Well, I'm home again. Almost one week.

My journey was slow and leisurely. I came back by train. I like to think of myself as adventerous. My loved ones and friends prefer to think of me as a coward. They're a straight talking bunch.

Personally I feel nothing but distaste (and a high level of fear ... I'd rate it nearer to 10 than to 1) at the thought of six miles of ... nothing ... between me and the ground. And I'm of the (very) valid opinion that a whole lot of nothing can hurt if you happen to suddenly plummet through it. It's the kind of pain that Tends to be terminally fatal, when you make final contact with the ground ...

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And so I potter back and forth by train. Overland. On the ground . I like ground. In fact, I love nothing better than having both feet firmly planted upon it. It makes me feel ... safe. Call me old-fashioned, but I take my personal safety very seriously.

Anyway, despite the protestations of others (who obviously do not apply my attitude to their own personal safety) I returned by a collection of European trains. The Eurostar, TVG and the SudExpress. Or the Lisbon Night Train. A truly decadent, antiquated and most importantly ... ramshackle mode of transport.

But I love the Night Train. Like - really love it. It's quaint, warm, comfortable and even better, full of Portuguese. You can take Portuguese folks out of Portugal but you will never take out of the Portugal Portuguese.

Meal times remain an absolute (tired, fed-up Portuguese still dine - come what may) and they remain happily devoted to whatever it is they're eating and drinking. Husbands and wives still play the cute 'push-me-pull-you' game.

Whereby the men (who think they're in charge) like to look like they're in charge. But the wives remain silently stoic - and are, in fact, running the whole show: "My dear, we're tired" "I know" "But we need to eat" "I know. Let's eat "" Yes, dear. "

I'm not sure what I like most about Portugal. The country or the people. The country is certainly beautiful. Equal in many ways to the green green grass of home (UK) but the people are wonderfully melded with each other, their families and their country.

It's probably a combination of both ...

The above is the truly inspiring Orient Station, the I arrive at one when I return to Lisbon. It's a fabulous mix of contemporary architectural aesthetics and gothic madness. Day or night, I love this station. Found on the Northeast side of the city, right by the Expo '98 site, it's well worth a lookit, if ever you find yourself in Lisbon.

And now I'm home, it's back to work. I have a fair bit to do, plus I have to ground myself again. Over two months in UK messes with my equilibrium and I need to find it once again. Going back to the UK massively only serves to remind me of what I miss when in Lisbon.

And my stay there was a little overlong.

Still. I'm consoled by the company of my lovely partner. He was a-waiting my return. Eagerly, I hope. He certainly looked eager. I know I was. And of course I can now return to murdering Portuguese and then there's always my miserable attempts to conquer Portuguese cooking.

Personally I think I should be banned from trying to emulate Portuguese dishes. I keep trying to convince my partner of this fact but he doggedly chows down on whatever crap food I serve up. It must be love ...

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