Day #2.
Wednesday 31st March.
Twelve hours of yummy sleep.
Breakfast of cornflakes and juice on the balcony wearing white fuzzy dressing gowns. Quite cloudy but warm. We decided to walk into Carvoeiro but unsure how to dress. James went for a translucent blue tee and brown hareem shorts. From behind it looks like he’s done a big poo. I went for a black and gold 80's jumper with the sleeves rolled up and ¾ denims. Walking down the Portuguese lanes I wondered if we looked too British wearing sunglasses in cloudy weather. James said we looked German. I agree, we did look like pale Germans. On the way to the beach we walked past tacky souvenir shops selling backscratchers and half-mugs. Also walked past a closed down clothes shop [Tess] which apparently used to sell quite nice stuff. Recession has hit Portugal with a swift kick.
Leggy kicked our matching boat shoes [obrigado!] off when we got to the beach. Very shaley and painful. When I dusted my feet off later the sole of my foot looked like a sesame seed bun. James wanted a picture of me cartwheeling on the beach. I don’t regularly cartwheel. Some boy, probably a local, was showing off in the distance doing front flips. We waited till his back was turned before I attempted my clumpy half cartwheel. I felt the better photo moment came from me regarding a golden pyramid shaped rock with my arms outspread like a starfish. If you didn’t know any better it’d look like I was japing in Egypt. After all that cartwheeling I was thirsty for hot chocolate. One waiter asked ‘Are you being serviced?’ which says it all really.
Walking back we popped into an understocked shop for supplies. Sadly they didn’t have strawberries, croissants or hot chocolate. Let down. We bought waffles, sangria and peach schnapps instead. I took a few photos of road signs and the sun appeared from behind cloudy clouds which made me feel lethargic and sapped. A pack of dogs barked our way and all I could say to soothe the savage beasts was 'shalom bom dog' which may turn out to be the best thing that will ever pass my lips.
Late lunch of scrambled egg on toast and sangria by the pool. We made more use of the villagrown oranges by slicing and floating them in the sangria jug. Listened to Justin Timberlake and 80's tunes and made use of the self timer camera function to take pictures of us jumping madly on the lawn. Also felt inspired and wanted James to take a picture of me emerging from a bush. Unsuccessful as he overzoomed and the photo looks like a big head in a bush. Not good.
Had a quick foot dip in the pool which was finally heating up, probably because of the many laps I did in the freezing waters whilst James was passed out, barely gripping his half empty gin glass. Like to think I played a big part in distributing the heat wealth and continued the good work by swirling my feet around a bit. By tomorrow it would be fit for humankind.
Got dressed for an Italian dinner date. Decided to crack out the purple flowery playsuit with ruffles, complimented by ‘soap on a rope’ [black, feathered necklace] and patent peeptoe wedges. James donned ‘Sherbert’ [lemon, pale pink and blue checked shirt] with chinos and white quilted shoesies. Had two shots of peach schnapps and felt a bit titty walking to the restaurant.
Nice Italian with candles and black and white film star photos adorning walls. I had a salami pizza with a glass of white wine that was too dry. James had a lasagne, served in a giant earthy pot that was ‘hotter than the sun’ and a beer. We chatted. James looked intense and pissed off for the majority but that’s just the way his face goes. He was wasted after one beer which made me feel a lot more giggly. Obviously infectious. We discussed attractiveness of the head waiter slash owner of restaurant. He was good looking but not in a stereotypical way, middle-aged – maybe pushing forty. James said he would enjoy the power and domination of someone who owns a restaurant [‘One day this could all be yours.’] Said waiter came over to take our plates. Both went completely giggly and couldn’t think of anything normal to say. I felt extremely guilty because it looked like we were laughing at him when actually we were just being giddy and shit. It was the longest table clearing in Portugal. To recover we farted around with the camera and the woman at the table next to us wondered if we wanted a picture taken. We said no and she said something about ‘young love’ and we both froze a little inside. To recover we farted around with money. Woman at the table next to us asked us if we had enough money (!) Reassured her and she probed us again about if we were together or not. Had a polite chat with the woman who seemed lovely but far too eager. James said something about how Portugal was less commercialised than Spain. The woman wholeheartedly nodded and I found myself agreeing even though I’ve never been to Spain. He was chatting wasted-on-one-beer shit and I was believing him. My parting words to the lovely, eager woman were ‘Have a safe flight’ which I thought sounded a smidge strange and may have made her think about death.
