So, less than 36 hours after we departed from Greece, we find ourselves in Portugal. It’s all a bit much. We have no idea where we are, life has no structure and feels pretty surreal. Not expecting sympathy here, but it would be quite nice to be at home for a bit. Sadly, that’s not to be for me, as one day after we arrive home I’ll be off on the road for work for 3 days. At some point mental status quo will have to be re-established or something will go horribly wrong. But since we are here, I suppose we’ll have to struggle on. Pastel de Nata, dear? Oh go on, then.
We hadn’t planned to be here so soon, but things escalated on the house buying front and we were required to enter the infamous and terrifying world of Portuguese bureaucracy sooner than expected. All of the expat forums abound with tales of administrative indifference, confusion and downright bonkersness, so expectations are well and truly managed. We’re mostly hanging around Tavira, in the Eastern Algarve, which is the nearest town to our new house. Pictures of new house to follow when the deal is complete; superstitious? Maybe.
We decided to make the most of our time here, not spent with the lawyer and other official people, by undergoing reconnaissance about what foods we may struggle to find in Portugal, or which are extortionately expensive; there is quite a market for ‘British’ foods here, but they come at a premium.
Things that you cannot buy in Portugal (research gathered from visiting one supermarket, so may not be entirely accurate):
- Bread flour
- Decaffeinated teabags in boxes any larger than 10.
- Big tubs of plain yogurt
- Malted milk biscuits
- Bold Crystal Rain and White Lily Washing Powder
On the biscuit front, you can buy a considerable range of both ‘British’ varieties, such as the Digestive along with the Portuguese favourite; the Maria, which is a smaller version of the soggy, undippable for more than a nanosecond, and deeply unsatisfying Rich Tea. They sell them in huge packets and there are many varieties, but Portuguese people are not natural tea drinkers, so what are they doing with them? Who eats biscuits without an accompanying cup of tea? No one, that’s who. Or weird people. I’m not sure we want to live among people with such a different culture to our own; that sort of thing starts wars, you know. Keith starts his day with a Malted Milk; I’m not sure what he’s going to use instead. Cocaine?
The final item on the list: the Bold Crystal Rain and White Lily Washing Powder is more of a deal-breaker: it’s the only washing powder ‘flavour’ that Keith will use. It was a compromise that had to be made when we moved into together, which was tough for me, but sometimes in love and washing powder, someone has to take the hit and this time it was me. To quote the oft repeated words of the lovely Portuguese woman who patiently assisted us in opening our Portuguese bank account under the onslaught of my incessant questions issued forth before she had a minute to tell me herself: ‘I shall explain’:
I buy washing powder (and most things) on the basis of value; price and quality calculated in a non-existent algorithm (whilst searching for how to spell algorithm – I swear it was a ‘y’ – I discovered that the origin of the word comes from the name of the mathematician, Mohammed ibn-Musa al-Khwarizmi, who was part of the royal court in Baghdad in AD750. That is cool). It physically and mentally hurts me to pay more than necessary. My chest gets tight and I feel agitated. This is because it is simply illogical to do this. Totally illogical. Why would you pay more money for something when you can get an equally good, or better, product for less? Actually, now I’m sitting here thinking about it, it actually makes me angry. Anger, as we know, is reputed to come from fear, and I think the lack of sense about this frightens me because I don’t understand it, and therefore don’t understand the motivation of a person who would behave in this way, and therefore people are scary. And mad. The other side of this is that when I do find a bargain, I get a sense of euphoria, achievement and winning at life. Properly chuffed, like I am a clever bugger who cracked it. I’m just being honest with you here; judgement is not necessary.
Now, Keith makes his consumer purchasing decisions based on other factors; cost does come into it and quality is important to him, but when selecting toiletries and household products, his No.1 criteria is smell. Seriously. Keith, and he won’t mind me telling you this (well, he might but he’s asleep so we’ll just go for it), is an excessive talcum powder user. He likes to douse his underparts and feet with the stuff on a daily basis, so much that if he sits down, he is know to leave an arse-shaped shroud of talc accompanied by a little cloud as its escapes through the fabric of his jeans. He only uses one brand of talc (Johnson’s Baby Powder). A few years ago, Johnson’s altered the formula of their talcum powder, which resulted in a change in the smell. I am confident in betting one of my kidneys (worth about 27p on the black market). Hang on, that would be funny if I got drugged and had a kidney stolen like in those tales you hear of that happening to people and then when they opened me up they found out that my kidneys look like this:
That might a stop to their illicit kidney-stealing shenanigans. And also shit them up a bit. Please note that I used a cartoon image of a polycystic kidney in case, dear reader, you were eating. For a more graphic and realistic representation of the affects of this disease, do please type ‘polycystic kidney’ into Google Images and take a peek. The cysts are not just on the outside, they are all the way through, having taken over the tissue of the kidney in a kind of genetically mutated invasion. I think this means I am an X-Men; without my tweezers, Wolverine is only a week’s worth of chin-plucking away.
Anyway, I digress; back to the Johnson’s,as it were. I bet that the vast majority of the population did not notice that the smell of their talcum powder had altered, but Keith did. Keith could tell if I’d been smoking 48 hours after I’d had a cigarette despite numerous showers, teeth cleans and efforts to conceal my shady addiction. He was right, and I couldn’t handle it. Bastard. Keith smells all his food before eating it, he smells books, phones, boxes, wallets – pretty much anything you can think of. In autistic terms, it’s just utilising a different sensory sense to process your world: most people look or touch as their primary data gathering source; Keith smells.
So… the point of this lengthy explanation, is that Bold Crystal Rain and White Lily is very important to Keith and not easily substituted and hence when we go shopping and there is a phenomenally good deal on some other flavour I have to walk past it and buy the FULL PRICE Bold Crystal Lily and White Fucking Rain or whatever it’s called, reconfigure my screaming brain (‘Does not compute, does not compute, avert, avert’ etc.), and know that I am a good person. And know that being a good person is a ‘Good Thing’. Apparently. ‘Compromise’, I think they call it, or some other shit that means you don’t get your own way. He’s worth it; every penny of the money we have wasted on FULL price washing powder which might extend our working lives and force us to live in poverty… I’l stop now.
We’ll just have to sneak individual sachets into our Easyjet hand luggage (less than 100ml, officer) to meet my beloved’s washing powder ‘habit’, or pay €20 a box, if we can find it in the Iceland store which opened last year in the Algarve to supply the expats with all things Heinz. Love conquers all.
Relationship advice, anyone?