Tonight I was meant to be taking my fridge/freezer from Fuseta to Olhao – well, late afternoon anyway.
Originally, I’d arranged for this to happen at 9am, but I’d received a phone call yesterday (from the removals company) saying that unfortunately, the engine on the ‘big’ van had blown.
Fortunately, I was then told that Hertz had come to the rescue, that they could provide a van at 4pm.
I had no problem with that. If I could get the fridge/freezer over to Olhao today I was happy.
At 4:18pm I received another phone call:
“Sorry, Hertz has let us down. We can’t help you today.”
Great…
“No problem,” I Said, “When can you help? What about this weekend?”
“We’re fully booked Saturday, and we don’t work Sunday. And we’re fully booked until the 30th.”
“WTF?!”
The 30th?!!
An agreement had been made to move my fridge/freezer on the 10th, and now I was being told I would have to wait three bloody weeks?!!!!
To be honest, if it was me offering the service, not working on a Sunday wouldn’t have come into it. I would have bent over backwards to fulfil an agreement as best I could. Instead they offered me a €20 voucher as compensation and in the same breath, told me that Hertz had given them compensation already…
What bollocks.
The only reason I’m not naming the supplier is because I really like them, and they’ve done a brilliant job for me in the past. But if it was my business, I would have been bending over backwards to provide a solution – as I said…
Anyway…
So today, my fridge freezer wasn’t being moved, but that had also messed up my social life. I’d told Charles (also known as Captain Jack) that I would be in Olhao around 6pm and would he like to meet up for a beer.
Now I had no lift in (I had already agreed to go to Olhao with the removals guys).
So what was the answer?
Luckily, Fuseta has a couple of train stations, which means I always have a way to get there, even if I no longer have a van and don’t want to pay the taxi fare.
I ended up catching the 17:29 train, nipped to my house in Olhao to see how Vitor was doing with the renovations and then headed to Paulo’s – or is it Daniela’s? Who knows? The bar belongs to one of them, I do know that.
Charles was there already, with his dog Ziggy tied to a lamp post.
Charles looks more and more like a pirate every time I see him. He was wearing a new black hat with a red ribbon around it. He’d made it himself, from roof felt I think. Interesting…
He was also wearing one of his favourite site,s of clothing – an old denim jacket with the back cut out and replaced with black netting to keep him cool. He’d made this too.
Very practical is our Charles!
Well, the conversation started off with something I’d rather not think about:
“I’ve been blocked up all week…”
‘Nice,’ I thought…
“I had a few stomach problems and took too much Gaviscon and too many Rennies, and everything stopped… it was a great feeling when it all eventually started working again….”
I really didn’t want that image in my head.
I scrambled for something to say:
“Yes, Sir Thomas More always said that things were better out than in.”
“Eh?”
“Sir Thomas More – he wrote a book, ‘Utopia’, back in the 1500s I think. It was all about his ideal world. As part of his ideal world he stated that he found it wonderful to have things leave his body – spit, sweat, piss, poo. Anything that leaves your body gives you great pleasure according to him. I suppose he’s right really.”
“Oh yes, he’s right alright!”
And so we were off, chatting about random stuff as usual:
Sir Thomas More, Rod Stewart, Britt Eckland, you name it.
Then Paulo arrived. He parked up next to our table and came over with a big smile on his face. He stuck his fist out and we fist bumped – it seems to be the ‘in’ thing now.
“Neil says you need a painter.”
“No, I needed a painter. I don’t now. You told me that you couldn’t paint because of your hand.”
Paulo cut his hand badly (a few weeks back) on a glass that a rowdy customer had broken – not pleasant.
Last time I’d come to his bar, it was to feel him out, see if he wanted the work. But he’d told me that he wasn’t painting because of his hand and so I didn’t even broach the subject.
“Yes, but I paint for you, David.”
Bollocks, maybe I should have broached the subject.
“I’m really sorry Paulo, it’s too late.”
I felt really bad, for two reasons: Paulo needs the money, and I would have saved money by having Paulo do it. Double bummer…
Paulo just shrugged and smiled: “Next time…”
I’m not sure there will be a next time, so I just smiled and agreed, and asked for a couple more beers for myself and Charles. Paulo doesn’t drink, or else I would have offered him one too.
A short time later, Charles suggested that we wander down to the front, to Julia’s – a couple of bars along from Paulo’s old place.
I’ve eaten there a couple of times, but never just gone for a drink, so it sounded like a good idea to me.
Charles untied Ziggy and grabbed his bike and off we went, shouting “Tchau!” to Paulo as we left.
Five minutes later, we were outside Julia’s.
“I’ll get them,” I said, and went inside.
Julia was hard at work over a hot stove – literally. Steam was billowing out of a large pot, and Julia was wiping the sweat from her brow, grabbing stuff and throwing it into the mix.
A young girl was serving – maybe her daughter?
“Dues Sagres, faz favour.” Two beers, please.
She took two beers from the fridge, took the tops off and placed them on the bar. I gave her a €5 note in return. I picked up the beers – not as cold as Paulo’s but not too bad – and waited for the change.
She turned to the till, put the note in and grabbed some change which she then passed to me – €1.60.
Eh? €1.70 for each beer? I don’t think so. I’s normally €1.20. Mmmm….
“Certo?” I queried. Are you sure?
“Sim.” Yes.
I looked at the money. There was no point in arguing (mainly because my Portuguese isn’t good enough) but I was slightly put out. I know it’s not much, but it’s the principle of the matter.
I wandered back outside and found Charles talking to a Portuguese gentleman – who was speaking very good English.
“Are you OK, Charles? You know you can always call me if you need anything. If you ever have health problems or anything, please call me.”
The Portuguese are a lovely race. Not necessarily the friendliest initially, but once you get to know them…
Just then, there was a tap on my shoulder. It was the girl from behind the bar:
“Desculpe! Voce estava certo – um euro.” Sorry, you were right! One Euro.
I took the money and thanked her, and once again all was right with the world.
Charles introduced me to his friend, who it turns out is a great sailor. He teaches sailing, and I think he said he’d won a world championship, but I can’t be sure.
He was very apologetic to Charles about the fact that when they’d last seen each other he’d been driving a motor-boat. It seemed that he thought he was letting the sailing fraternity down – of which Charles was one, obviously!
Charles didn’t care. He just found it funny!
Then I checked the time. The only trouble with living in Fuseta now is that returning home I’m reliant on the trains – or alternatively, I’ll have to reach into my pocket for the .
At the moment, I’m being careful with money, so train it was. The 20:47. I could have waited for the 22:24, but that could have been messy, and probably would have resulted in me getting a taxi.
I bade Charles and his friend farewell and headed for the station.
It had been a lovely evening – catching up with Charles, Paulo, Charles’ friend…
But now back to reality and trying to work out how the hell I was going to get my fridge/freezer to Olhao…