despedida

They're letting off fireworks in the street. In my honour? One doubts it. Just another portuguese celebration; Vasco de Gama's dog's wedding anniversary.

I can't see them, just hear them. Big noise for a little place. Potuguese don't normally come across as excitable Latins, but it's in there somewhere, lurking behind the seafood porridge, the dowdy waiters and the port.

I thought about going tonight, getting drunk, avoiding reality. Decided against it. Was also worried that I'd go doolally (we all love that word) if I stayed in on my own, finish the mescal, but I don't think it's going to happen. Si quieres que tengo mi cabeza together, lo puedo hacer. Instead have watched Channel 4 news, walked down to the local shop to splash out on fruit juice and tuna, and cooked myself some classic mystery food; spices and capers and bay leaves from the garden and other good things. Tasted OK. Had an appetite.

The fireworks seem to have stopped. Quite disorientating, a cacophony without a focal point.