Wham! it hit me, exactly why I don’t like to be here in August.
I just ‘popped’ out to the supermarket as I had nothing in. The place was full. No baskets to pick up and ponce around with, queues for the check out half way across the store and on top of that, idiots, and I mean real fecking idiots in all the other aisles.
I couldn’t deal with it so turned around and walked out.
There is an old communist style store ‘Ali Super’ at the top of the town that’s always empty so I headed there instead. Of course, empty for good reason – it’s full of shite but I got a few simples and headed to the check out to watch one of the natives in front of me slowly counting out his coins at the check out – checking each side of every coin, quite what for, I have no idea, maybe there is some joke money here in Portugal that suddenly doubles in value if you inspect it closely.
Sometimes I wonder if late on the 6th day, god created retards, then just before lunch on the 7th day he decided he needed somewhere special to put them so created Portugal. To make sure they didn’t slow the development of the country too much, he stuck a bit on the bottom of Portugal and called it ‘The Algarve’ (latin for ‘complete fuckwit’) and made it mandatory that all retards must either live there or at least holiday there in August.
I would loathe this place is it wasn’t so blissfully devoid of wankers for 10 months of the year. Driving along the road I never know what to expect. Stop and park on a crossing – no problem. Indicate right and turn left – no problem, park on a roundabout – why not ? Have a 10 minute conversation with the check out girl while I am waiting behind you – ansofuckinglutely man!
Still – in an effort to stop all of this getting to me, I stopped at the Warung for a sneaky Bohemia. All was well, the sun was setting and a young filly walked in and said Hi! How pleasant I thought, until she returned to the loungers with a beer and an iPod and sat down, laughing and also jigging to the music at the same time. Now, I am quite smart but I couldn’t figure out if she was listening to say, a pod cast that was making her laugh, or listening to music which was making her jiggle about like a python on acid, so I decided to leg it before she pulled her machete out and started slicing up random people.
I promise now that I will never return to Portugal in August again – ever ever ever.
Now, that’s got that off my chest. Subscriptions. I have the grand sum of 9 which leads me to think a face book friend cull is about to happen – maybe I should say that any friends that haven’t subscribed get deleted, I wonder how that might work?
Have a moan - the beers are on me !!