Postcard From the Algarve - August 05

So, when I see the old, lame, stumbling cemetery man now, I don’t feel as sorry for him as I do for the town drunk. When we came here three years ago, this inebriate was well dressed, sober enough at 10am to buy his wine from the supermarket, and out of sight for the rest of the day. Now, he’s lost about three stone, dresses in torn cast offs and is drunk at 7a.m. when he’s begging at the early morning cafés.

Then there’s the man from the Misericordia, the Catholic home that will house and feed you until death providing you sign over all your property and income to the home. The Misericordia Man must have managed to hang on to some of his belongings, as he appears one day in a smart T-shirt and shorts, another day in a suit and tie, sometimes in white jeans, and again in a black leather jacket. He never begs, but Jo tells me that any café he goes into gives him free coffee.

And finally, there’s the free newspaperman. At least I think there’s only one of him. Six foot tall, very thin, wearing a bubble hat in all weathers, smoking, and carrying a haversack of free newspapers, I pointed him out once to a lady visiting from Highland Perthshire. We saw him about six times in an hour in six different places, and became convinced that he was at least twins if not triplets.

Must not forget the walking men who stride round the outskirts of Sao Brás presumably to lose weight. They must eat a lot during the day, as they appear to be the same size now as they were three years ago.

You will have noticed that I don’t know the names of any of these men. But then, I’ve been told that many local people know me as the ‘old Englishman with the big dog that barks out of the car window.’