400.
I have decided to stick with my strengths and keep writing in English. Despite the fact that I have heard 3 year-old children speaking Portuguese fluently, and have seen 7 year-olds writing Portuguese with very few errors, I must admit that I am no match for them. So... English it is from now on (although I have been told that my written Portuguese is quite good - for a foreigner). Anyway, challenge dealt with, I decided that it was time to get on with more pressing matters... like returning to the book fair to attend the launch of Público's latest book, 15 Years of Photography (Público, which was launched in 1990, is one of Portugal's leading serious daily newspapers). I listened intently, then bought the book - which at 19 euros is a snip. After the speeches, I went for a stroll, looking in stall after stall at all the books I would love to buy, but which I would not be able to carry back to the UK with me (I've already bought six very heavy, coffee table style books, and have been given another three normal books by my colleagues who wrote them). Besides, I have photocopied the front page of just about every issue of two Portuguese newspapers (A Luta and O Capital) for the year 1918 - and all of that paper, which is approximately one whole 50 year-old eucalyptus tree, has to come back with me too... which reminds me... I have to buy one of these bags that have wheels and a handle before Monday. While I was browsing and dribbling over all the cut-price treasures, and before my resolve weakened and I gave in to temptation, Sílvia phoned to ask if I wanted to go for something to eat. Thirty minutes later, we had picked Alexandre up from his work, and we were on our way in the general direction of my flat in Alcântara. A change of mind and a quick swerve into the inside lane, and we were on our way across the bridge with the vague notion of going to Costa de Caparica. Instead we found ourselves in Trafaria, where the three of us feasted on fresh fish and shellfish and devoured a jug of excellent vinho verde rounded off (for me) with a slice of very juicy melon and (for Alex) a big plate of chocolate flavoured sugar in the shape of a cake. All for the incredibly stupid price of 45 euros (for everything). I suddenly remembered one of the things that I love about this country. Afterwards, we strolled along the prom before hitting the road back to Lisbon. I arrived back at the flat at midnight, refreshed, content and very, very tired. Hence the photograph now.

Last year I remembered my Grandpa, Jack Jones