And to cap everything off, there's laundry. It's not difficult, or even all that unpleasant, so I'm not sure why I dislike it so much. Possibly because it's a never ending task. Also, I suspect Elvis saves up all his dirty clothes over the weekend, then dumps them in the basket on Sunday night. One minute, everything is under control. Then-- poof!-- teetering piles of the damn stuff.

Friday it rained so hard and for so long that the streets were flooding. Silly people that we are, we decided to have a night out in Lisbon. I would have liked to go up to the Bairro Alto, which is a veritable warren of little alleyways and narrow streets that simply teems with restaurants, bars, nightclubs and cool shops. It's a great place to wander around, and a night in that neighborhood always turns into one, big, protracted bar crawl. However, since the weather was so shitty, no one fancied wandering about from bar to bar in the rain, so we went to several Irish and British pubs around the station.

Cascais, of course, teems with Irish and British pubs. Seems kind of silly to haul our asses into Lisbon in the rain to do the same sort of thing we'd do around here, but hey, I've never claimed us to be rocket scientists, or brain surgeons, or to do much intricate thinking whatsoever. And it was rather nice to have a change of scenery. Break us out of our ruts, if only half way.

We were supposed to meet Headmistress at one of the pubs. She never showed, which didn't really surprise us. Headmistress is not know for her reliablility. We did think that she might have warned us about the hordes of fifteen year olds singing karaoke, especially since the pub in question was her choice.

It didn't really matter, in the end, or not much. We left the boys choir behind and headed to a new Irish pub none of us had been to yet. And it was nice! We plan to go back. I've heard it's nice in the afternoons as well, and it was cheap to boot. Can't lose, really.

Got back to Cascais around three, with plenty of time remaining to devote to the Late Night Bar of Evil. Lover Boy was there. Remember him? Miss Kitty didn't-- or rather, she did, just not with the crystal clear clarity that would have prevented her from dancing with him. So she did. LB looked happy, even though there was definitely no kissing involved. Elvis and I walked Miss Kitty home again, this time to (once again) prevent LB from following her, as he still doesn't know where she lives, or so she hopes.

Lover Boy was back again on Saturday, looking a mite disappointed when he saw Miss Kitty wasn't with us. He kept walking back and forth behind us, bumping into someone periodically (usually me). I suspect he was wanting someone to pour his heart out to, or at least question regarding her whereabouts, but we all pretty much ignored him. I've done my duty, at the very least.

Horatio was there, too. He didn't ask about the whereabouts of Miss Kitty, probably because he'd talked to her before and she had told him that she planned to stay in. Something about not wanting to waste Sunday with a hangover, I believe.

Wimp.

What does she think weekends are for, anyway?