Just not at the place we went on Saturday. It was small, which was OK. After a while, it was full of kids, which was also OK. With half of the twelve lanes full, they decided to squish everybody onto lanes 1 through 6, leaving the other six empty. Not so hot, especially since the folks next to us were either of the "stagger toward the line and hurl the ball in the right general direction" or the "stand on the line and swing the ball back and forth in a huge arc like a pendulum until eventually it flies off the bowler's hand hopefully in the right general direction" variety, which was downright terrifying.

They gave us the skankiest bowling shoes I have ever seen, and that is really saying something. They also gave us bright blue shower caps to wear inside the shoes for "hygenic reasons" which, given the state of the shoes, were greatly appreciated. Considering how much it cost us, you would think they could afford to buy new shoes every second decade or so, but apparently not.

The main reason not to go back, though, was how expensive it was. Ludicrously, scandalously expensive. Five of us on ONE lane, playing two games each, came to ten Euros per person. Not only that, the game we played before 3:00 was less expensive, so that second game must have been over five Euros a person-- how much over, I'm not sure I want to know. I did talk to some folks who went bowling at the swanky new mall in Lisbon and they said it didn't cost anything like that much.

The weather continued to suck, and it was getting a bit late to do the boardwalk pub crawl when we finished. Since we had no idea how many bars would be open along the seafront at that time, and since it was pouring rain, we decided on the safe option and went to a bar we like overlooking the beach in Cascais. Everyone but Popeye broke down and had something to eat. Popeye never mixes drinking and eating: it's a cast iron rule of his. Of course, he had eaten breakfast and we had not.

After that, we went to the Old Train bar, which is situated in an actual antique train, which was something a bit different. They served us little bowls of stale popcorn with our drinks, which we ate anyway. After that, to the pub for some darts and general drunken debauchery. After that, the Irish pub and more drinking and more debauchery. After that, Popeye went home (WIMP!) and we went to the Late Night Bar of Evil. The LNBOE was jumping, as usual, and Elvis tried to chat up Cute Guys for Miss Kitty while we stood off to the side and criticized his choices. Hell, we criticized just about all the men there, and not too quietly I'm afraid. We didn't mean to really, but we had had just a bit to drink. Mr. Evil was in fine form and kept the cool tunes coming. Instead of the usual Schapps For All policy, he had the regular schapps for the men, and strawberry schnapps for the lay-dees which tasted just like strawberry margaritas.

Well, I thought so anyway. There was an extra one and I drank that too, so I must have liked it.

We got home at 6:00 am, seventeen hours after meeting for our first beer at the pub the day before. Except, of course, that it was suddenly Daylight Savings Time, so we set our clocks to 7:00, drew the curtains to keep out the sun, and had a cup of tea before collapsing into bed.

It was a shame about the losing an hour bit, since we had to shower and leave as soon as we got up on Sunday. It was Joey's birthday, he turned thirty, and that called for a bit more celebrating. Even more important, from his standpoint anyway, is that the rugby game was a good one, and that England won. We didn't wake up in time for the game, though, which was a shame. I like rugby. Many, many drunk people in the pub yesterday. Elvis felt like absolute shit, and if it wasn't for Joey's birthday and the fact that I hadn't had anything to eat for twenty four hours, I wouldn't have dragged him out. Other than the hunger, I felt fine. I also suspect that I was still drunk. It's certainly not outside the realm of possibility.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Popeye, as I mentioned, is dating The Sweetie. This is the same woman that was comitting adultery with one of his friends, whom Popeye refused to cover for. The same woman who was going out with another guy when we met her, and who dumped her soon afterwards because she was cheating on him with some other guy. (I heard a rumor that the same fate happened to the previous serious boyfriend, but it is completely unsubstantiated.) The same woman who told us (Popeye included) that her goal in life was to get out of Portugal and move to England ASAP. And she is the same woman whom Popeye told he could never trust, back when they were just friends and not dating.

About a week ago, The Sweetie asked Popeye to marry her.

"I hope," said Miss Kitty pointedly, "that you said no." Popeye replied that he was still thinking about it. We took that to mean that he didn't want to prematurely cut himself off from sex before he left. After all, they've only been dating for two months. Popeye has the kind of job that means he'll be away from home frequently, often for months and months at a time. And we've already had ample demonstration of her attitude toward monogamy, much less the institution of marriage. Miss Kitty is convinced she is looking for a meal ticket, and I fear she may be right. Lady Jane hates her, and Lady Jane is one of the sweetest women in the world, and one who seems to get on with just about everybody.

Friday night, they got engaged.

They did it on the quiet, or so Popeye kept saying. Apparently, The Sweetie got frustrated because no one noticed her ring on Saturday, so early in the evening Popeye told me. To my credit, I did not yell, I did not howl in anguish and I did not otherwise make any sign of disapproval. I did congratulate him, and I looked at her ring and said it was very nice. They have not set a date. The Sweetie will be moving to England in a couple of months, although Popeye was very vague as to exactly when.

The Sweetie, I think, would prefer more definite plans and the sooner the better, at least that's what it sounded like to me. Popeye doesn't look happy the way he should, at least not to my eyes. But he's a big boy, he can make his own choices, and I'm staying out of it.

After spending the day with The Sweetie on Saturday, Miss Kitty thinks that she does care for him. I think she does, too. Whether she's truly In Love with him, I won't even hazard a guess but I hope so, I really do. But I also think that a leopard doesn't change its spots.

I hope it works out for them. I really, really do. So I'll only say one more thing. Popeye is a sweet, generous and loyal man, one of the best friends anybody could ever have. If that woman breaks his heart, I WILL hunt her down and make her very, very sorry indeed.

The good news is that Popeye will be back. He has some time off before his next job, and figures he might as well spend it here, where the opening times are long, the cigarettes are cheap, and his fiancée is living. Makes sense to me.

So Popeye will be back on Thursday. He has an open-ended ticket, and will be staying until he gets tired of it or runs out of holiday, whichever comes first.

So that's all right then.

Popeye will not be returning alone. Another friend of ours, whom I'll call Calvin, is coming to visit Thursday as well, for two whole weeks. He used to live here, and is hysterically funny. He also has a Portuguese fiancée. We love her. The two of them are well suited and so much in love they literally radiate. The thing about Calvin is, he can party. Seriously, the man is a pro.

Next Saturday, we plan to have another go at pub crawling along the boardwalk. It should be Great Big Fun, especially if Calvin and his fiancé come along too. It's exactly the sort of thing that Calvin could really get in to, so the probability is high.