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CAESAR, my taxi driver, says he cannot bear to read or watch the news anymore. The content is too depressing and makes him angry. As he coaxes his battered old Mercedes up Lisbon’s cobbled hills, like a roller coaster car creaking to make the top of the ascent, he asks me where I’m from. “Ireland,” I say. “Ah, you know they call us the Pigs [Portugal, Ireland, Greece and Spain] in Brussels.”

We compare notes on our countries’ bailout prospects, while Caesar says he cannot get a loan from the banks to buy a new taxi. His taxes have risen and his income is down. “The politicians live like kings,” he says, “They have drivers and mobile phones that we pay for. I think they have forgotten how real people live.”