Holiday day seven.

Home tomorrow and I’m going to do one of them one second videos of my day. Predominantly it’ll be flying home. It’s been a seriously fucking brilliant week. I mean, a seriously fucking brilliant week. We’ve shared laughs, food, drink. We’ve talked about family, friends, ideas, concepts, careers, sport, politics. We’ve cycled to the beach and sat in the sun. We’ve been to the pub and drank bottles of Sagres and Super Bock until fit to piss. We’ve caught the train (and ferry) to Spain and spoken in three different languages. 

The boys have watched Masters golf. I’ve taken too many photos. I’ve mourned a lover and celebrated friendships. I’ve laughed my fucking arse off. I’ve met people I never would have ever had the chance to meet. 

I’ve tanned. Got a little more fat and committed to get a little less fat. I’m leaving here positive, content, happy, upbeat, humbled, focused. 

Today we dropped the boys off at Vilamoura (with its 91 golf courses) and visited the resort of Albufeira. I read some, sunbathed some, and maybe snored and dribbled a little bit on the beach. This evening we’ve participated in a pub quiz where, it seemed, the older you were the more likely you’d be to get the answers right. Then we sat and talked and laughed with Julie, Robin, Glen, Paul, Barbara, Peter, Manuel, Derek, and many others. Everyone is so friendly and welcoming. 

It’s almost midnight now and we’re sat on the decking with a beer each. My bed is calling me. It’s time for sleep soon. Life is good. Family is good. Home tomorrow and I’m leaving here happy with life and content with my lot. 



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