Lisbon is famous for its tiles. Apart from the sun and the port and the warm, witty people, the tiles were my favourite thing about Lisbon. Many of the buildings are covered in beautiful old ceramics, painted in all sorts of lovely patterns and colours. Why? According to this text that I copied and pasted last week from a now-forgotten website, it's because the tiles are, "durable, waterproof, and easily cleaned, providing cool interiors during Portugal's hot summers and exterior protection from the damp onslaughts of Atlantic winters." If I had vandalistic tendencies, I'd have brought a chisel and hacked off a few favourites to take home for the Bathroom Of My Future Dream Home. But I'm no thug, so took a few photies instead. Meanwhile back in the Very Posh Hotel, Rhi and I were taking advantage of the Very Posh Facilities. The gym was magnificent, a glass box on the roof of the hotel. So one could huff and puff while looking down to the castle and the tiles and all the poor peasants who couldn't afford to stay in a five star hotel for free. After that it was down to the basement to the Very Posh Pool. Against my better judgement Rhi convinced me to get changed in our room, which meant getting into the lift in our swimmers and Very Posh Bathrobes. And wouldn't you know, instead of taking us straight to the pool, the lift stopped in the lobby. The doors flung open, revealing us in our fluffy white splendour to the tuxedo guy at the grand piano and all the expensive people sipping champagne. I frantically stabbed at the Close Door button, but a Very Posh Bloke in a suit that probably cost more than my annual salary hopped in beside us. "Good evenink ladies!" "Hello!" I gestured at our lovely attire. "We're going to the pool." "Yes of course!" I hammered the B for Basement button again, but the lift started going UP! "Noooo, lift!" I squeaked, "Pool is DOWN!" "What's going on?" said Rhi. "Ze lift is broken," declared the Very Posh Bloke. "And so is ze pool. It is all broken. You can't go down there. I'm so sorry ladies." Rhi and I exchanged alarmed glances. I could tell she was having the same flashback, to that nutty German girl who'd patrolled our hostel door back in Reykjavik. But then he grinned, revealing with huge yellow teeth, "I am just joking! Just joking!". The lift stopped at the sixth floor and off he went. Weirdo. The pool was huge and beautifully lit, with servants I mean staff wandering around with soft towels and cocktails. Rhi and I paddled for awhile, then hit the sauna and steam room. I had a bit of a freakout in the steam room. I'd never been in one before. I never expected it to be so bloody… steamy. After that I had a shower and washed my hair twice, because the shampoo was expensive and free. Then I slapped on three kinds of free lotions and talcum powder then slipped a few free shower caps into my bathrobe pocket, as you can never have too many of those. Then I put my swimsuit in that spinning wringer machine thing and put it in a free plastic bag, then took the lift back up to our room. Taking a lift in a bathrobe with no underwear in a five-star hotel will probably end up being the biggest thrill of my sad suburban wife life. HA! That night we ate cheap supermarket bread rolls with ham and cheese for dinner, then realised we'd run out of toothpaste. One call to the concierge and a woman appeared at the door within two minutes, presenting me with a fancy Very Posh Hotel gift bag with a tiny tube of L'Occitane toothpaste nestled inside. I almost went stinky-breathed just so I could add it to my stash. So all that was my brief brush with the high life. Oh! I almost forgot to mention the Wobbly Thigh Game in the pool. You can all play along at home. All you need is a pool and a pair of wobbly thighs. "Hey, you have to try this," said Rhi as we splashed around some sculpted businessmen. "Stand in a squat position. Now put your hands on the back of your thighs. Then just wave your legs back and forth!" I assumed the position. "Oh lordy. I can FEEL MY FLESH FLY!" It was a hoot. And even funnier if you put your hands on your butt. Have you ever known the ridiculous feeling of your flesh undulating underwater? Of course, if you have perfect, unmoving thighs of steel you will never know this pleasure.