What I Did on My Holiday, by Nige

My short (too short) break in the fine city of Lisbon with my daughter began with a classic hotel booking cockup (I am about to threaten the travel company with terrible reprisals, never fear) and included at least one quite bizarre incident. This was on the Metro, where a group of amiable middle-aged men blocked the door as we got on and made a big drama of hauling us aboard. This, as I soon realised, was all by way of nicking my wallet - in my case a wallet containing only cards, which I then saw, looking over their shoulders, that they were examining (with some distaste). I politely pointed out that the wallet was mine, and they, equally politely and with great good humour, handed it back. It was as if this was some kind of colourful folkloric entertainment. Very strange.
Later, I made a discovery that I must pass on for the benefit of humanity at large - nothing less than a cure for a nosebleed. For no obvious reason I had had two nosebleeds in the course of the day, and a third came on as I sat down to dinner in a restaurant. An elderly lady had a word with the waiter, who then bore down on me, clutching a plug of cotton wool, which he rammed firmly into the affected nostril. It was soaked in vinegar (wine vinegar - but no doubt malt works just as well) - and it stopped my nose bleeding. Just like that. This is the only effective cure I've ever come across, and I owe it - the world owes it - to an old lady in a Lisbon restaurant. Lisbon - the city that nicks your wallet then cures your nosebleed. (And cocks up your hotel booking - but they all do that.)
It was, of course, a joy to return to Blighty and find The Great Helmsman's face resembling an explosion in an egg factory.