If our entry into heaven depended on the week's deeds, our application might look something like this. Monday: In spite of the heatwave under which Portugal sizzles, we are committed to taking May into Faro to do a little personal shopping. After dropping her and Barbara at the Algarve Forum,
I continue into central Faro, where the Nokia shop is located. For once, we have gritted our teeth and left the beseeching dogs behind. You can't shut dogs in a car, even with the windows open, when it's C37*. The Nokia shop is down near the seafront, a five minute walk from the underground car park.
The attendant there takes a close look at what remains of Jonesy's phone, which Barri has given a good chewing. By a miracle, the essential parts are undamaged and all the rest can be replaced. I wait 15 mins for a technician to do the necessary. He asks for €37 euros and returns the phone. It looks as good as new.
Back to the Forum to fetch May and Barbara. May clutches a bag of ladies' undies. We head to Almancil for a bite of lunch and grocery shopping. There's not a hint of a breeze. The sky is leaden and the air is heavy. I sometimes wonder whether global freezing would be kinder than global warming - not that we'll get to vote on it.
Tuesday: We plan a visit to Fatacil, the big industrial show 30 minutes away on the coast at Lagoa. Natasha phones to ask if she can work today rather than tomorrow because of a mix-up at her usual Tuesday venue. That's fine by us. Her mobile phone is playing up and I give her my old Nokia N95. It was once a world beater.
We make it to Fatacil that evening, just in time to find parking on the roadside. The show is popular; thousands of people turn up for the 10-day run. We skip the main dining area in favour of a corner specialising in smoked ham and cheese sandwiches. These taste wonderful, washed down with cold red wine.
As usual, I snap away with the camera. What you can't see is the kid holding the string attached to the balloon that's looming over his parents. Our aim is to find the stall selling the ceramics made by our neighbour, Ze Carlos, but we fail. Jones steers me away from the stalls selling the hyper-expensive, sleep-guaranteed mattresses.
Instead we purchase a copper brolly stand to replace the rickety wicker basket that holds my collection of walking sticks on the front patio. The salesman, a copper worker from upcountry, is delighted with the sale. Although the crowds are heavy, there's little commerce. People have come mainly for the entertainment.
Wednesday: Another scorcher! We have an appointment with our Iranian optometrist. Jones has decided that she needs new specs - and about time. I want photochromic lenses. I'm forever swapping my dark specs for my ordinary specs in the car. Membership of the local expat association brings a welcome 25% discount.
I spend a couple of hours outside on the patio repairing the folding chairs that Barri has nibbled. The wretch has chewed the front of the elasticised webbing making up the seats. I sew lengths of reinforcing ribbon along the leading edge of each chair. The electric fan hums away beside the table to provide a relieving breeze.
Thursday: Morning walk: We're down to our last mid-point 5-litre bottle of water. Jones uses two bottles a day, pouring one into a bucket (from which the dogs first refresh themselves) and the other in a rocky hollow. In the heat, the bees go mad for the moisture. Twigs in the water ensure that the bees can clamber out.
We fill the bottles from a water barrel that I take around on the tractor. Jones walks across the hill to meet me at the water point and help with the exercise. The bees buzz round impatiently, swooping on to the drops leaking from the hose. Jones rides home side-saddle on the tractor.
Mid-morning we travel into Benafim for refreshments. Celso is up a ladder repairing his awning. He's a man for all seasons. As usual, we order coffee and share a cake. Half a cake once or twice a week is permitted on my bespoke diet. I'm still shedding weight, albeit at a gentle rate. Jones says that's the best way.
We have arranged to dine with our friends, Mike and Lyn, newly-arrived from the UK. The Hamburgo's swordfish is excellent. The restaurant fills up as the evening wears on. We are pleased for the owners, Manuel and Graca, who have found the going tough this year. Many restaurants have already closed.
Kayleigh has spent a morning helping us to collect carobs. I am able to deliver another tractor-load down the road. The dogs and Kayleigh run a mutual adoration society. Mind you, the hounds have a knack of being able to check their admirers' pockets for biscuits while indulging in such exchanges of affection.
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