No fanfare, no tickertape, no topless cakesprung models greeted myself and Shiny on our return to Terminal 2 last Saturday night.
We were met instead with wipey eyed toddlers screaming for their beds, a round man with an overbite storming through the airport like Arnold Schwarzenegger on crack and his vacant faced and long suffering spouse to be. We'd have pitied her had it not been for her steadfast refusal to blink or change expression.
I couldn't place a single difference between T2 and its older brother, by the way, given the fact that I stare at airport floors like a pissed off teen until I get on that plane, or out that glass door, to freedom.
So, Lisbon in numbers...
0 - The number of books read by either myself or herself, save for the ever present tourist handbook and accompanying map. We'd brought six between us.
1 - Sagres beer. I stuck mainly to the Super Bock.
2 - The number of balconies in our modest, yet perfectly appointed, apartment. One for the drying, the other for the basking.
2 - Steak dinners in Docas.
2 - Cocktails drunk by me. A Mojito by the sea in Estoril, a strawberry concoction on the last night.
4 - Cocktails drunk by her.
7 - Nights spent under the lovely whirr of our air conditioner.
9 - The number of times I made her laugh out loud.
92 - The number of times she'd have me believe she made me laugh out loud.
10,454 - The number of shops we found closed on Sunday, our first full day there. This frightened us until we remembered that days of the week also exist while on holidays.
2.5 - The number of days it took us to find the central squares of the city, which we celebrated with much beer, sitting and the second city bus tour of my life.
10/10 - What we'd both give the Piri Piri Chicken we ate on nights Tuesday and Thursday. I don't recall the name of the restaurant, I stayed on 'big picture' duty while she got us from A to B to P to back again to A.
120 - The amount of street sellers who tried to get me to buy herself a rose, some sunglasses, a hat or some shiny contraption that kids wear as headbands.
4 - The measures of whiskey poured into my glass by the kindly waiter beside the boats. I drank most of it on a stomach of wine and beer and bespoke strawberry cocktail, and this did not go unpunished come 5am the following morning.
2 - Garments wrecked by sun tan lotion, which she is salvaging as I type.
10,222 - Moments of pinching myself, thinking that Holemaster would hate me to be this happy.
1 - Beach visit, including ice cream, fine food and graceless barefoot stomping through the sand.
5 - Encounters with an insane Indian singing man. The last day we saw him, he'd clearly run afoul of some angry youths as he was on crutches.
2 - Sintra pastries, while watching the filming of a Portuguese soap opera on the steps of the local basilica.
1 - Time getting lost before ending up in the Lisbonian Ballymun. All ended safely and drunkenly.
5 - Ice creams consumed, though this stands to correction (and doubtless will be).