Stumbled the mean streets of Carvoeiro trying to find a bar that was bangin’ slash heaving. There were none. We walked past a saloon themed bar with a country singer twice before settling on a place purely because it sold a cocktail called ‘sex up the city’ which turned out to be champagne and raspberries. Nice but blates overpriced at five euros. The big old recession slaps again. Sat in the bar listening to a mind blowing mix of Pet Shop Boys, Mika and Boney M. I started babbling about how ‘Go West’ was an inspiring song that made me want to go west. Was saying it for dramatic effect but there was a part of me that believed myself in all my ridiculous glory. Needed a wee. Used the gents because I didn’t know what the Portuguese for ‘Ladies’ was. It turns out it’s ‘Eva’. Had to sit on the toilet semi-naked due to wearing the all-in-one playsuit that I had to pull down. Could hear an acoustic country song back in the bar and contemplated an orange which had found itself in the corner of the tiny cubicle.
A stray dog walked into the bar and plonked itself next to us. It was smelly but friendly. Looked very similar to a dog that had been cosily curled up on the beach earlier. He lay looking almost dead in between our chairs. We named him Celine after Her Majesty, Celine Dion [crazy bitch]. Some man eventually vamoosed him out so we left too. Walked down to the beach in search of more night life. None. Realised that because there was no-one around I could climb into a boat without repercussions. Found it difficult to hoist myself up. Her name was Patricia and she was still wet and salty from the sea.
Walked back to the Villa, the alcoholic tittyness wearing off. Discussed relationships. I said I wasn’t sure what one was anymore because of cynicism and suspicion. At the end of the day is it supposed to be a best friend or what.. James didn’t seem to like the idea of relationships being someone to just ‘while away the time before you die’. We discussed old people, love and honouring vows. Once back at the villa we both agreed that we’d hit a mid-mid-life crisis and we don’t know where we are or what’s going on. I said I felt like a newborn baby. We touched upon religion for a bit, God knows why [ha!] Compared Christian’s to schizophrenics which seemed like a fair comparison with all the imaginary voices, etc. It seemed very wise in a throwaway kind of… way.
Tired, we separated; James to take out his contacts and me to write in my cat notebook. I couldn’t work out how to turn on the remote control heater. I wondered if James could hear the numerous, unsuccessful bleeps and was laughing at me from the next room.
Twelve hours of yummy sleep.
Breakfast of cornflakes and juice on the balcony wearing white fuzzy dressing gowns. Quite cloudy but warm. We decided to walk into Carvoeiro but unsure how to dress. James went for a translucent blue tee and brown hareem shorts. From behind it looks like he’s done a big poo. I went for a black and gold 80's jumper with the sleeves rolled up and ¾ denims. Walking down the Portuguese lanes I wondered if we looked too British wearing sunglasses in cloudy weather. James said we looked German. I agree, we did look like pale Germans. On the way to the beach we walked past tacky souvenir shops selling backscratchers and half-mugs. Also walked past a closed down clothes shop [Tess] which apparently used to sell quite nice stuff. Recession has hit Portugal with a swift kick.
Leggy kicked our matching boat shoes [obrigado!] off when we got to the beach. Very shaley and painful. When I dusted my feet off later the sole of my foot looked like a sesame seed bun. James wanted a picture of me cartwheeling on the beach. I don’t regularly cartwheel. Some boy, probably a local, was showing off in the distance doing front flips. We waited till his back was turned before I attempted my clumpy half cartwheel. I felt the better photo moment came from me regarding a golden pyramid shaped rock with my arms outspread like a starfish. If you didn’t know any better it’d look like I was japing in Egypt. After all that cartwheeling I was thirsty for hot chocolate. One waiter asked ‘Are you being serviced?’ which says it all really.
Walking back we popped into an understocked shop for supplies. Sadly they didn’t have strawberries, croissants or hot chocolate. Let down. We bought waffles, sangria and peach schnapps instead. I took a few photos of road signs and the sun appeared from behind cloudy clouds which made me feel lethargic and sapped. A pack of dogs barked our way and all I could say to soothe the savage beasts was 'shalom bom dog' which may turn out to be the best thing that will ever pass my lips.
Late lunch of scrambled egg on toast and sangria by the pool. We made more use of the villagrown oranges by slicing and floating them in the sangria jug. Listened to Justin Timberlake and 80's tunes and made use of the self timer camera function to take pictures of us jumping madly on the lawn. Also felt inspired and wanted James to take a picture of me emerging from a bush. Unsuccessful as he overzoomed and the photo looks like a big head in a bush. Not good.
