Bright Lights & Crazy Nights, Pt.1

If weeks had names, this one would be called Craisy. Why? Well why on earth not. It rhymes with Crazy and although we didn’t meet anyone by the name or Craig or Daisy, it’s still more appropriate then calling it Frank or something. One of my best pals, Ryan, was to arrive at 11 o'clock on Saturday. He was also coming in through Madrid the poor soul. I giggled with the idea that it might be necessary to take a decontamination suit with me to make sure we didn't catch anything like a new type of fish off the Irish coast that convinced us fishing in the North Sea had really been a waste of time all of these years. My... Portugal without Bacalhao? Can anyone, anywhere, EVER imagine a nation without its national fish? I'd like a national fish, all for myself actually. One of those ones deep in the ocean that produce their own lights might be cool. You'd never smack your knees on the edge of the bed, when getting up at 3 in the morning to go to the loo again, that's for sure! Hurray! We have it! Anyway. I got up that morning at 9, left at 10, got to the airport at 11, only to find out he was arriving at 11 o'clock that evening. Half a day of self-created, photographically enhanced, café induced hours later, I picked him up, giddy and twitching, having felt like I plucked him from the skies myself. We finally embraced like old pals once again, exchanged pleasantries and quickly decided that getting drunk was the priority at hand! We zipped into Lisbon, dropped our stuff off and headed out through a storm that rained on the city with the zest of a rabid dog looking for its next cheeky teenage victim, attempting to climb over an unsuspectingly weak fence protecting the Holy Grail itself! The night was amazing! The consumption of Cocktails & beer was a necessity as we mingled with thousands of adventurous Portuguese folk in Bairro Alto, danced in numerous clubs and bars and had the added bonus of meeting NO rabid dogs! Oooo, actually, there was one particular annoying fellow that decided it was his mission to dart toward people, grab and drink their beer whilst embracing them and then stumbling around with crossed eyes and a particular dance that would make even Michael Jackson jealous. When trying this on me, however, I pushed him away and told him in no uncertain terms where he should go (back to Satan’s Dance School basically!). The fact he was probably twice my size and pretending to execute some Capoeira moves on me whilst saying he was dangerous and stuff, really didn't bother me too much as I've kinda noticed that I seem to attract these sorts of people. Bizarre, I know. Anyway, I used my Jedi "calming mind" skills on him and he stumbled away. The Spanish couple who were most impressed (as in fact was I), ogled in amazement, probably expecting some kind of ruckus and just said "What did you say to him?"... and to be honest I can't really remember. Coming out of a situation having looked like you've kept your cool when really your belly is rumbling with the fear that’s felt by a tiny aardvark confronted by a meteoric shower storm is really rather gratifying. We saw him again at around 5 when we were leaving our last bar of the evening and he tried it on again. I picked up a beer that looked like it had had some other things done to it, from off of a rubbish bin and handed it to him "Ok buddy, here you go. Have this". He necked it, stumbled back and I grabbed Ryan and the two Spaniards, moving them just slightly to one side and the Capoeira boy turned and walked towards some other poor people. "Phew!". We got in a taxi to head on home but as we approached our road, some policemen detoured us onto another street. We rose in the car like important Romans and bellowed out to the taxi driver! "HALT!! What are you doing man!", "The police are telling me to go this way, what do you want me to do?", he answered. Fair enough we thought, and out we popped, leaving the Spanish couple with merry goodbyes and some money for the fare. As we got out, we saw a crowd of people gathered round the top of the very steep road and pointing down it. The rain that night had fallen so persistently during the evening that the oil on the streets of Lisbon came to life and a police car, of all things, had fallen victim to its web, slipping uncontrollably down the street and straight into a bollard, twisting the car at an angle and blocking off the path for all else. The great thing was, they were laughing stock of the evening. There were some other fellow partiests walking down the road and indeed, when we walked on it, past the police car, we too started to lose control, holding onto each other so as not to fall and skied down it! I'm kinda surprised they didn't arrest us for something. Anything. We all just got away with it. When we finally got home, laughing away, someone knocked on the door and we both froze. As I opened it, I was a bit surprised to see some random guy peering in past my shoulder. "Aerrmm, have you got any pancakes at all?", the question propelled me into an uncontrollable mini-giggle and I just said, "Um, Sorry mate, not tonight!" and closed the door. A weird way to end a weird evening indeed.