The one in which I walk out of the Harlow Square and into the Brazilian Jungle (ish).

Here's the thing, when I got up that morning, it was overcast and a little chilly and I decided, that seeing that the Brazilian punks considered the climate right now for returning to their leather jackets, that I would wear my denim jacket and don jeans instead of shorts.
This was all fine but led so some weirdness later on.

Just as we hit the countryside, we pull over to a supermarket to buy some provisions. We are heading for Demente's grandmothers house on the edges of the jungle. Typically, the moment we agree to have a BBQ there and we have bought the coals and food, it begins to rain.
Now the car, having left proper roads long behind, is heaving through the sort of terrain that you would normally not tackle without a four wheel drive, rocks alarmingly wallop on the bottom of car and I keep getting visions of shattered brake lines. The windscreen wipers are desperately waving MAYDAY, MAYDAY, MAYDAY, MAYDAY, as we dive headlong into a pot hole full of muddy water and emerge the other side like an Alton Towers Jungle experience.
Then Demente says, "If it carries on raining and gets heavier, we shall have to turn back or we will never make it home. These roads quickly deteriorate if the rain gets torrential". I couldn't imagine them worse or I didn't want to.

Finally, the car limps into a dead end, far, far away from the deafening noise of the city into a quiet solitude with only the sound of a light breeze caressing the tops of the trees, creating a sound of a sigh, like it was greeting yet another day in a billion years. 
The house was playing hide and seek in the forest but we soon track it down and Demente shows me around it, he has big plans for this place in the future but then, all plans are big when you are this isolated. We walk to the forest edge and stare into it. Demente explains that it's so thick that there are very few ways into it without a big slashing knife type of thing. Then he says, we can get in here but be careful it is very dangerous.

We gingerly enter and descend down a slippery path of sorts, interlaced with organic trip wires everywhere. We stop for a moment and despite the fact that we are not standing in true jungle (that is way up in the North, we still wonder at people being able to live their lives in an environment like this. We both agree that we have a lot of respect for the indigenous peoples of Brazil. Anyway, back to the fantasy. Demente, taps the floor with a stick ahead of him to remove snakes and spiders in advance. Fortunately the rain had stopped so no quick getaways were now being contemplated,
but then the sun came out and sunshine shot through the trees, searching desperately for the forest floor. At this point the whole engine of the life jumped further into action. It was now humid, sweaty, damp and uncomfortable. Photosynthesis was pushing with renewed enthusiasm, untold trillions of litres of water and nutrients through every living thing, aided and abetted by an advanced rotting process, the true circle of life. We were stumbling over both the digestive and breathing organs of the world's eco system. The jungle, even this pseudo one, could eat endurance for breakfast and spit out the bones of the foolish.

And I did feel foolish.

In my mind, I had always imagined that to be in a Jungle, even this sort of countryside outside of Sao Paulo, required specialised equipment, a kaki covered water bottle that always runs dry at the appropriate moment, a pith helmet and a mosquito filled tent. Now I looked at myself and found I had on a t-shirt, Levi denim jacket, black 501's, black socks and a pair of Converse's. Because I dressed in the city when it was overcast and cool, I was now ready for a night out in my home town Harlow, not here, not this. It was if I had walked out of the Harlow Square straight into the Brazilian jungle (ish).

One thing I did have in my favour, was that in my pocket I had 50 deet mosquito repellent spray which I shared out with Demente before we entered. I also assured myself that, had this been a 'real Jungle' I would definitely have a empty water bottle, a mosquito filled tent and a pith helmet.

We went as far as it was safe to go and then just stood there listing to the sounds of the forest and it's animals for a while. I felt all wrong, like I had dressed in a suit for a punk rock gig and as tendrils reached out slowly but surely for our ankles, we cheated them as we started to climb back up to scant civilisation.
We then had a similar expedition across some grass filled land devoid of trees with Demente continuing his tip tap tipping of the stick until we reached a river he had often swam in as a youth. He asked me if I would like to go in for a swim but I declined as I thought it would not be considered irresponsible to take such risks when I am on a tour. The last thing they needed was for me to be swallowed by a giant water snake (my imagination yes, but I'm sure they had them in jungles on the TV of old).
We then tippy tapped slowly but surely back to the house where Demente got a BBQ going and after two hours I was able to completely devour a string of sausages (I had to, Demente is a vegetarian and we can't let food waste), whilst a hungry dog stared at my every mouthful with his head tilted in a quizzical manner (or was it my head that was held in a quizzical manner?). I thought his name might be 'Patch', he thought I might drop a bit of sausage. I did dear readers, I did.

After dining well, washed down with some fine wine, we decide to return and so we clattered, chinked and crunched our way back to the joy and misery of urban life.
As we tore back through the city limits and I could not help but hum once again that infectious refrain.

Bum bum bum, bum bum te dum, bum bum bum, bum, bum te dum. Dooooo, do,do do do do do,do,do. Do, do do do do do,do,do, Do,do do do do do do do, do wah, do wah do wah!