The NonStag Stag

Thanks to the people who turned out on a Tuesday night, with total disregard for work the next day. Thom, well played.

Thanks to the Llanos family for all coming too. Pancho and Tomas move so quickly it is tricky to get a good picture. Usually the drunks throw up at the end of the evening, but Alfonso did it early on. He seemed pretty cool about the whole thing.

Cheers Rodrigo, for entertaining the crowd. This is like an Oscar speech ................and finally, thanks to The Diminutive One for blowing up the balloons. I really should marry that girl.........

Truedat..............

Cue Ball and Chipmunk

Look at that big bald head! And those cheeks............she's got all the nuts she needs for winter in those cheeks.......... The bottom picture is a still from my latest film, "I sold a Kidney to Pay for My Wedding".

Fountains

My Dad asked me the significance of the plane, and the name of the fountain, but as far as I knew it's called "You know, the one by Salvador, where there's always fondling couples on the benches". In an evening it's all lit up and you often see wedding couples having their pictures taken against the back drop of the water. Or, if the photographer has got it wrong, against the back drop of a strange rusty plane.

The Bells, the bells.......

This is where we're getting married on March 17th. The church has a certain Ammityville/Adams Family air about it from certain angles. Bodes well then........

Bellavista

One of the districts of Santiago, Bellavista is a real mixture of a place. The main drag, Pio Nono, is full of cheap bars, drunks, skinheads, street vendors etc Round the corner you'll find posh eateries, and if you get off the main streets you'll find things like this. It's all low rise so far, though I guess there'll be the ubiquitous apartment blocks soon enough. JT and I were on our way to see one of Pablo Neruda's houses when I took these.

Where Did I put my Phone?

Smack bang in the heart of the city, just by Plaza Italia, is the Telefonica building. Some cities have landmark opera houses, towers, statues......but Santiago has a giant mobile phone, or "cell phone". It houses one of the telecommunication companies. There must be somebody in that building, at some point during the day who says "Shit, I haven't got any reception......".

Two Weeks to Go

With just two weeks before the impendings here's how we are holding up. Of course, before the whole planning process started I had a full and luscious head of hair (thankfully the angle of these shots don't show the fast developing Cadfael) and Maria was 6ft 3".

Hen Night

The Diminutive One had not one, but two, hen nights. I think this one was the more sedate of the two, as pictures were made available for public consumption. In the one organised by her friends from work the pictures were heavily censored. This might have had something to do with naked firemen, but that's just speculation.

I'm not sure why they had to blindfold Maria in one of these pics - like it would be a big shock to have the blindfold removed and "oh my God we are somewhere with loud music and lots of booze!!".

The top picture is Maria and her best friend, Arlette.

Balcony Shot

It was a strange day for February - the temperature plunged suddenly and it started raining. As the sun went down I took these off the balcony, looking downtown in one direction and towards the mountains the other.

Mean Machine

Where to begin? The LAN Internet Support Call Centre Women's Select 11 (try getting that on a shirt) were recently challenged to a 7 a side game by the "people from the airport". Maria, having played that dreadful game "soccer" when living in the states, was keen to be involved. Due to the ugly nature of shift work, the Internet team (later to refer to each other as "Machines") managed to round up a total of 7. The only criteria was a. turning up and b. two legs. Never having kicked a ball was of no importance. In fact, thinking about it, the two legs wasn't stressed that much.


As I sat watching the other team warm up, in their matching kit, real trainers, stretching their well toned muscles, taking orders from their coach, I glanced over at "The Machines" stood nervously chatting to each other. Two were looking at the ball. Just looking. There was no running, jumping or passing going on. Plus, there were only six of them. Just before kick off there was quite a lot of pointing going on, towards their own goal. If I could have heard I imagine it went something like "It's called a goal, go and stand in it".


To my horror, the game started. Machine number 7 turned up. After a slick passing movement Airport were one up, 68 seconds on the clock. The machines were broken, unplugged. Kick off - two nil. I couldn't watch. After a few minutes the ball started to bobble around a bit in the middle of the pitch, this was progress, although the machines goalkeeper insisted on giving it to the opposition at every opportunity. Three nil, four nil, but at least now the Machines were getting a foot in, not letting the Airport walk the ball home. Ooops, five nil. Maria, knackered, chose to go in goal, a position she'd never played in before, though the same could be said for the whole team. A string of remarkable, brave saves stun the opposition, me and Maria herself. One minute she's down sharply to her right to push one round the post, followed moments later by a sensational tip over the bar. Half time.

After quite a bit of shouting and head scratching at half time it was decided to change the plan - they would try to stop the Airport scoring goals and try to score themselves. It was decided to change goalkeepers again, this time Karen. The Diminutive was to join the hunt for a goal. Please God just let them score I thought.

Second half. The Airport, not content with a squad of 16 and rolling substitutions, have brought on two ten ton tessie's, bigger versions of Russian shotputters. Unfazed, Maria gets stuck in, telling me later the equivalent of "they don't like it up 'em". Karen pulls of one great save after another. "Asparagus Legs" at the back, so called for her spindly green attired legs, has transformed into a sprightly defender. The Airport now have a game on their hands, they are scoring, but less frequently. One slips past Maria as she is shouting at me to take a photo. Bugger.


Five minutes left on the clock, The Machines, about ten nil down, push out of defence. The ball breaks on the edge of the box and someone punts it towards the Airport goal. The ball hits the keeper, but squirts underneath towards the open goal. The defence are nowhere, it just needs a touch. Suzanna finds herself with the ball, open goal. If she sneezes the momentum would push the ball home. Nothing is certain. She sticks out a foot................


GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLLLLLL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The Machines have scored. The two fellas next to me go mad, I go mad, which is an improvement on the odd pacing I have been doing. The Airport look stunned, their coach looks like he has swallowed a frog. The two ton tessie's are thinking about their tea.

Five minutes later the game ends. Karen and Maria are approached by the Airport to come and train with them, a blatant tapping up. The Machines, grinning from ear to ear, collapse in a heap, then spark up fags and decide where the drinking will take place. The Airport all sit down, sullen faced, to listen to a post match analysis from the coach.

Go Mean Machine!

Humitas

The Diminutive One decided to go the whole hog and make humitas at the weekend. Dismissing my suggestion of buying frozen corn with a "Are you crazy?", she threw herself into the task like a woman possessed, wielding a large knife with such ferocity that I feared for my extremities in such a small kitchen. I retired to the safety of the sofa, being summoned only for reaching things in high cupboards (she is the Diminutive One), or to photograph procedings for posterity. If the photos don't make any sense, or the corn appears to turn from mush back into corn, then I've uploaded the pics in the wrong order.

Pulsera Drenario

All over the place you see people wearing these bracelets, pulsera drenario. I'm told they are supposed to have some kind of healing power, although I suspect this is due to the saints in the pictures rather than the manufacturing process in the plastics factory in China.