Had a quick foot dip in the pool which was finally heating up, probably because of the many laps I did in the freezing waters whilst James was passed out, barely gripping his half empty gin glass. Like to think I played a big part in distributing the heat wealth and continued the good work by swirling my feet around a bit. By tomorrow it would be fit for humankind.
Got dressed for an Italian dinner date. Decided to crack out the purple flowery playsuit with ruffles, complimented by ‘soap on a rope’ [black, feathered necklace] and patent peeptoe wedges. James donned ‘Sherbert’ [lemon, pale pink and blue checked shirt] with chinos and white quilted shoesies. Had two shots of peach schnapps and felt a bit titty walking to the restaurant.
Nice Italian with candles and black and white film star photos adorning walls. I had a salami pizza with a glass of white wine that was too dry. James had a lasagne, served in a giant earthy pot that was ‘hotter than the sun’ and a beer. We chatted. James looked intense and pissed off for the majority but that’s just the way his face goes. He was wasted after one beer which made me feel a lot more giggly. Obviously infectious. We discussed attractiveness of the head waiter slash owner of restaurant. He was good looking but not in a stereotypical way, middle-aged – maybe pushing forty. James said he would enjoy the power and domination of someone who owns a restaurant [‘One day this could all be yours.’] Said waiter came over to take our plates. Both went completely giggly and couldn’t think of anything normal to say. I felt extremely guilty because it looked like we were laughing at him when actually we were just being giddy and shit. It was the longest table clearing in Portugal. To recover we farted around with the camera and the woman at the table next to us wondered if we wanted a picture taken. We said no and she said something about ‘young love’ and we both froze a little inside. To recover we farted around with money. Woman at the table next to us asked us if we had enough money (!) Reassured her and she probed us again about if we were together or not. Had a polite chat with the woman who seemed lovely but far too eager. James said something about how Portugal was less commercialised than Spain. The woman wholeheartedly nodded and I found myself agreeing even though I’ve never been to Spain. He was chatting wasted-on-one-beer shit and I was believing him. My parting words to the lovely, eager woman were ‘Have a safe flight’ which I thought sounded a smidge strange and may have made her think about death.
Stumbled the mean streets of Carvoeiro trying to find a bar that was bangin’ slash heaving. There were none. We walked past a saloon themed bar with a country singer twice before settling on a place purely because it sold a cocktail called ‘sex up the city’ which turned out to be champagne and raspberries. Nice but blates overpriced at five euros. The big old recession slaps again. Sat in the bar listening to a mind blowing mix of Pet Shop Boys, Mika and Boney M. I started babbling about how ‘Go West’ was an inspiring song that made me want to go west. Was saying it for dramatic effect but there was a part of me that believed myself in all my ridiculous glory. Needed a wee. Used the gents because I didn’t know what the Portuguese for ‘Ladies’ was. It turns out it’s ‘Eva’. Had to sit on the toilet semi-naked due to wearing the all-in-one playsuit that I had to pull down. Could hear an acoustic country song back in the bar and contemplated an orange which had found itself in the corner of the tiny cubicle.
A stray dog walked into the bar and plonked itself next to us. It was smelly but friendly. Looked very similar to a dog that had been cosily curled up on the beach earlier. He lay looking almost dead in between our chairs. We named him Celine after Her Majesty, Celine Dion [crazy bitch]. Some man eventually vamoosed him out so we left too. Walked down to the beach in search of more night life. None. Realised that because there was no-one around I could climb into a boat without repercussions. Found it difficult to hoist myself up. Her name was Patricia and she was still wet and salty from the sea.
Walked back to the Villa, the alcoholic tittyness wearing off. Discussed relationships. I said I wasn’t sure what one was anymore because of cynicism and suspicion. At the end of the day is it supposed to be a best friend or what.. James didn’t seem to like the idea of relationships being someone to just ‘while away the time before you die’. We discussed old people, love and honouring vows. Once back at the villa we both agreed that we’d hit a mid-mid-life crisis and we don’t know where we are or what’s going on. I said I felt like a newborn baby. We touched upon religion for a bit, God knows why [ha!] Compared Christian’s to schizophrenics which seemed like a fair comparison with all the imaginary voices, etc. It seemed very wise in a throwaway kind of… way.
Tired, we separated; James to take out his contacts and me to write in my cat notebook. I couldn’t work out how to turn on the remote control heater. I wondered if James could hear the numerous, unsuccessful bleeps and was laughing at me from the next room.
I wish I'd heard you from the next room! But I was too busy on Sonic, not saving :P
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