The following events took place between Tuesday 27th September and the early hours of Wednesday 5th October 2005. We weren't sad enough to keep an actual log, so all timings are approximate...

Tuesday 27th September

We rise reasonably early in celebratory mood; fords passed her driving test yesterday, it's her birthday and we're going on holiday!

Arriving at the airport car park we marvel at the precision of the electronic signs on each level. 1 space on level 2, 3 spaces on level 3, 8 spaces on level 4... none of which can actually be seen. Eventually find space on roof level. EV remarks that the car will probably be covered in snow when they return to it.

Despite EV's misgivings, everything runs perfectly smoothly. We check in almost immediately, the plane leaves on time, we arrive at Faro airport, collect our baggage, stroll through customs, board the bus and arrive at our apartment by 7pm.

Time for dinner, followed by a celabratory drink or five at the hotel bar. The sign in reception promises "The Many Voices of Nelson Braga" - an aesthetically challenged cabaret singer. His Freddie Mercury impression seems to be devastatingly accurate until we realise that he hasn't turned up and instead we're watching VH1 Classic. Minor doubts are expressed about having travelled a thousand miles to watch British television, but after a drink or two these doubts evaporate and we are merrily singing along to 'Bohemian Badgery'¹ by the end of the night.

Wednesday 28th September

Waking surprisingly early, we head out for a bit of light exploration. After an hour or so we blunder straight into a trap and are obliged to give up three hours of valuable drinking time while a vacuous woman and frankly terrifying looking ex-boxer try and convince us to part with £4000 to join a club which offers slightly cheaper than normal holidays. We decline - several times - and eventually sneak out to claim our prize: two bottles of wine.

Exhausted, we return to the apartment and decide on a quiet night in. EV grudgingly agrees to pay the €25 deposit for the TV remote control, only to find that Portuguese TV consists solely of news, dubbed childrens' programmes and game shows hosted by Portuguese Johnny Vegas lookalikes. We decide to go out after all.

A quick stroll down to "the strip"² reveals that the local nightlife involves lots of bars showing Liverpool v Chelsea on giant TV screens, although there are rumours that Nelson Braga has been spotted exercising his many voices in one of the bars.

Thursday 29th September

Decide to go exploring again, keeping our eyes peeled for anyone who looks like they might want to escort us to a holiday club again. We walk down to the beach for a quick paddle, but an unexpected wave leaves us wet and sandy so we retreat back up the hill to a welcoming bar for lunch. Decide that the hotel pool is a more sedate and less sandy option than the sea.

In the evening we abandon any hope of cultured entertainment and head down to the strip, where we get quite drunk an attempt to follow three football matches at once on different screens, with hilarious consequences. After this we return to the hotel bar where who should we find but the mysterious Nelson Braga and his many voices³!

By now the worse for drink⁴, we applaud his feeble musical impressions wildly (particularly his Louis Armstrong, which sounds like a man in the latter stages of TB) and call for requests. He declines to do Kevin Rowland or Gary Barlow, but humours us by picking out the opening notes of 'Stairway To Heaven' on the keyboard, before denouncing it as "rubbish". EV sneaks back to the apartment and returns with the camcorder to capture the performance for posterity. Nelson spots it and plays the next half hour as if auditioning for The X Factor. The thought of Simon Cowell tearing him to shreds keeps us laughing for days.

Friday 30th September

Now in full blown holiday mode, we head for Slide And Splash, the Algarve's joint top water slide park⁵. We arrive there around noon following an hour long bus journey in the company of a party from Essex who boast noisily about their drinking exploits and attempts to get deported. Fortunately they are easily shaken off once inside the park.

After a couple of hours' sliding and splashing the injury toll comprises a grazed knee, grazed ankle, two grazed elbows and three near drownings, so we retire to the standard, slide-free swimming pool until we have to return to the bus. For a few moments it seems the Essex contingent may have drowned, but in fact they are just fashionably late.

Back in Albufeira the evening nightlife hits a serious snag - there is no football on television. Fortunately there is no sign of Nelson "Tony Twelvevoices" Braga, but his replacement tonight is even worse⁶ and so - tired, grazed and sunburnt - we settle for a night on the balcony with a few cans of local beer.

