The past few days:
Portugal’s gorgeous. It is very nice indeed to be away from the miserable dark foggy rain that is Ireland. Portuguese food is tasty, although I’m already getting very very tired of seafood every day. And every restaurant serves the exact same things. I think a vegan coeliac would probably have to live on fruit and coffee here.

We’ve spent a whole lot of time wandering around little towns. Pretty architecture and scenery and the like. Unfortunately, Mike’s the only one with a camera, so I have no idea what kind of pics we’re gonna end up with. I am utterly craving a camera. Keep seeing things that are just crying out to have me take pictures of them.
*underlines A New And Shiny Camera on wishlist*
However, the place is just gorgeous. And yes, it is very nice indeed that it’s the shortest day of the year, midwinter even**, and I’m able to sit out on the street in the sun sipping a coffee with just a light jumper on. I have to say that the SAD is just falling away. It’s incredible, how much more cheerful the world appears when there is actually a daytime during the day.

Hotel’s lovely. I’m collecting the little shampoo bottles. One can never have enough little bottles. My recent essential oil mixeythings* have been more or less homeless and have had to be made in very small quantities and used up pretty quickly, since I was down to eggcups as containers. People get a bit miffed when all the eggcups are in the bathroom/bedroom/etc full of things which smell rather nice, but are in no way eggy.

Things are wonderfully casual here. When we got into the airport and went looking for the car hire place that Mike had booked, it turned out that they didn’t have a stall. They just hung around in the café. So you ask the waitress who the so-and-so car hire company person is, and then you wave at them, and then you sit down and have a coffee and when they’re done dealing with the other people they come have a coffee with you and sort out the car, and give you the keys and send you off on your way. Nice.

Going on holiday with the parents is always an interesting experience. Especially since my last experience of travelling involved fecking off around Foreign Parts in a Penniless Wandering Lone Backpacker kind of way. Say what you like about that kind of travel, but it does suit me. It’s nice to be around people, but it’s also nice to be able to just pack up and wander in any direction takes your fancy. Travelling with the parents is entirely the opposite. You get to stay in shmancy hotels and eat really good food and be driven places, but you really don’t have much of a say in anything.
Don’t get me wrong- I appreciate being taken on holiday a hell of a lot. I am so, so not turning my nose up at being put up in a series of lovely hotels and taken for really good food and being driven around a really pretty country where the sun actually comes out. It’s just that the lack of control grates a bit on my more feline nature.
Pish, though. It’s all good.

Internet, however, is ridiculously inaccessable. There are two places that we’ve found so far with wifi access- but it costs €5/hour. Now, I’m sorry, but if I’m gracing a café with my presence and buying their tea and biscuits and want to check my emails while I’m at it, I ain’t paying a fiver for the privilege. However, I did see an internet café across the river, so I’m going to head over there as soon as I’ve this written out, and post it up and check the emails. I’m writing this in Word in my hotel room at the moment- I figure if they’re going to charge way, way too much, then I’m not going to be wasting valuable online time mucking about writing things that can work offline.


OH. One thing! Anyone who wants a postcard or anything like that from Foreign Parts, send me your address. Preferably in an email. If I’m online between now and when I leave- and I probably will be- I’ll get

Is My Little Baby Going to Go Gay?

A parent can never act too soon in taking precautionary measures to ensure that their child will never become intoxicated with mommy's perfume and choose to devote his life to being a prancing homo. By being both proactive and willing to inflict welts for Jesus, you can beat Satan at his own sick game and prevent him from turning your impressionable child into an ugly, rotting twig in the family tree crying out for brutal pruning.


Early Child Development Homo Prevention Tips

1. A boy must not sit on a toilet unless he is having a bowel movement. Standing straight up, not hunched over while urinating, is a sign of manliness. Squatting on a toilet seat (especially if he hovers to avoid the urine of others or prissily wipes the seat with a square of toilet tissue) to pee is not only effeminate but a sign of shame! It is a secret hobby that homosexuals use in their daily lives. It is a scientific fact that when needing to use the restroom, a male is called upon to engage in the unpleasant undertaking of extruding a poopy in only 1 out of every 3 visits. But homosexuals use all three visits to practice squatting, to limber the cheeks of their bottom in preparation for even the most enormous (Negro) penises. Such calisthenics are neither necessary nor advisable for men who have no intention of squatting over an engorged penis. As soon as your child is able to walk on two feet, you must make that sure he is taught to stand proudly in front of a private or public toilet seat, and to speak not a word, especially in response to the coy whispers of Catholic priests in the next stall.

2. A boy must eat everything on his plate. But if your son pesters you to serve corn on the cob, hot dogs or sausages, that is your signal to change his diet. Try serving meals that more effectively evoke a hankering for the fragrant delights of the female genitalia. An artichoke stuffed with tuna fish will usually do the trick.

3. A boy must always wear socks, except while swimming. So-called, "flip-flops" and "sandals," where the toes and ankles are exposed are products that were created during the (homo)sexual revolution. Creation research indicates that these types of provocative "shoes," were invented by homosexuals in San Fransissyco during the late 1960's with fetishes for little boy ankles. Thwart the perverted delight of these pedo-pedophiles with a thick pair of tube socks!

4. A boy must not be allowed to watch cartoons of any kind. He should spend Saturday mornings sitting quietly by his Father's side (with a respectful 3" between the male bodies), watching sports that don't involved male leotards. He must watch Football, Basketball, Baseball and Boxing. Soccer is not a sport for civilized people and often results in alarmingly long, uncut penises escaping from very alluring satin shorts. Soccer appeals only to poor, uneducated halflings from underdeveloped countries where the women grow mustaches twice as fast as the men. Make your child aware of this. When there are no sports on TV, take your boy out in the backyard and throw the football or play catch with a very hard baseball. Under no circumstances: wrestle in shorts, especially if your son is strapping, handsome and sporting a noticeably turgid crotch.

5. A boy must not play with dolls. If your boy has a young sister, forbid him from entering her room except for the purposes of the type of ordinary heterosexual experimentation that occurs in any Christian household. If you catch your male child playing with dolls, Landover Baptist Child Psychologists recommended that you shave his head, and sit him out at the end of the driveway with a sign around his neck that says, "I'm a Sissy Boy Who Plays With Dolls – Mailman: Why don't you just go ahead and stick something in my mouth?." This method of prevention has a 99.5% success rate (unless your particular mailman is young and attractive).

6. A boy must not

Portland is the Greatest Place Ever. Seriously.
It is filled with cat people, nerds, and queers. It has a giant independant bookstore that takes up an entire city block. There's a theater in town that shows three episodes of Buffy, back-to-back, every Monday night, for free. The buses run on time, are relatively frequent, have bike racks and keep running until pretty late at night. Late enough to get home from Buffy, anyway. It's nifty.
And you can get really good sushi.