There's a wicked wind blowing, which is bad news. For it's as hot as hell and grey smoke has bundled upwards over the eastern horizon all day. Tonight that horizon has turned red instead. Nearly a thousand fire-firefighters are trying to bring the flames under control, with the help of water-bombers. And they're not making much progress.
Tavira town council, which has been hardest hit, is appealing for bottled water and other supplies to assist the hard-pressed firefighters. Nearly a third of its total area has been burned as black as the devil's heart. From (Portuguese) Madeira and the (Spanish) Canaries come similar stories of wildfires out of control.
BROTHER BRENDAN IN HIS OFFICE, WITH CHARLIE
For my part, I am back from a week with family in the South African town of Witbank, east of Pretoria. The taxi-driver who ran me from Lisbon airport to Oriente station said he'd spent ten years in the town, and that was before I'd mentioned it by name. Small world! He wouldn't recognise it now.
With me I brought the South African ProVita biscuits that Jonesy loves and specially requested. To the five single packets that I acquired, my brother added four double packets, to accommodate which I had to borrow a large bag from him. (Don't count; one packet has passed on.)
I also brought a new camera, one with a serious zoom, that I spent an idle hour practising with at Frankfurt airport. In fact, I brought several objects (all perfectly legal, mind you) that might have prompted a few questions from customs in Lisbon, had they not swooped on a young lady just ahead of me. I raise my glass to suspicious young ladies.
There's not much else to be said. Instead, admire this birthday card, presented to Barbara by our artistic neighbour, Sarah, shortly after the dogs had dug yet another huge hole in my wife's garden. To add to which Barri has devoured her alarm clock, half a dictionary, several toilet rolls, a shaving brush, Jones's sun specs and a tube of anesthetic cream.
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