3rd last supper. (Tomorrow = Dinner, Wed = Last.)

Well, today was a roaster and by the time we had recovered from heatstroke we decided to go for an early evening walk, to the Bus Station or Terminus Camionii Personas Grumpii, just to find out the times of the busses (Camionii Personii) to Faro, for Wednesday, when we transfer from Blandshhire to Goawayville. Nae bother, hourly, on ra hour, so we can now choose our exit strategy. (But why do they put a bus station outside the bloody town. Would we expect to have to walk to Corstorphine to find a bus to Aberdeen?) (Don't answer that in case it reveals your predudices)

Having walked up to the TCP, we then meandered downwards, in a southerly direction, following the O Centro signs, and eventually arriving at two adjacent Geordie pubs. One was genuine and the other not so. The genuine was full with drunken fellow travellers, the other was empty, and thus susceptible to an influx of Glaswegians, had they but known.

Anyway, we had a couple of refreshments whilst watching the Auld Enemy get stuffed by Sri Lanka, and learned that Jose Maria and the Bhoys had stuck it to the good old US of A at the last moment. Double Joy!!!!!

Off to bed happy in the knowledge that this evenings meal tasted OK, despite appearances au contraire.

Matt. Note the wine label!