to the loving practice of oiling my bat rather than vainly waxing my board.  

While the cricketer modestly keeps his equally well-honed Scottish opening batsman's physique behind yards of smartly pressed whites, your average surfer lollops along the beach like some sort of half-naked sporting neanderthal. 

No sex wax was required for me to have a good day of honest sporting fun. Just a sun hat, factor 60, a spare rubber and eleven other chaps just as happy hitting the leather as I was.  

Still no euphemisms in this entry. 

Cricket never caught on in Brazil. Apparently, if my history serves, whilst being colonised by the beastly Portuguese, the slave driving brutes packed surfboards when they should of course have packed the more sensible British option.

That is: whites, sun hats, six stumps, two sets of bails, a lawnmower, 3 bats, 2 balls, 6 pairs of pads, a couple of cod piece fitting boxes, batting and keeping gloves, spikes, a couple of batting helmets for the under 15s, a heavy and light roller, a pavilion, covers, a scorer (he'll have his own stationary), two ladies to do the lunches, vaseline, twenty two gentleman and two umpires with a copy of the rule book each.   

The beach on Pipa was a case in point. For some reason, women prefer to waste their time watching this sort of thing than honour the greatest game at, say, Raeburn Place during a drizzly 4 hour Edinburgh Accies' batting performance.  

I have no intention of trying to sound like a know more about surfing than I do, but even a blind novice could how good this break is. Nice even right to lefts that would make an 8 year old look good. And I think the one to the right is a girl!    

And, when I zoomed right in, I saw that that very 8 year old was right there, being made to look good by the easy breaks. To misquote Dennis Hooper: I love the smell of emasculation in the morning. But I bet he couldn't read a tricky leg spinner. He'd play him off the pitch, which is the same thing. 

It's a mystery to me why women fancy these people. Look at this guy. And I know my wife did. I, for one, cannot see why anything here would be considered more alluring that a good forward defensive shot, never mind a cover drive. Women, eh?

Besides, weaving in and out of the boats, riding a wave in to the shore...? That sort of showing off smacks of insecurity. Whereas as a drop into the leg side and a decisive quick single? That'll get a pretty lady's heart fluttering.

I think that might be a pretty girly girl. Long board or long room, you should be making the sandwiches.

I rest my case. Bat Oil 1 Sex Wax 0. 

Skol: The Rebrand.

As mentioned in the previous entry, the biggest surprise I've had in Brazil so far is the prominence of Skol lager. Well, that and the fact that the g-string bikini is deemed appropriate for all 3 generations.

Turns out Skol has undergone something of a Brazilian Rebrand from what I remember.

When I were a lad, Skol was the joke of all beers. I remember Skol being the beer you drank after finishing the Tennants, singing The Skol Song as you did so to detract from the taste. And that's aged 17, when cooking brandy, Mad 20/20 and aftershave are your drinks menu.  

You remember the Skol song? Didn't think so, but youtube and I did. It went like this:

Even the makers of Skol thought their lager was worse than Tennants. The ad looks like old men holding urine samples. The strapline? Horribly good lager. The Pot Noodle of beer. 

Now, the Brazilians know a thing or two about life. Faced with a prospect even an Advertising Supremo like Don Draper would have struggled with, namely trying to translate a product fronted by Hagar the Horrible and his animated chanting friends into a product desirable to a beach and sun loving country who hardly drink.

I can only assume the meeting went something like this. In Portuguese:

- Guys, how are we going to sell this awful beer?

Awkward silence. A moment of inspiration, as a junior ad man with hidden talent raises a nervous hand to unveil the idea that had been worming around his head since Junior High.

- Has anyone thought of using... you know, instead of the animated Viking God... um... we could use... er... big tits?

Emboldened, another young upstart chips in, tentatively:

- ... and buttocks? Again, just if you're not going with the whole animated Viking God... thing...?
- Hmm, says Draper, pondering the idea. Big tits and buttocks? Should we keep the song? The chant? Hmm. OK, it's worth a shot. Creative, get to work. 

And only hours later, they'd come up with these:

 

And who would have thought? Sales improved.

A lot.