The Day that Kept on Giving aka A Platter of Poo – Part Two

It was only when we were crossing a never ending bridge that we realised that somehow, somewhere we had gone rather wrong. Turning the satnav up we could finally hear her screeching, “Recalculating! Recalculating!” with a 40km round trip to get back to where we should have been.

By now it was 9.45am. Thirty minutes after the time we should have been ringing the guy to tell him to come and meet us.

Tis a strange thing in Portugal, we buy many things from the classifieds and without fail we are always told to meet the seller at an arranged spot. Normally a cafe or petrol station, there we either do the deal or, if the item is too big, we then follow the seller back to their home. We have never been given the direct address.
Of course someone will now tell me that this only happens to us. That it’s us.

No sooner had this fact dawned on us my mobile rang, it was the seller asking us where we were. To be honest, we didn’t know so we lied and told him we would be there shortly. We then double checked the location of our meeting place.

“Sintra? Yes?”
“Well yes”, he said. “But it’s not at Sintra it’s at ‘Meeiaiouauoq.’”
“Where?”
“Meeeiiououeiiaq.”
“Right. Is that near Sintra?”
“No.”
“Why did you tell us to meet at Sintra when you are not at Sintra?”
“I am at Meouuuuayieeuq.” He said. Ignoring our question.
“Can you spell that please?” We asked.

Now Portuguese letters are not pronounced the same as English ones.

So when he started to spell the town all we got was M, some random vowels and a Q at the end. We desperately entered various combinations of the letters in the sat nav. No location found.

By the time we had asked him to spell it for a fifth time we could tell his patience was wearing thin.

“Can you text us your address please?” We asked finally.
“Why?” Came the reply.

He then hung up.

I pulled the van over and we sat there staring at each other.

Suddenly a text came through on my mobile.  Sure enough it was Mouaoieyeoieq.  Entering it confidently into the satnav we looked with some irritation as it told us the said town was 40 minutes away from Sintra, back in the direction we had originally come from.

Turning the van round we pootled off again, at least in the sure knowledge this time, we were ‘nearly’ there.

As we approached the village named Meeeeouiiieuuq, Mr M phoned the seller. It was nearly 11am.

“We’re here!” He announced gleefully.
“Where?”
“Maeeeeiououuaaaaooouuuuq!”
“I’m at work.” And the line went dead.

Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

Mr Mista phoned back.

“No no no no no.” He said. “We have driven two (four) hours to get here. You can’t be at work. Please!”

There was silence.

“OK.” Came the reply. “I’ll come back. Wait and I will meet you.”

Oh.

Well that was simple.

Sure enough at 11.30am a small, young, smartly dressed guy turned up, beamed at us and told us to follow him.

Which we did.

Pulling into his driveway it started to absolutely chuck it down. Mr M jumped out and followed the guy to where the cement mixer was stored. I jumped out as I had seen a cute little Manchester Terrier and wanted to say hello. What I hadn’t seen was the two ton Tessie Rotweiller. Who on seeing me jumped up with the dirtiest paws ever and planted them firmly on my clean jeaned thighs. Wagging his little stump of tail, he wasn’t a Tessie, he was a Toby, I patted his huge bear head. And as I began to topple backwards he lunged forward and helped me on way. Luckily the van was directly behind me so I merely slid against the filthy side of the van but remained thankfully upright. When I actually got to Mr M and the seller, I was soaking wet, covered in muddy paw prints and had a muddy skid mark up the back of my coat.

Mister Mista merely glanced at me and then looked away.

This perturbed me. The fact the state I had managed to get myself in less than five minutes after arrving at the house hadn’t bothered him at all. Hadn’t even provoked him in the slightest to ask what had happened to me. As if it was totally normal.

Hurrrumph.

I took one look at the mixer and exclaimed loudly, “It’s frickin huuuuuuuuuuuuuuge!”
“I know.” Said Mr M through gritted teeth.
“Well that won’t fit in the back of the van,” I announced confidently.
“I knooooooow.” He hissed back at me.

But bless the guy, the seller, he did try. The mixer was wheeled to the back of the van and propped hopefully against the tail gate.

It was as nearly as tall as the van itself, and that was with it being on the ground.

Staring at the seller and then at Mr M, I wondered at what point would they state the bleedin’ obvious. Jeez, men do fanny about.

It was an amazing amount of time.

“It won’t fit.” Said the seller finally.

Hallelujah!

“No.” Said Mr M. “I think you’re right.”
“You will need to tow it.”
“ We don’t have a tow bar.”
“If you want the mixer, you need to get one.”

Sighing, Mr M agreed and started to arrange another day to come back down to pick the mixer up. It was too good a machine and too good a price to miss out on.

“You are stupid.” Said the seller.

Rude.

“To go back all that way and to come all the way back again.” He continued. “The fuel, the tolls (ahem), the cost of the tow bar will also be more then here.”

He was right.

“Wait”. He said. “I will call my friend.”

Thirty minutes after we had arrived at Maeeeeoiiaaayq we were driving back to Lisbon to go to the friend of friend’s garage to get a tow bar fitted.

We pulled up at 12.25pm. It closed for dinner at 12.30pm. Phew! Made it!  We sighed with relief.

Which of course we had done no such thing. A tow bar wasn’t going to be fitted in the five minutes left before they closed for lunch for two hours.

We drove the van into the garage and got out.

Handing the keys over to the mechanic we were told, “Come back at 5.30pm.”
“Whaaaaaat?!”
“5.30pm.” And the door was shut firmly in our faces.

Arse.

We were stuck in the dreg end of Lisbon for five hours. And all the time the poor dogs were home alone.

And here ends Part Two.

2 thoughts on “The Day that Kept on Giving aka A Platter of Poo – Part Two

  1. Sounds like a typical day in Portugal!! had to laugh when I read this. Oh, and the dog… I would have caked myself if a dog came anywhere near me. the guy sounds like a really unhelpful douche. You were very patient or desperate. I think I’d have told him to shove his cement mixer where the sun didn’t shine. I so admire your tenacity LOL I look forward to reading part 2!

  2. Omg I hadn’t realised all this had happened! You are right mistly they arrange to meet you at a cafe, but they are nit stupid, sign posts are not a forte here are they? The next time you have to do something like this, please ask me to dog sit. I would be happy to x

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