Friday night was pretty low key-- we didn't even leave the house until 10 pm. Elvis and I had dinner in the Downtown Chinese. I was craving Peking duck, and I've never ordered it there before-- the last time I had sushi, which arrived a bit on the warm side. It tasted OK, but it made me suspicious. When it comes to the consumption of raw fish, Cold is Good.

They don't serve the steamed dumplings with meat filling, which is Elvis' favorite and which fact we forgot. He ordered the chicken soup instead, and it was very good. So was my hot and sour soup-- lots of bits, and adequate amounts of both hot and sour. They serve it, like all the other Chinese restaurants around here, with the ceramic spoon with a flat bottom. Which looks nice and all that, but which drives us nuts because we always end up swallowing too much air along with our soup. I imagine there's some sort of trick to it, but hell if I know what it is. It would be nice if they gave us a choice of spoons, though, especially since you have to beg for chopsticks.

The Peking duck was very good. The duck itself wasn't quite as good as at Hospital Chinese, but it came with plenty of accouterments, and the plum sauce was way better. HC has an odd, thin and runny plum sauce, sort of like inferior maple syrup. I suspect they water it down, although that would seem to be a false economy to me. Friday's duck came with a sweet and sour sauce as well. The texture was vaguely reminiscent of mucus-- maybe the chef has watched Ghostbusters once too often. I set it aside and tried not to look at it. I don't know what it is with me and Peking duck. I never ordered it much before coming to Portugal, but now I seem to order nothing else. It's usually pretty good, although I don't recommend the Chinese restaurant by the LNBOE. They serve theirs with omelet instead of the traditional pancake, and that is just so wrong. Not to mention it's all slimy in your fingers and it tears way too easily whilst you're trying to eat it. Their duck is greasy and not terribly crispy, either, should you need another reason.

Elvis had the beef with shrimp. There was plenty of both, and it was tasty, too, so all in all a good meal.

After that, we went to the pub for a few games of darts, and then to the Irish pub with Peanut and Rude Boy, who moved here not long ago. We were in time for the last set of live music so we all sang along. Fortunately, the drunks were singing louder, so there were no casualties. We ran into Miss Kitty there. She'd been out drinking with Harold and Maud, and boy was she plastered. Amusing, but definitely plastered. She was running around in Harold's genuine Panama hat. She was quite protective of that hat, as she was minding it for Harold who was apparently too drunk to take care of it himself.

After that, it was up the hill to the Late Night Bar of Evil, where everyone kept trying to steal Howard's hat off Miss Kitty's head, which she did not take kindly to at all. Pooka Boy was there-- in search of Miss Kitty, I suspect. Miss Kitty, however, was being the life and soul of the party when she wasn't berating somebody or other attempting to steal Harold's hat. She was dancing a lot, notably with Peanut, who is totally smitten and tries to get close to her at every possible moment. He wasn't the only one competing for her attention, though, so he pretty much had to join the queue.

Thing is, Miss Kitty is every single man's fantasy at the moment: cute, fun and leaving the country in six weeks. What more could you want, really, if you're a commitment shy bachelor in search of a bit of lovin'? Miss Kitty, however, is not the type of girl to go for casual sex. Hot and heavy snogging on the dance floor-- hey, why not. But actual sex? No way. She made this abundantly clear to a cute Portuguese guy who was trying, much too persistently, to get her to leave with him. This factoid made him a bit miffed, and he stalked off in a huff. "Why should I waste my time?" Asshole.

Then Horatio showed up, and Miss Kitty flirted with him shamelessly. Not that she stopped flirting with Peanut, or some other guy I don't know. She did not, however, flirt with Pooka Boy. Not that she ever does, or at least not much, but Pooka Boy has fallen out of her good graces with a resounding thud and was being pointedly ignored. He was chasing the Headmistress around a while back, which is fine if that's what he wants, but he was being all secretive and lying about it, which is just plain silly. Lately, he's been chasing after Dudess. I'm pretty sure she's not interested, but . . . I don't know, really. I'd say probably not on her part (and not just because of her boyfriend, whom I've never met). Pooka Boy, on the other hand, all but drools when she's around. The problem, from Miss Kitty's standpoint, is that he's been neglecting his friends. Well, not so much his friends, but her. He still texts us to see if we'll be out, providing that the Dudess is busy elsewhere, but he never texts Miss Kitty anymore, and when we're all going to a party together or something, he'll call us and ask us to call Miss Kitty and let her know what's going on. Which, I admit, is pretty dang strange. Possibly he's trying to make her jealous. If so, it's backfired.

On Friday, Pooka Boy said he was leaving early (well, as early as anyone can leave the LNBOE-- it's very much a relative thing), but ordered and drank two more of those bottled vodka thingys that he likes so much, staring at Miss Kitty all the while. Finally, he couldn't take it any more and just up and left.

Harold came in and retrieved his hat. Miss Kitty, who'd had just about enough of that kind of behavoir, almost belted him before she realized who it was. The hat, by the way, looks much better on her than on him.

We walked Miss Kitty home at her behest, first pointing Peanut toward the taxis and making sure he actually got there. Not that I believe Peanut would step out of line-- he's a very nice guy. He can sing, too; beautifully so, not that that's any indication. I'm just saying. He was definitely hoping for a goodnight kiss, though.

Saturday we had been thinking of going to the beach. We ended up lounging by the pool though, which is just as well since a boat broke up Friday night, dumping barrels and barrels of caustic soda into the ocean, where it immediately started heading for the beaches. The government deployed 300 marines to fish them out and, last I heard, none of the barrels had actually ruptured or leaked. Still, you never know.

Saturday night was pretty much a repeat of Friday, minus the hat. Instead of Chinese, though, we went to a place called Pizzaghetti on the Square. It's got a pretty lame name, but they have a wood burning oven and I was wanting some pizza, so we gave it a go.

Don't do it folks. Just don't.

When I woke up Sunday, Elvis was already up and on the internet. This is notable, since we either wake up together or, more often, I wake up first. He escorted me to the sofa, brought out one of my pillows so I'd be comfy, made me a nice cup of tea, and handed me the remotes. What more could a girl want, really? I didn't feel bad at all, but it was looking pretty gloomy out and Elvis went straight back to his computer, so I stayed there all day, catching up on EastEnders, The Last of the Summer Wine, Casualty, etc, that I tape but haven't gotten around to watching yet. Every so often, Elvis would emerge from the office to see if I needed more tea. In the evening, he went out to get us cigarettes, and brought back take out from Frangenstein's, which we ate while watching The Sopranos on DVD.

It was pretty much a complete and total waste of a day.

Sometimes, wasting a day is a good thing.