Letter from Espargal: 31 May 2014

Matters have improved somewhat. It was shortly after reporting battery problems with my HTC phone in last week's blog that I received a long-awaited SMS from Vodafone. You may (or may not) recall that the device is a sealed unit that I'd taken in to have the battery replaced. It was ready for collection, said Vodafone. Good news! We piled into the car - Jones, the usual suspects and I - and headed for the Algarve Forum in Faro.

The SMS, as we discovered on arrival, was not entirely accurate. Although Vodafone didn't exactly say so, it seems they hadn't been able to replace the battery. So they gave me a new phone, a slightly superior model. I didn't complain, even though I regretted the loss of the apps that I'd spent the previous 18 months acquiring.

This also meant that I could pass on to Barbara the starter Samsung smart-phone that I'd been using while separated from my own. Although I find the Samsung's layout intuitive, it was strange to my wife, who is familiar with basic Nokias (and would have been perfectly happy to continue with them).

Fortunately, she has grown accustomed to the workings of her iPad, which has much in common with the Samsung. With a little instruction and encouragement, she has taken to the phone with just the odd query and occasional gasp of exasperation.

Such high-tech devices were the main topic of conversation one evening when friends from the Isle of Wight, Mike and Lyn, invited us to a curry dinner prepared by Lyn. (Superb! Thank you Lyn.)

The pair of them have recently acquired iPhones, gifted by their phone company in the UK, We were interested (mainly Mike and I) to compare them with our own. I came away quite a lot wiser.

At the weekend we bade farewell to our visitors, Margaret and Terry Ferrett, who are among the world's easiest guests. They have the knack of looking after their hosts while pretending to be looked after themselves. Meals are miraculously cooked, clothes ironed and the garden watered.

I'm not sure exactly how it's done but it was much appreciated - especially while Jones was in Copenhagen. They emailed us the following day to say that they'd arrived home in the early hours after encountering horrendous delays at Gatwick passport control.

Slavic spent two days finishing the stone paving that he's been laying along the border of a field beyond our gates. It's an area that gets completely overgrown each winter. Our aim has been both to make it look more attractive and to do away with the annual cull of the weeds that invade it. The results are pleasing.

Midway up the strip we have installed a bench that will allow passers-by to sit in the shade of the trees and admire the scenery. The project has required artistic imagination, several days, heaps of sand, numerous bags of cement and multiple tractor visits to the bush-veld around us to hunt for rocks - with Slavic riding side-saddle.

The one advantage of the recent depredations of the monstrous machine that has cleared the hillside below us has been the great scattering of previously buried rocks. The owner of the area concerned is only too pleased to have us remove some of them.

They include three rocks with an attractive calcite formation that Jones spotted during our walks and we retrieved - rather hazardously - still to be placed in Mary's garden.

Slavic picks up rocks with care because they sometimes shelter creatures that resent being disturbed, especially scorpions. Mostly though, it's been ants' nests that we've uncovered, provoking the angry creatures into a frenzy of activity.

Apart from the ants we've encountered in the fields, we're finding little heaps of sand where tiny ants that have burrowed into the cobbles around the house. They have also been running supply lines up the wall of the house into the roof.

Alarmed at the implications, we dispatched Slavic up the ladder to investigate. He reported that the line of ants disappeared beneath a tile. Reluctant as I was to spoil their enterprise, I was more reluctant to have my roof infested - and we let loose with ant killer. Sorry ants but it's my house!

Still on insects, I dropped my trousers in the living room one afternoon to grasp a tick that was busy biting into my bum. I got him but not before he'd injected me with enough tick goo to prompt an itchy red swelling. For the rest of the evening I felt imaginary ticks crawling all over my body.

Following our unsuccessful screening of American Hustler, I sat down one night to watch our other recent movie purchase, The Wolf of Wall Street. It certainly keeps one awake and is a lively introduction to the female form and varieties of recreational drug. Jones wasn't impressed at the antics. She thought 15 minutes quite enough.

I have also completed Kevin Treston's book (Emergence for Life, not Fall from Grace), on reconciling Scripture with modern science. In short, it's all about symbolism. I fear that his interpretation will find as little favour with the Vatican as with the scientific world. Still, he tried!

