On Thursday it was Richard’s birthday. So a party was completely out of the question; they wouldn’t allow the entertainer to take animals into the ICU. And apparently strippergrams aren’t medically approved either. No cake, no champagne, no nuffink. Though the ever-wonderful nursing staff did make an effort, bless em. So I treated him to giving me a weekend in Lisbon. From where I am corresponding. It’s the least I could do for him. And I’m just loving it here.

There’s four famous Portuguese people. They are, in strict order of importance:
Christiano Ronaldo
Eusebio
Vasco de Gama
Paula Rego.

And that’s about it. Ok, there’s half a dozen B-listers knocking around, the Luis Figos and some priests of merit, one way or another, but otherwise, you would have to ask yourself if we actually need Portugal at all. Until you come to Lisbon and then it all starts to make sense.

Lisbon is built on seven hills. That’s what they tell you. Once you start walking around the place you realise that they are actually mountains. Really steep ones which don’t get any easier to climb when the thermometer rises. As it does most of the time. So you look on Google Maps and find the restaurant/bar/cafe/museum you want and it shows it to be 420 metres away, three streets across. So what’s that? 5 minutes? Yet once you cross the first traffic light you need to get your climbing gear on, or if you’re coming down, your abseiling equipment. Or a helicopter. But you do it, because wherever it was you were headed (other than the ‘museum’; the weather’s much too nice to bother with them) you will be greatly rewarded. Especially if you were looking for pasteis de nata. Little custard tarts. Yet so much more. They are ingestible orgasms. The are little bits of heaven in a world of pain. They are simply… simply… little custard tarts, the likes of which they can’t make elsewhere. And you have to eat several every day. Which you can because God has decreed (well MY God has, I can’t speak for yours) that these little wonders have absolutely zero calories at all. And no fat. Sugar. Just angel dust.

They’re great but tomorrow we’re headed to Belem, where (I think; no-one actually knows, well, no-one who can speak English actually knows, nor cares) they were invented. By monks. So you visit the Monastery tower, go wild for the view for as long as you can, then you go eat Pasteis.

Today’s trip took us to Sintra. Another wonder of Lisbon.

And the Lisboans are delightful, polite, charming, friendly and helpful. All of them.

Lisbon is the best European city I’ve ever been to, this year. No doubt about it.

Happy Saturday

A xxxx