Round the table were Hazel, a charming lady travelling on her own who had delayed going to see relatives in order she may join us for lunch. Next was Paul, a Yorkshire lad who was spending a week in the 'Portimao/Ferragudo' area awaiting his wife's return from a 'family needs' flight back to the UK. Doug was engaging him in conversation as they each had a history of deep ocean sailing and boats in general. I was next to Doug with Helen, Doug's partner on my right. We were all tucking into a delicious lunch which included freshly cooked mussels gathered not an hour before by yours truly from the anchor chain of a yacht moored 200m off shore in this wide river/port area.
I swam out to the yacht initially as a recreational swim and noticed a large collection of mussels clinging to the anchor chain about a meter below the surface. Back to shore I swam to collect a string bag. Swim back to boat, by now in a steady tidal current. Tie bag and self to anchor chain so do not drift away on tidal current. Gather handfuls of mussels and thrust in string bag while breathing through snorkell tube. Untie bag of mussels, now heavy, and tie to self. Untie self from anchor chain and start swim back to shore. Noticed heavy bag of mussels and tidal current were not exactly assisting in gaining speedy return to shore. Finally get heavy bag of mussels ashore. I tell you, after that lot I was quite happy to let Paul and Doug sort and clean them before cooking them up with garlic and chilli. Yummeee!
In the evening Doug, Helen and myself went out for a meal at our favorite little restaurant in the village square. Courie, our host endeared himself to us on a previous visit when, with Tanya on my lap, he playfully tickled her beard, then mine and with a huge smile on his face welcomed us to his restaurant.
Now; throughout the day there had also been a steady flow of alcohol of which I, with my new found 'non illness consumption capacity', had been enjoying. By the time Tanya and I staggered back to Sadie after our meal out plus 'a couple for the road' it was very late and I was distinctly, but happily, in alcohol assisted cloud cuckoo land.
"Toilet, I need the toilet." I muttered drunkenly.
I think at this point I need to warn you the following paragraphs may appear a wee bit unsavoury .... !!
It was late at night and finally there I was, enthroned upon the pondering stool donned only in shirt having dispensed with lower garments as the plan was to climb drunkenly into bed once arisen from one's relieving enthronement.
However; "Ahhhh!" I exclaimed to myself while regally enthroned. "I was going to empty the Thetford cassette tonight wasn't I?" Being dark the plan was to take it to the adjacent area of bushes and long grass, dig a hole empty it and leave the sight so no one would know. This is a task I have done regularly on this trip, but a task I have not done before while in a drunken haze.
Welly's were donned as the grass was damp and also someone had earlier reported seeing one of our slippery rope like cousins slithering through the grass. Shovel was grabbed in one hand and heavy grey and yellow Thetford cassette in the other. The operation went relatively smoothly with the fear of stepping or falling in the contents of said Thetford cassette seeming temporarily to concentrate the mind out of it's alcoholic effervescence.
When I started back was when it suddenly hit me. I was in waste ground and it was dark but all around were motorhomes and beyond them civilised things like houses and holiday apartments occupied no doubt by perfectly normal and sane people. In their midst on this thankfully dark night was a 65 year old man standing holding a shovel in one hand and a square grey plastic container, with distinct aroma, in the other. He was clad in green wellington boots, an unbuttoned shirt and ...... Nothing else!!
In my drunken stupor I had remembered to fling welly boots on but not my trousers.
I crouched down among the bushes and carefully looked around before swiftly covering the remaining ground to the safety of Sadie and my trousers. I swore there and then never to drink again as I nursed a badly thistle pricked backside.
Needless to say Doug, Helen and Paul were in fits of laughter the next day as I recounted the tale. And of course as the wine flowed the story took on some lurid and highly unsavoury twists. So much for no more drinking eh!
Sadly Doug and Helen have moved on now as it was time for them to start heading north toward a rendevous with their return ferry. Once more it is the Sadie, Tanya and Pensioner Steve team. Methinks a quiet few days on our own are in order. We will continue to enjoy the glorious hot sunny weather ...... without alcohol!!!
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