Midweek I paid a visit to our GP to obtain the medical certificate that I need to renew my driving licence, a chore I face every two years for the next decade (and every year thereafter, if there's a thereafter). The next day we drove into Faro to the ACP (Portugal's AA) to set the process in motion. The ACP lady studied my documents intently. "It says on your old licence that you were born in South Africa," she pointed out. "But the doctor's certificate says you were born in Ireland." (And more of the same!)

In short, she booked me an appointment with the ACP doctor, who tore up my form and filled in another. (€33 please!) The new licence should be ready in a few months - if I'm lucky!

Letter from Espargal: 24 May 2014

This past week is not a contender for our week of the year award. It went badly from the start and mainly stayed that way.

On Sunday Bobby began throwing up and showed no interest in his dinner. Alarmed by our experience with Mary, whose loss still haunts us, we took the dog into the surgery in Loule for a check-up with the emergency vet.

The vet, Paula, was a young woman whom we hadn't met before. We explained Bobby's symptoms and the background to our visit. Bobby bore with her superficial examination but he objected to having both his temperature and blood taken.

He doesn't like people fiddling with him at the best of times and he particularly resents strangers sticking things into him. Having suffered various stickings myself, I empathised.

The results were slightly ambiguous. We had to take him in again the following morning for a further check. But he seems to be fine and over the upset.

ROBBIE (WEARING LAMPPOST HAT) AND CAROL

I ought to touch base by saying that Barbara returned late on Saturday night from Copenhagen, where she had met up with Robbie and Carol ahead of their cruise. They were in remarkably good form in spite of arriving from the US via Reykjavik minus a night's sleep.

It was a good visit that she was very pleased to have made but a tiring one involving multiple journeys and a sprint across Lisbon airport between returning flights.

On the Sunday morning, our guests, Margaret and Terry, headed north for three days to Evora, an ancient walled city east of Lisbon where Jones and I spent a fascinating few days ourselves last year.

During Barbara's absence, they looked after me more than I looked after them. My one kudo was to barbecue to perfection three large chicken breasts that Margaret had obtained and prepared with cheese filling and a bacon wrap - the secret of my success no doubt. They were delicious!

Earlier, Terry (Ferrett) and I had sat down to watch the FA Cup final - a most exhilarating match.

However the TV picture was freezing and freaking by turns. I tried streaming it from the internet instead but that was equally bad. In the end we turned on the radio commentary, muted the TV and were grateful for such scraps of the game as we witnessed.

Monday brought another technical problem. Jones wanted to watch a favourite TV programme from the BBC iPlayer library, which we access via a VPN to disguise our source. But every time I opened iPlayer on the iPad, I got a message saying there was an important update. And when I tried to download the update, I got another message saying it was not available in my country. Very frustrating!

It would seem that the problem arose from the IP address linked to our satellite internet provider. For when I tried later from a Portuguese (snack bar) location, the update downloaded in seconds and the programme functioned normally. (This is the short explanation, Llewellyn. The BBC now makes a "global" version of iPlayer available to subscribers in a number of countries. I have begun subscribing.)

On Tuesday we visited Loule on behalf of a neighbour who wants to get rid of an old foreign-registered car with a minimum of bureaucracy. I had tracked down a car-scrapping yard in the industrial zone that I thought might be glad to have the car for its parts. Stacks of de-wheeled and de-engined hulks around the yard bore witness to the fate of old cars. But it emerged that scrapping foreign-registered cars was problematic unless one was prepared to wade through loads of paperwork.

Also on Tuesday I phoned Vodafone to ascertain why there was such a delay with the installation of a new battery in the HTC One mobile phone that I'd taken in two weeks earlier. This, as I have mentioned, is a sealed unit that requires a qualified technician to open it.

The Vodafone call-centre person asked me to hold while she inquired, offering me some horrible music for my pains. She came back to say that because there was no qualified technician in Faro, the phone had been sent away for "repairs". Much as I love HTC phones, that's my last one. Changing a battery should take two minutes, not three weeks.

Finally on Tuesday our travel agent emailed us with an alternative itinerary for our planned Black Sea cruise in October. Did we want to accept it, she asked?

Gone are Yalta, Sebastopol and Odessa - the destinations that had attracted us! In their place are stops in Romania, Bulgaria and additional Turkish ports.

I shrugged. I knew that changes were inevitable. Jones is distinctly unimpressed. We could cancel the cruise but having paid separately for return flights to Istanbul, we would then be faced with other difficult choices. Roll on Romania, Bulgaria and Turkey!

