Shane A Supple Facebook page with Dee Farrell Supple at Vilamoura in Portugal September 25, 2018

Shane A Supple Facebook page with Dee Farrell Supple at Vilamoura in Portugal September 25, 2018 ·

Day 1
First cup of Barry’s tea to get us started for a week of R&R for the wedding of our good friends Sean & Niamh............25 degrees here at 8.45am going to be a scorcher.

Day 2
And so, the story continues., more wine. (Seemingly it’s a requirement) anyway, the sun seems as bright as ever a, little on the hot side as they say "you could fry an egg on a stone, if you had an egg" but we shall push on through regardless .......

Day 3 of our adventure. Supplies running low, the hot sun continues to bake us and those around us with unrelenting vigour. Ran out of eggs to fry since yesterday hence a long trek to replenish our food stocks with the necessities. A local staple is the "Pinocalada" by all accounts several good meals in one glass (so Dee tells me). We will continue despite the heat and report in again soon.

Day 4

things have improved we have tied in with a large group of travellers like ourselves who are here for fun food sun and to celebrate a good friend’s wedding.... beautiful day but now the serious matter of drinking eating and celebrating with Sean & Niamh begins.

Day 5

I think not sure dehydration can have a strange effect on the mind. Today I thought I saw two kangaroos having a pint on the 9th hole at the Portuguese Open, but I know that’s not possible they don’t serve Guinness on the golf course. Dee is holding up better than me and is developing a taste for the local wine, God Bless her strength but it will be dark soon and we will have some respite from the hot sun. More tomorrow if we survive the long night ahead....

Day 6

the Natives are getting restless, throughout the night the drums were incessant, almost hypnotic, we found ourselves surrounded by other people in a trance like state dancing along till our bodies could take no more. Awoken at the crack of noon by the local church bells signifying it was time to fry eggs on stones. Dee my ever pillar of strength found a local witchdoctor who sold her this local brew of fermented grapes which seems to work. Today the sun at its height, reaching 30 degrees, continues its unrelenting heat. I hope we will make it another 24 hours, but I am wilting..........I am worried I won’t last the pace........

Day 7

all-out war was declared last night. Those native drummers decided to take over my head. The pounding from within was vicious I swear I had 60 of the feckers all pounding away quite happy to a beat, similar to that wonderful classic "Firestarter" by the Prodigy. It was 4am before I managed to wrestle the last one out the door. At a little after dawn about 1pm we went foraging for supplies one last time. This time tomorrow we will be on a plane heading home (thanks be to god) I miss my bed and I’m more than fed up of fried eggs at this stage. (everywhere you look there is a group of tourists huddled around a stone frying eggs).

My sanity is in question at this stage as I keep running around kicking the said eggs off the tops of said stones. I lost the local police in the sand dunes and am waiting for cover of darkness. Its 34 degrees right now. I mean come on 34 degrees at home is the temp on the oven for Sunday dinner. They call this a holiday......there all mad every last one of them. Dee is been brainwashed with the local brew even talking of extending our stay.............only 24hrs left I will make it......I must......

Day 8,

home at last, after a night spent crawling through the sand dunes avoiding local search parties out with torches and sniffer dogs (like scenes from an old horror movie) all seeking the mad Irishman who was last seen kicking stones and eggs into oblivion. We made it back to our hotel before dawn broke in the back entrance up to our apartment unseen I bribed the cleaners with the last of my cash, a crisp 10 euro note pulled from my sock to allow us use the service elevator. We gathered our belongings in a mad scramble and headed for the airport before the locals knew we were there. As you can see the wine has run out Dee is reduced to a simple coffee. It seems she drank two local vineyards dry in our 8 days in Portugal. They don’t want us back. They told us to leave but not come back. Home at last.... I made it.