“Desculpe?” I said.

He looked closer at me “English? Dutch?”

I was tempted to reply “Geordie”, given this is the second occasion I’ve been mistaken for Dutch by an English speaking non-Portuguese.

“English” I replied. “What is the problem?”

“Vot is the problem? They renovate the fountain and now I cannot stand my bottles to be filled vithout them tippling over!”

He demonstrated and repeated his complaint with even more vehemence. ” Zay are so very, very stupid!”

He had already filled ten or so, large bottles, and was busy filling the next ten. That his conspicuous consumption indicated filling a catering need, rather than a domestic one was obvious. His arrogant disdain of the people of the country within which he’d chosen to live was breathtaking. That a simple square of wood was missing from his ‘filling kit’ was clearly beyond his comprehension or imagination.

I felt very much like laughing, but stopped myself just in time, and just savoured the moment. Two reasons mainly. One, I simply enjoyed the moment of seeing someone who had his head so far up his own arse, his brains had turned to shit, and secondly, I didn’t want to continue where Wellington left off, and start Peninsular War II.

Zay are so very stupid!