Days 23 & 24 – Dear Claire . . .

Is it ever right to keep a secret from your better half? “Well, it really depends on the circumstance and context. Will it cause hurt? Will it seriously jeopardise your relationship? Are you able to live with the secret? If your answers are no, no and yes, then I’d advise you to keep shtum.

So, that’s exactly what Mr S does. Having noticed this spiky potential game-changer, firmly embedded in Beastie’s driver’s side front tyre, two days ago. With a two-nighter planned at Alferce, Beastie was going nowhere slow, until today. Logic prevailing. Why cause unnecessary worry for Mrs S. These things always get resolved, one way, or another.

Day 23 – Now though – time to spill the beans.

A nice tight fit. No air leakage.

Mr S loads MAPS. Keys “Tyre repairs near me” Checks distance and reviews. Ah, English speaker. Less than one hour away. Perfect. Makes telephone call. Jorge, our saviour, confirms “Yes, come”. We do just that.

The drive over is taken sedately. More so than usual. Potholes not welcome. Every jolt feels like those seconds when you’re charged with blowing up a balloon to it’s very maximum capacity. At every tiny additional puff you fear it might explode in your face.

Beastie waits his turn

Forty minutes and nineteen euro later, Jorge has pulled the culprit, plugged the hole, sealed it and sent us on our way.

Jorge really is our saviour!
The naughty culprit

Then it’s a quick about turn down south. Twenty minutes to Aljezur and Parque Campismo do Serrao. A two nighter. Check-in another bureaucrat’s utopia.

Mr S is told “You can park anywhere” – erm . . .

Stepping down into this woody labyrinth of eucalyptus, Mr S’s eyeballs whizz into a tizz. Negotiating Beastie through this perceived obstacle course is going to be tricky. He scans around trying to make some sense of the layout. If there is any. Not really keeping either eye on where he’s walking. Stops. Goes to turn. Heel catches on a tree stump. Causing just enough change in momentum to tip the balance from perpendicular to horizontal. In the space of a nano-second, Mr S transforms into Jenga-man. Timber! Luckily a slight crack on the head, a sore hip, and a dusty t-shirt, mere minor mementoes. Mrs S watches it happen in slow motion. The way she describes the unfolding scene, sounds rather balletic – or did she say pathetic?

Later, the abundance of trunks prove their use.

Mrs S finds time to practise her semaphore . . .
. . . while Mr S restores his equilibrium with a few lengths.

Day 24 – A less eventful day all round. An a.m. wash cycle before an afternoon doing absolutely nothing, poolside.

Later, Mrs S is relieved of kitchen duties for the evening. After a 1.5k walk up to Altura Steakhouse, she gets more than she’s bargained for.

Lamb chops, mint sauce, twist of pineapple, home made french fries and root vegetable crisps, rice, black bean sause, salad.

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