Big Trouble in Little Brentford - Part Deux

We are eight days into our latest visit to Fuseta, in the Eastern Algarve, Portugal.

I was somewhat apprehensive about coming back here for what is our 4th visit. After all you can see what there is to see here in less than half a day.

However, as soon as we had settled into our usual apartment and strolled around the town I  immediately felt at home and totally at peace with the world.

I know I've waxed lyrical about this area before but I feel the need to do so again!

Staying in Fuseta is like stepping back in time. The area is totally unspoilt and the village is an old fashioned, traditional fishing village where everyone knows everyone.

The locals speak just enough English to get by, but they welcome tourists with open arms and genuine friendship.

http://www.visit-eastalgarve.com/travel_guide/Fuseta.html

The apartment that we rent overlooks the protected Ria Formosa National Park, the Isle de Armona and the Atlantic Ocean.

The small local population work mostly in the few shops and restaurants or in the fishing trade and are very family oriented. The beaches are stunning and the restaurants serve delicious food at a fraction of what it costs anywhere else on the Algarve let alone the rest of Europe.

Fuseta benefits from both a tranquil lagoon beach based in the village ideal for young children, and ocean beaches reached by a five minute ferry ride from the small quay which provides access to the barrier island beaches of the Ria Formosa, the Atlantic Ocean and 14 kilometres of unbroken sand.

At the outdoor restaurant shown at the end of the video, CasaCorvo, you are served with a large salad and bread, followed by a selection of anything that they have - gambas, sardines, whole sea bass, tuna, swordfish, mackerel, pork steaks or half a chicken accompanied by  boiled potatoes and/or chips. You can have as much as you can eat washed down by as much wine or beer as necessary to get you through your meal, followed by a local pastry or cake and coffee. If you feel the need for a liqueur you can have one.

All at the exorbitant cost of 10€ per head!

Whilst not exploring Tavira, Monte Gordo and Cabanas with the Young Allotmenteers, pictured above, who are staying about 15  miles east of us, I have been lazing about in the sun, listening to old episodes of Desert Island Discs and reading the fifth and final novel in Robert Rankine's Brentford Trilogy, "Knees Up Mother Earth".

And it's here we pick up the soccer trail again and the saga of "Big Trouble in Little Brentford".

Deep in the council chamber of Brentford town hall, Gavin Shufty, representative of a consortium intent on the purchase of Griffin Park, home of Brentford FC, is explaining the detail of the proposed deal to redevelop the area with executive homes.

Brentford FC is at an all time low. They have not won a single game for two seasons, the manager has resigned and the club is in debt to the bank to the tune of £1.65 million.

Under the terms of the contract the debt owed by Brentford town council, owners of the football club, will be written off in exchange for vacant possession of the ground and surrounding area at the end of the current season and the granting of all the necessary planning permission for the housing development to commence.

Each councillor that signs the contract will have a road named after them and each will receive 1,000 shares in the building project, which when the homes go on sale, are expected to reach at least £100 per share.

This is the reason why people become town councillors and each member duly signs on the dotted line.

All except Neville, the part-time barman, that is.

Neville, newly elected to the council by the clientele of the Flying Swan to champion the cause of the working man (or not working as the case may be) on the otherwise corrupt Brentford Town Council, is torn between standing up for his principles and not signing the contract or grasping the backhander with both hands thus allowing him to fulfil his dreams of owning his own pub.

Finally, this once in a life time opportunity to buy the Flying Swan from the brewery proves too tempting to refuse and Neville, racked with guilt, signs the contract.

However, in an attempt to partially clear his conscience, Neville insists that a clause be added to the contract that he, Neville, the part-time barman, has sole responsibility for appointing the new manager and that if the club goes on to win the FA Cup this season the debt will be written off,  the sale of Griffin Park will be null and void, and the ground will remain the home of Brentford FC.

Later the following lunchtime in the public bar of the Flying Swan, an ugly incident involving Neville, the part-time barman, his knobkerry¹ and public bar stalwarts John Vincent Omalley and James Arbuthnot Pooley, leaves the latter two in the cottage hospital with concussion and a life time ban from their beloved pub.

Neville, the part-time barman, under threat of prosecution for GBH, reluctantly rescinds the life time ban on the Irish duo and, against his better judgement, "You (Jim Pooley), couldn't organise a knees-up in a brothel!", appoints Jim Pooley as the new manager of Brentford FC with John Omalley as his PA.

Jim Pooley is not happy with his appointment - "Football Management is a full-time job and full-time employment has never sat altogether easily down to dine with me. In fact, it's generally departed prior to the pudding course and without paying the bill." 

But spurred on by Omalley and the realisation that the football club has a fully stocked bar that will be his to do what he wants with, he reluctantly accepts the offer and the unlikely pair set forth for Griffin Park.

They are met at the gates with more than a degree of unpleasantness from the resident groundsman, the turban headed, kilt wearing Mahatma Campbell, who knows the pair of rogues from old.

But having sorted out the "ground rules" with the Campbell over "the one" at the club bar, Jim and John install themselves in their new offices and start their incredible journey on the trail to Wembley.

¹ -  knobkerry - a short wooden club with a heavy knob on one end; used by aborigines in southern Africa and part time barmen in Brentford for hitting drunken customers on the head.

Could Farnborough FC and Mr. Paddy Power be following a similar path to Brentford ?

Only time will tell!

With that I'll leave you to ponder over this pearl of wisdom, as inscribed on the wall of Monte Gordo railway station.

Is there more to these simple Portuguese folk than meets the eye, or are they students of William Blake? Perhaps they just share Aldous Huxley's fascination with hallucinogenic drugs! 

And on that deep and meaningful note I'll leave you with this:



Hey Ho!