I slept well and got up around nine, or just after. Gonçalo was already up, shaved and making his raw food concoction. He looked well, just thin as a rake ,but he had colour in his face and he didn’t appear as nervous. I could tell he wasn’t as nervous as I’d seen him before because he wasn’t fidgeting with his cock all of the time. The dirty bastard!
I had breakfast, home made bread with brie and coffee. Think I had some fruit and yoghurt too? Then I packed the last few of my things and told Gonçalo I was ready to leave. He was taking me to Montemorte o Novo. He decide it would be a good time to sweep the front paths and keep me waiting. He wasn’t being awkward, perhaps just frantic and panicky? I waited then we packed the car and I got inside. The twat started doing more chores. Right, I’m not in a rush, but he’s got five minutes, then I’m grab the prick by both ears, toss him around and hoof him into the drivers seat. He was lucky, he had seconds left, or else that was it.
We’re in the car and driving, making headway. He’s decided to leave the farm and his parents and go and live elsewhere. He can’t cope with his abusive mother, and I can see why. He gets on with his Dad but I didn’t notice any great connection between the two of them. Time passes, he drops me off and says he may come and stay with me in England sometime. I made the mistake of telling him, we (The Government) give out money freely to immigrants. ‘I’d only be to pleased to host you’ I said, lying through my gritted teeth.
I cycled twenty eight miles in under two hours, I pissed it. I stopped for coffee, took a break and rode another fifteen miles under one hour. The ride was gorgeous and uneventful, other than seeing a dead snake in the road which I thought was odd for the time of year. Ah yes, I remember now. I’m cycling along the highway, going through a working town, a poor one, not rough, just run down. I can see a guy ahead of me on my right side, bit of a Charlie Chaplin looking character, tramp like, dirty and scruffy. I watched him keep his eyes on me as he bent down and picked up a stone. I knew exactly what he was going to do by his stance, and he did, the wanker, I could have killed him, he got lucky. He threw the stone into my front wheel. Thankfully it went straight through without touching any moving parts. He kept his eyes on me. I got off my bike like a flash and placed it on the floor. ‘Oi you fucking twat, come here, come here I said, you wanker’. He looked at me as if he’d done nothing and just stopped still whilst I hurried towards him. ‘What the fuck’s your game’? I got closer to him. ‘Answer me, you’re lucky I don’t fucking kill you’. I was glaring at him, snarling, calling him everything under the sun whilst thinking, ‘I can’t hit him, if I do, I’ll break him in two, he was slim and not very tall, he was about my age, perhaps a bit younger. All the time I’m still thinking, you can’t hit him, you’ll fucking kill him if you do. Then I had another thought. If I do hit him, I’m the one who ends up in a Portuguese prison. I don’t know how to hit, other than hard. The bastard would still be in hospital had I have changed my mind. I told him to ‘fuck off’ and get out of my sight whilst he had the chance. He just looked at me. I pulled my arm back with my fist clenched and held it there, ‘go on, fuck off, I’ve told you once, you fucking prick’. He took my advice this time. I picked my bike up off the floor and continued my journey. A bit of edrenalin was inside me still but it faded quickly. I was puzzled, I still am, and he’s still lucky!
I’d been researching hotels in and around Gránola, last night and whilst having coffee this afternoon. I wasn’t happy, it was looking likely I’d have to pay forty euros for one nights accommodation. I really didn’t like it but I had to accept it. I’d had three free nights with The Fidgeting Cock, Gonçalo’ and tomorrow night I’d got another free night at a hosts house. That’s how I kept selling it to myself. I thought, this bloody town must be something special. I didn’t book in advance, I took a chance and hoped I might find some cheaper accommodation when there. I reached this scruffy, run down town and was puzzled as to why the hotels were so expensive. Next to a petrol station was a grotty cafe, that said ‘pension’ above the door, only in Portuguese. I could be in luck here I thought. I walked in and every head turned and looked at me. Once they’d taken a look they turned back around. One chap, standing closest to me, thought he’d stare for longer, he was giving me a stinker of a look. I gave him a glare, just a mild one and I turned away. It was just enough to say, ‘whatever you’re thinking, don’t fucking bother’.
The girl behind the counter confirmed they had rooms to let, by way of using another customer to translate. He was helpful, he didn’t mind, but all these guys looked the same. It was it they’d been working down the pit for twenty years. All of them, miserable looking bastards. Smoking too, inside the bar. I see it a lot in Portugal.
Ha! When she said fifteen euros including wi fi, I never been so pleased to stay in a shit hole. I checked out the room before paying and it was as I expected. Shit, unhealthy and unclean. I was still happy, fifteen euros, now I can go to Lidl and buy a stash of shit food to go with the shit room. What I particularly liked, was the blood on the wall in the toilet. I didn’t shower, I thought ‘fuck it’, what’s the point? Just to add a little touch, whilst eating in bed, I felt something on my lips. It was another persons strand of long hair. Fifteen euros, dead happy!