The Portuguese are like any other nation. There is the usual mixture of humanity; nice people and not so nice people. There is the young man on the till at the supermarket, bored out of his mind, whose disinterest borders on the downright rude; the woman with no teeth who wanders the streets all day and is absolutely charming but completely deranged; the neighbour who greets you with a lovely smile each morning [as does the senhora with no teeth – a bit scary]. (Hmm, talking of teeth…. Lo,TG Ed) There are smart people, scruffy people, the good, the bad and the ugly.
However, there does seem to be a trait that I find a little disturbing.

Spitting spider, Scytodes sp.

The season of sniffles, coughs and colds has exacerbated this national habit – they spit. A lot. Almost every other person I see wandering around finds it necessary to hawk and gob. The more conscientious then stand on the resultant gooey mess and try to grind it into the pavement. All those gooey germs must then get trodden into cafés, shops and the home – lovely. There have been some piles of phlegm I’ve come across that would have done a greyhound with diarrhoea proud. (Nice turn of phrase, Peabrain. Lo,TG Ed)

I thought it might be me causing this reaction but even when I’m hidden behind dustbins and palm trees they still seem to do it. (They can probably sense you’re in the vicinity. Lo,TG Ed)

I suppose it’s just one of those things, a habit passed down from father to son and from mother to daughter – it’s a shame – honestly it makes me want to spit [except, of course I wouldn’t, I’m far too refined].