This special birthday edition gives me the opportunity to stick up a few pictures (click on them to see them full page) that wouldn't otherwise make it. Among the cards that Barbara received from wellwishers was this one, and it took my fancy. I hasten to add that Barbara is the thrift controller in our household and that her credit card seldom emerges from her purse. Readers should further note that Jones generally dislikes having her picture taken, and that the posed shots were really intended for a tiny audience. As they're lovely pictures, I hope she will not mind my posting them up here.
To thank neighbours for gifts, Jonesy posed with each gift in turn and then attached a photo to the thank-you notes. She tried to get Prickles to sit inside the ceramic vase but Prickles thought this a daft idea and would have nothing to do with it. So she had to content herself with the company of the other dogs. Please note how the colour of vase matches the front door.
The dress was another gift. This picture was taken on the crystal path. I'm quite proud of it with those thingummy flowers (I'll think of the name in a moment), the new car and an admiring dog all worked into it.
And then there was the pack of handsome puppy greetings cards. This picture was taken in Jones's corner of the study, where she spends many meditative early-morning hours, surrounded by favourite things. We are still trying to work out how the glass desk top got itself cracked.
After our visit to the Loule craft fair, we repaired as usual to one of the open air cafes situated on the islands of the Avenida, Loule's main drag. The proprietors had no objection to our bringing with us a load of cakes from the fair. They supplied the coffees and digestifs.
At the subsequent birthday barbeque, having failed to find a missing dog (discovered the following day), I consumed a little wine and discussed with Pauline, the other birthday girl, the secrets of marital harmony. It was Barbara's view that I should delete this photo. At least it serves to illustrate why most babies burst either into laughter or tears on first beholding me. A comparison with the god, Pan, might be appropriate, although I don't have hooves and I don't recall that he wore specs.
From time to time, I am mistaken for a neighbour, Mike Brown, (and vice versa). Although there is a superficial similarity, trained observers will notice that I wear a larger hat (the brim, I mean) and long-sleeved shirts. The little fellow seated beside me is Zeferino, the octogenarian neighbour whose dog, Bobby, we walk each afternoon and occasionally lose.
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