On Wednesday morning, following heavy rain overnight, we set out in bright sunshine on our usual walk. After a month without rain, the countryside was refreshed. So, soon after, were we, for we failed to notice a huge black cloud creeping up on us.

When Jonesy did spot it, we turned tail and hurried for home. But the cloud caught us and soaked us all utterly to the skin, pelting us with huge drops, so that we crept back - all eight of us - bedraggled and cold through the gate.

Once we'd dried ourselves and our animals, we made our monthly supplies run to the rescue kennels we support on the far side of Loule.

Marisa, seen carrying two bags of dog-food, was very pleased to see us. She always is.

She was struggling, she said, with an outbreak of distemper.

She and her supporters do amazing work - and that's on a wing and a prayer. Their dedication is quite inspiring.

PAPARAZZO ABOUT!

Wednesday afternoon Margaret and Terry returned from their trip to Evora, braving some blinding downpours en route. Dubious weather aside, they proclaimed it a successful excursion.

(The local English papers headline all events as A successful this (or that) was held. To the best of our knowledge, no unsuccessful events have ever been reported.)

Thursday Slavic came to continue building his dappled stone pavements. I set him to work painting the garden furniture while we went walking. The sun was back, along with a few unthreatening clouds.

Afterwards Jones and I went to Benafim to pay Quim Quim for the morning's delivery of stone dust and cement. Then next door to collect my new Irish passport from the parish office - my one success of the week! It expires in 2024. I wondered whether I would ever need another.

At the Ponto de Encontro, our final stop, Tania served us coffees and toast. (We take our own jam.) She replaces the pregnant Telma, who was finding the long hours particularly tiring. Her babe is due some time in August. We wish the pair of them well.

On Thursday evening I barbequed salmon steaks and then six of us sat down to watch American Hustle. When I looked up, there were four. Then there were two and finally just me. If you haven't seen American Hustle, don't bother!

This weekend we have the opportunity to vote in the European elections. I believe that citizens ought to exercise their right to vote but it's very hard to know who for.

Letter from Espargal: 17 May 2014

On Monday my English class and I discussed the threat to our health caused by the over-prescription and misuse of antibiotics. We also discussed what to do with ourselves. The same hardy half dozen, well-retired pupils have been with me for several years and they're not getting any sprightlier.

Each year a few new pupils arrive and then drift away. This is not heartening. I called for suggestions from the class about how to vary or improve the lessons." We like them the way they are," I was told. "Don't worry about it".

Tuesday brought the east European contingent to Espargal. Slavic - who's Ukrainian - arrived to help me fashion Mary's garden. Doro, out-of-work husband of Nadia - Barbara's seamstress, both Russians - arrived to cut back the jungle.

They were followed by Natasha, who arrived to clean the guest quarters for Margaret and Terry Ferrett, who were arriving themselves from Gatwick that evening - quite enough arrivals for one day.

They all did great work. Slavic created a most beautiful river of flowing stones in the south garden; Doro gave us sight again of a bank long drowned in vinca and Natasha got the house gleaming, as she does.

Mid afternoon we met Terry and Margaret at the airport and accompanied them over the bridge to Faro beach for a beer and a sandwich at the Electrico. They were as delighted with the 30* temps that greeted them as they had been depressed by the cold weather they left behind in Portsmouth.

Wednesday we nipped into Loule for some odds and ends. Jones collected a couple of items of (beautifully and inexpensively) altered clothing from Nadia. I had arranged to meet my wife at a favourite snack bar for the habitual coffee and shared rice-cake but I found her hurrying towards me as I approached.

She was fleeing an encounter with acquaintances who never let one go without at least ten minutes of conversation.

Speaking for myself, I am never happier than finding no-one I know in a cafe or supermarket for I dread the inevitable "how nice to see yous" while I wrack my brain for their names.

I have been known to cower behind stacks of baked beans, intently reading the fine print, in order to avoid such. Supermarkets in my book are for shopping, not conversations, other perhaps than to find out where the staff have now stacked the dog biscuits.

Mind you, this belief is foreign to many country folk. It is not uncommon for people to wait in line with their groceries, ears flapping, while the cashier catches up on the life of a client that she (always a she, I'm afraid) hasn't seen for a while.

I got caught up in a similar situation at the hardware store where several of us were waiting for an elderly fellow to search his pockets for the euro he was short of for his purchases. He'd already taken an age to obtain the exact fittings that he required for a tap.

