When people ask me about the trip, the first thing I say is HOT. Santo deus, that heat, that heat! Devastating and longed-for all at once. We flew from a polar London, 1C the morning we upped and left, so to be deposited in a sweltering, 30C, sticky-fingered Lisbon was disorientating, delirium-inducing and altogether delightful. The first noon I wandered around blinking like a mole, uttering over and over I’m so happy. Accordingly, our finest hours were spent eating gelato – dulce de leite-chocolate for him, raspberry-straciatella for me.
 The light in Lisbon is something else – soft, dawdling, always golden.
 Happiest hours also spent sitting drinking beer on pavements, where corner shop owners drag benches and tables into the streets and serve drinks to anyone they please.
 There’s an air of disrepair to Lisbon and I like that. Unlike London, where most everything is shiny and new – the old made glossy, the layers of time painted swiftly, quietly, away.
 Just him, eating crackers at a tram stop. We did a lot of waiting for the tram, attempting to squeeze every last inch of our pale English skin into the rationed shade of the bus shelters.
 The bustle of Baixa, waiting for the 28 tram.
 The view from our tiny but perfectly formed apartment (I’d recommend) – every time we stepped outside, the Basilica da Estrela quite literally took my breath away.
 Accompanying garden – the Jardim da Estrela – where we read books, and scarfed pastei de Nata for breakfast, and attempted to walk off all that gelato. The loveliest place to stay near to, just the right amount of bustle.
 Breakfast. Buy them from any corner pasteleria. Thank me later.
 Tiles, azulejos, Lisbon’s crowning glory. They are everywhere, all colours, shades, patterns, textures. I’d like these tiles on my table, my dresses, my plates and my bedsheets. Like the coloured walls of my old hometown beside the Danube, they inject colour into this little city on the bay. It wouldn’t be the same without them.