Wednesday, 24 August 2016

Postcard from Portugal

Welcome to Albufeira where we're surrounded by people from Guiseley and Northern Ireland. It's always nice to get away.

I jest. We knew there would be at least one other Guiseley family here, including one of Jamie's best mates. That was his big surprise. And it's happily catapulted him straight into the spirit of things.

Meanwhile Charlotte, like most ladies I know, has chosen to ease herself into the trip a touch more gently.

We've now been through a full cycle of meals, and all is well in that department with a wide selection of deceased land animals and sea creatures available. I'm nothing if not bloodthirsty.

And on the drinks front, it's literally on tap from morning till night. (I did have a mini panic attack when we first arrived because I couldn't find the wine machine, but it soon turned up).

The evening entertainment isn't quite up there with Glastonbury or even most local pubs holding the appropriate licence. Last night we had what I can only describe as a poor man's Shadows tribute act. Wank Marvin, if you will. I'm not entirely sure what turn we'll be treated to tonight. However, it would be unfair of me not to admit that I'm already looking forward to Friday and the belly dancer. (That said, part of me is fearful that we'll be landed with a fat bloke from Newcastle).

So, all in all, it's been a good start. Indeed, the only mild irritation thus far has been the sadly predictable early morning scramble for sunbeds.  It's pretty much par for the course wherever you venture these days. But it gets right up my chuff and I'm not playing this time. Indeed, the fact that I'm ranting to you from the comfort of a sunbed confirms that there's more than one way to skin a fellow European.

That'll learn them.

I'll be in touch.

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