This week has skipped and tripped along, with the odd diversion and upset. For instance, as we were out walking on a bright and beautiful Easter Sunday, a bee flew into the back of my ear and stung me - quite gratuitously. Jones pulled out the sting but the ouch remained. My ear swelled up in protest. I feel unjustly victimised (can one be justly victimised?). Is there any point, I wonder, in boycotting honey?
Making a point, on the other hand, sometimes serves only to underline human stupidity. I have in mind the idiot who jumped into the Thames to bring the Oxford – Cambridge boat race to a halt. I think they should just have rowed rough-shod over him! He apparently was opposed to elitism, which he felt the race represented. I asked Carohn why elitism was a bad thing – she’s clever and knows about that kind of stuff – but she refused to take my question seriously.
In the afternoon we went to Loule to watch the statue of the Virgin being paraded down from the church on the hill to the town. Thousands of people turn out for this annual ceremony, many of them following the band and the bearers as they quick-step up the slope into Loule. Shouts of “Viva Mae Soberana” fill the air.
It seems to me that the good people of Portugal place more faith in the protective powers of the Virgin – especially their Virgin – than of holy mother Church, under whose roof they no longer congregate in large numbers. A nice lady from Lisbon held on to the dogs’ leads as I took snaps.
Jones and Carohn had gone ahead while I found parking. Contacting them was hard work; Jones had left her phone at home, Carohn’s rejected my messages. It turned out on later inspection that she had inadvertently blocked me - a phone facility unknown to her. I unblocked myself and several other frustrated correspondents.
On Monday, under another sunny sky, we ran Carohn to Loule station for a last coffee and cake at the station café before putting her on the train to Lisbon. It was great having her and we hope that she and her fellow pilgrims are dodging the black clouds over northern Iberia.
The builders are back after the damp week leading up to Easter, finishing off the last of the cobbled patios. They’re doing a good job, happy to accept small additional requests. Although the work is virtually complete, they have had to wait for the stone-dust foundation to dry out before tamping the stones down.
To keep the younger dogs out of our hair (and theirs) we enclose them in the “pen” each morning after their walk. They take out their energies on Jones’s irises, which, after a couple of replantings, are now finally protected with a barrier of thorns. Barri, the pup, leaps on to the roof of Casa Nada, from where she peers down at activities below. She’s very agile, the image of her roaming dad, whom we often spot on the outskirts of the village.
Wednesday was a run-around. After a medical check-up, we chased the insurance company for our overdue travel insurance (I fly to Canada next weekend) before fetching May for lunch. I spent some time programming her new mobile phone, a model designed for older and infirm users. It comes with a large keyboard and an alarm button which, when pressed, sends out an emergency message.
IRIS: As one of my highly-prized Ecco boots had developed a hole in its high-tech sole – less than a year after purchase - I asked the old cobbler in Loule whether he could repair it. He shook his head. I had more luck at a new modern establishment although I have to wait for the boots to return from some special facility that rips off old wrap-around soles and glues new ones on. Fortunately, I had bought a second pair online some months ago, which I have pressed into service.
CAROHN'S GERANIUM: Also in trouble was my EcoDrive Citizen watch, one of whose little adjustment knobs had jammed. I took it into a little old fellow who sits in his window in Loule, magnifying glass jammed in one eye, repairing watches. He thought he could fix it – come back after Easter – he said, and he did. He explained that it had been jammed with dirt. He’d had to dismantle and oil it. “How can I clean it myself?” I inquired. “You can’t,” he told me. “Bring it back here instead.” Jones says it makes more sense for me to wear an old watch when I’m working – and I can’t argue with that.
On the way home I heard an ominous thumping from a front tyre. I came to a stop on the highway and donned the compulsory reflective yellow jacket. Inspection revealed a large screw jammed into the rubber tread. I was able wrench it out, fearful that the tyre would deflate on me. It didn’t and it hasn’t - yet. Fingers crossed.
SPOTTED IN SILVES - STORKS MAKING LOVE: On Thursday I ran Jones down to the dentist for emergency treatment on a previously capped tooth that had disintegrated. We feared the worst but for once we were in luck. The dentist, a space-age operator, managed a miracle repair. He didn’t guarantee it but he was hopeful – and so are we.
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That brings us to Friday. We took Barri into Loule for her second vaccination, nervous lest she once again throw up over Jones (whose duty it is to hold her in the back seat). Barri came up trumps, falling asleep on her mistress’s lap and showing not the least sign of being car-sick. We are still putting her out of the house at night, much against our inclination, as she’s a bit of a pisser.
Last night was a bad one. The wind shrieked around the house without pause or mercy. At 0130 Prickles woke us, insisting on being escorted to his chair; at 0230 Russ whined to go out. At 0330 Raymond also begged to go out – and at 0400 he cried (he really cries) to be allowed in again. Normally the back door is open and they can come and go as they wish. But until Barri learns the toilet rules, we face such occasional nocturnal risings.
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