This is a time when I should be very pleased to be somewhere cooler. Behind me, the study fan is grinding its way noisily through an arc. Downstairs, the fan we acquired this morning is doing the same thing in the living room. With temps close to C40*, I couldn't see us surviving the weekend without it. At the hypermarket a queue of people waited to place their bets on the Euromillions draw this evening, with a jackpot of some €200 million. Oh! the lure of lucre!
The season of carob-picking is upon us. The black pods have started falling and we have begun collecting them. We try to fill a tub each day. That takes about four hours of labour. I either stand and pluck them from the lower branches or kneel to pick them up, carefully avoiding the thorns as I do so. Bending is not my thing.
Jones is rather more flexible and agile. So, like Jack Sprat and his wife, we get along. Once the tubs are full, we tractor them down the road to Ermenio's cellar. For his part, Ermenio brings us generous loads of melons, peppers and whatever else he's growing. It's a great understanding.
Last weekend Benafim held its annual fair. From the community centre that hosts the event, I took this picture of Espargal hill, with our (brown) house visible upper left. Just to the right of it is Casa Nada (white), which houses the workshop, the tractor and the Bijou Ensuite. Jones spent a day cleaning the suite for two guests - the overflow from a group staying locally - who didn't arrive. We didn't mind. Neither did the cats who occupy it.
At the fair one purchases tickets for the drinks and dishes of choice. These are collected at various points and consumed at tables surrounding the dance floor. The evening was quite chilly for once and the girls were grateful for wraps or jackets. We were among the early birds. People continued to turn up late into the night.
As the music started, this little girl took to the floor to give her own spontaneous performance, clapping her hands to the melody before breaking into an impromptu dance. I was both fascinated and touched by her dancing, so natural and unselfconscious.
As she whirled to the music, I thought of Herod's daughter doing the same thing in rather different circumstances a couple of millennia ago - and that the father of this little girl should have been equally delighted with his daughter's performance.
It also occurred to me that to take pictures of other people's children without permission is a dubious business. So I was pleased to find a column from the Telegraph, saying: "...the Home Office...assured me that there is no law against taking photographs of other people's children, provided you do not harass or harm them."
What exactly the law is in Portugal, I don't know. Anyhow, the little girl, suddenly becoming aware of herself dancing all alone, grew nervous and looked around for her family. Whoever they are, I'd be glad to offer them the pictures as a memory of the occasion. What a pity it is that innocence has such a short shelf-life!
MITTAGONG NOVITIATE, NEW SOUTH WALES
As it happens, the group of former monks with whom I correspond - guys I trained with in the early 60s - have been comparing notes on child abuse in the Marist schools. One ex-monk was recounting instances when he warned his superiors of misbehaviour, only to have his warnings ignored or see the miscreants transferred elsewhere. It's hard to come to terms with, especially as we knew some of the subsequent abusers. Our correspondent group now includes atheists, agnostics and believers. Makes for interesting exchanges.
Back to the fair: Supper over, the dancing began, led by an accordionist - top right - hitched up to the usual electronics. The country Portuguese love dancing, the women more than the men, so it's not uncommon to find females dancing together when they lack male partners. Jones and I have found that dancing is not an activity essential to our happiness.
She and Pauline enjoy watching the dancers and engaging in those perceptive female observations about garb, expressions and styles. One can't help noticing the differences in approach between the long-established couples and the newcomers.
Sunday morning the gang gathers for brunch at the Coral. A toasted sandwich crowned with a fried egg is the most popular call, followed by coffee and perhaps a reflective medronho. We introduced Sarah's guests to medronho, and they certainly seemed favourably impressed.
I've no idea who this character is but for years he's been turning up to the cafe thus informally dressed. Although I'm not exactly a formal dresser myself, I do harbour certain doubts about the propriety of such navel displays. Mind you, in these parts it can be hard to say what propriety is. There is no standard dress for formal occasions;
it's a case of whatever you're comfortable with.
We have entertained and been entertained by our intermittent Dutch neighbours, Henk and Early. Like Jonesy, Early is an enthusiastic gardener whose efforts speak for themselves. Henk is a retiring dermatologist, with a practice in Holland, who is coming to appreciate the merits of village life in the Algarve.
It's time for my siesta. Maybe it will be a little cooler when I wake. If we win that Euromillions jackpot tonight I'm going to buy an aircraft capable of transporting 7 dogs, 4 cats and a couple of humans. And a house somewhere high in the hills, where it's cool in summer. For as quoth the ancient mariner:
All in a hot and copper sky,
The bloody sun, at noon,
Right up above the mast did stand,
No bigger than the moon
Day after day, day after day,
We stuck, nor breath nor motion;
As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean
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