Saturday 1st October

Urgh. EV wakes up and realises he can't walk after the previous day's exertions while fords confesses to feeling "a bit dodgy". We decide to head out for breakfast to try and shake it off and find ourselves irresistibly drawn towards an internet café where we catch up on world events⁷. We move on to a nearby Scottish pub for breakfast and beer but fords is still feeling a bit odd so we go back to the apartment for a siesta.

Out again for dinner, and fords' attention is caught by a restaurant offering "Vegetarian Surprise". The way the waiter sniggers as she orders should be warning enough, but she persists and is eventually greeted by a selection of vegetables - peas, carrots, cauliflower, potatoes - and spaghetti. Surprise indeed, although perhaps a more accurate menu description would be "leftovers".

Returning to the hotel, Tony Twovoices is nowhere to be seen so we feel safe enough to have a few drinks. Something is clearly wrong though as fords is asking for mineral water. Come bedtime she is suffering from diarrhoea and violent stomach cramps - surprise indeed.

Sunday 2nd October

fords is still feeling unwell so EV goes out for a wander on his own and within ten minutes is completely lost. After a while he manages to find his way back to the strip and a bar showing football, so all's well that ends well.

Come the evening fords is still no better so EV suggests finding a doctor. We tentatively investigate the clinic across the road from the hotel, and before we have time to protest fords is in a hospital bed and officially suffering from food poisoning⁸. A doctor spends twenty minutes trying to put an IV drip into fords' arm and EV is offered a sofabed on which to spend the night. We had only intended to nip out for ten minutes. Still, the room is air conditioned and has Sky Digital so we can't complain too much, even when everyone goes home and leaves us there for the night.

Monday 3rd October

Around 7am activity recommences. Throughout the morning various medical people come into the room and check fords over without any reference to the one question we're dying to ask: when can we get out of here? Eventually fords loses patience and presses the emergency call button. A nurse arrives almost immediately, followed by a doctor, who gather up all the equipment and escort fords to the toilet. On her return the doctor decides that fords' arm has swollen up sufficiently so removes the IV drip and packs the arm in ice.

fords' delicate digestive system is tested with a cup of tea and a biscuit. After two hours it still hasn't come out either end so we are free to go, although fords is ordered to abstain from orange juice, milk or chicken piri-piri⁹.

We attempt a bit of late sightseeing but fords, still with a dodgy tummy and now with a swollen arm into the bargain, isn't really in the mood. The return of Nelson Novoices in the evening lifts our spirits somewhat, although we prefer to sit outside by the pool¹⁰ and heckle him through the patio doors.

Tuesday 4th October

Time to move on. As we pack up the €25 Euro deposit on the TV remote finally delivers some value as we learn of the sad death of Ronnie Barker. We pause for a respectful moment for the "Four candles" sketch, then EV starts shouting abuse at Sky News interviewee Bernard Manning.

We wave goodbye to the hotel - and the hospital - as the bus takes us back to the airport in plenty of time for the 5.50 pm flight home. More than enough time, in fact, as the French air traffic controllers are on strike¹¹ and the 5.50 flight becomes a 7.00 flight, then a 7.30 flight, then a 9.00 flight, then a 10.20 flight. To make matters worse the music and electrical goods shop in the airport is closed, so our plan to spend our remaining Euros on a PSP is dashed. However, our Euros are soon gobbled up by the internet kiosk where €1 gets you about three minutes; and the bar. EV is heard complaining in no uncertain terms about paying €3.65 for a pint of dodgy local beer Super Bock - so much so that he goes back to the internet machine, logs into h2g2 and changes his tagline to "If this is Super Bock I'm glad I'm not drinking ordinary Bock."

Finally the flight is called and we rush to passport control, only to be held up again by an over-zealous official who insists on checking every single passport in unnecessary detail. We eventually take off five hours late, a delay longer than the flight itself. A trying end to what was overall an enjoyable holiday, although our thoughts of visiting France next year are immediately forgotten.