Silk boxer shorts and nipple tassels…

Tonight, I wandered out on my tod.

As I might have mentioned before, I love hitting a local bar, grabbing a beer and writing. So tonight? Well, tonight I’d been sitting quietly at home and then had enough of the bollocks on TV, and subsequently decided to head to Shack Two, here in Fuzeta. There I was sure that I would find myself a table, buy a beer, open my laptop and write about…

To be honest, I had no idea what I was going to write about, but inspiration always seems to hit once I walk out of my front door. I suppose that you have to experience life to write about it. C’est la vie.

There again, tonight it didn’t hit me immediately.

But, as I was passing Shack One, I noticed a rowdy group ensconced inside the wind-resistant awnings that surround the drinking area.

Bloody hell, it was Chantal and Chad, James and Sue and Mary (rubbish pseudonyms, I know…). I could have easily walked past, but I decided that that would be rude, so I headed in.

I stood there and we chatted. I said that I was heading to Shack Two so that I could have a beer and write. At that point, I was asked why, and in no uncertain terms, told to sit down and have a beer with them. Fair enough, I suppose.

So, that’s what I did.

The conversation started off timidly enough, but then opened up. It began with Christmas presents…

Bloody Christmas, eh? It brings out the weirdest gifts and the weirdest conversations. After much discussion, Chantal said that she would wear the unicorn undies and Mary could have the ones with the fairies, at which point, James piped up and said that during the Gulf war, he was only allowed to wear silk boxer shorts… eh? Apparently, it was something to do with being gassed. Yes, your guess is as good as mine about all of this. What were they talking about? And being completely sober, at this point, I was rather lost. Why were we talking about undies in the first place?!

Then other pressies reared their heads. I forget most of them, but apparently, nipple tassels went down quite well in certain parts of the East of England… and I think that I’ll leave it at that.

Anyway, soon enough (I’d been a late entrant) everyone was heading home. So, I headed off to my original destination.

Two minutes later, I found myself in Shack Two.

Blimey, it was like a 90s rave! The music was blaring and of the four occupants, three were making serious moves. Three drunk Portuguese blokes making moves isn’t a pretty sight, I can tell you, but blimey, they were happy. Then I noticed Ruben. He was sort of happy. He was glad that everyone else was happy, obviously, but not too impressed with the music being played.

He looked at me, seeing a kindred spirit. He seemed rather relieved, to be honest. I helped him out. I mouthed:

‘It’s not Beethoven, is it?!’

Being a Portuguese guitar player, he smiled big time, bought me a beer and we sat down and chatted.

Then Carlos wandered in, and shook both our hands. Then Renato, then Pedro…

Bloody hell, there was no writing going to be done tonight. Then, all of a sudden, Ruben had to wander home, Carlos asked if he could sit at my table, and the dancing boys left. I stood up, went to the bar for a quick final beer, and also bought one for Carlos. After that, I sat back down and wrote this.

And just now, Carlos has also left. As he did so, a bottle of Sagres landed next to me. Carlos has bought me a drink in return – not my intention at all. But that exemplifies why I love it here. People are honest. People believe in returning what has been given to them.

Here, the spirit of Christmas, the spirit of New Year, the spirit of humanity, is alive and well.

I bloody love it here.