The Baillie Bugle

It’s good to be back in Portugal. It’s very warm, our hotel overlooks the beach and there’s a place across the road that does the best tuna salad I’ve ever tasted. Someone told me that our hotel (The Bela Vista) is the oldest in the Algarve. It’s about a hundred times nicer than the modern tower blocks they love to shove holidaymakers in nowadays. We even have a piano room, and a proper wooden staircase!

When we showed up at reception the hotel manager vaguely recognized us from our last trip, which we were kind of impressed with, considering how many faces must pass through his doors. What really blew us away was when the guy who walks around the beach selling ice creams and fizzy drinks stopped and said ‘Ah you were here two years ago.’ We nodded, astonished by his excellent memory. ‘You only stayed for four or five days, right?’

The most unexpected event of the trip so far though has to be sitting in a bar in Praia da Rocha singing the Langers Song at the top of our voices along with a man with a guitar.
Yes, it was an Irish bar.