Our male guinea fowl had gone infertile, and the hens were past their best so we decided it was time to give up and take them home for the the crock-pot. When we got back to the village square, there were two old men, both Portuguese, who I had never seen before. They were obviously fascinated by the idea of foreigners in the village, and watched every move I made with great interest as I got out of the jeep, opened up the back door and exchanged my wellies for a ridiculous pair of sky-blue-pink crocs. Then I smiled broadly at them, wished them a
bom dia and pulled out a brace of guinea fowl. They fell about laughing, asked if I was going to put them in the oven and decided that I wasn't so different to them after all
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