As he painstakingly tried yet another pocket, I slapped a euro on the counter with a "you do someone else a favour one day", earning a small round of applause from my fellow waiters, who were as impressed as much by my fluency as my generosity.

Wednesday afternoon Jones took a break from her garden to pack and check the arrangements for her early flight to Lisbon the following morning - thence to Copenhagen to meet (her brother) Robbie and Carol, who are embarking on a fjords cruise this weekend. Neither of us manages to sleep well ahead of an early morning rise.

We were awake at 03.30 and away an hour later, doing our best not to disturb the household. We'd left the car outside the gates in preparation for an easy get-away. There was time for a shared coffee and cake at the airport before Jones, slim and smart as ever, slipped through security into the lounge.

Also on Thursday Slavic returned to continue his path and bank-building activities. We made three tractor trips down into the veld to collect the necessary rocks. The great machine that had been stripping the hillside lay idle for once beside the road.

It had certainly done us a few favours for the rocks we sought we found scattered around on every side, rudely ripped, like the trees, from the soil where they'd long lain. I needed Slavic's weight on the tractor to give me front-wheel traction as we came back up Espargal hill.

We got a lot done. By the end of the day my bones were aching and the last of Llewellyn's Laphroaig tasted wonderfully refreshing. While taking a bone to the waifs and strays (on Jones's orders), I was ambushed by a friendly neighbour who insisted on pouring me a generous shot of fig liquor.

So I needed more than usual care as I made my way back home up the steep and stony right-of-way to our house. I was most grateful to Margaret and Terry for their assistance with the watering that still awaited me.

MARY'S GARDEN

Jonesy texted me from Copenhagen to say that all was well. She was going back to the airport to meet her relatives and will have a little over 24 hours with them before they board their cruise ship.

I am pleased that she has the catch up opportunity as she hesitates to make the long trip out to South Africa where most of her extended family remain. The exceptions are nephews in the US and Canada and her brother in London.

I was surprised one evening to receive an email from the Portuguese post office online service, CTT, with which I am registered, informing me that it was having difficulty delivering a mis-addressed parcel to me.

My ever-suspicious security system had blanked out the "click here to fix it" button, the appearance of which I hope would have alerted me instantly to its nature.

In the event, a quick internet search brought up a bank warning that malicious trojan-laden emails in CTT colours were now flying around cyberspace and ought to promptly deleted. It's the first such I've received in Portuguese.

(A corps of West African philanthropists continue to pester me daily {"Dearly Beloved,"} to accept mountains of cash. And to think that the Nigerian authorities had the gall to ban "District 9" because of the film's portrayal of Nigerian gangsters!)

Friday: The Ferretts have gone off to lunch with neighbours, having got to know all the local expats over the years that they've been house-sitting for us.

I'd love to get a text from Vodafone to say that my phone is ready for collection. No word yet.

The house is silent, apart that is from the gentle snoring of dogs recovering from a long, hot walk, and the strains of Tchaikovsky's 4th Symphony. Time for my siesta too!

Letter from Espargal: 10 May 2014

MOST PICTURES COURTESY OF LLEWELLYN & LUCIA

It's hard to know how to begin a blog in a week during which a bishop - in America, where else? - who had previously divorced his wife, announced that he was about to divorce his husband. You may need to read that again. (Full story in the Daily Beast.) That has to be an undisputed first for the Guinness Book of Records.

But since such fantastical phenomena are irrelevant to life in Espargal, let me concentrate on matters closer to home.

On Monday I forgot to take my English lesson with me when we set out to fetch May for lunch. Never mind, I told Jones, I can access it on the internet and print it out at the university. But the secretary wasn't there when I arrived and the spare computer, after taking an age to boot up, couldn't find a printer to print to.

So I apologised to my pupils and we just chatted instead - interrupted midway by a man from UPS who had arrived to deliver a hand-knitted scarf from my sister-in-law in the States, as I explained to my fascinated companions.

LUCIA & BARBARA BEACH WALK

Also on Monday, I phoned Felismina, a former legal secretary, to ask her to remind me how to obtain our property title deeds online - as she had helped me to do last year. I had found the website and tried to access our deeds. But the site was most particular about what information it required and where - and it positively scorned my efforts.

Felismina, bless her, was able to guide me through the maze, much to my joy - for I would otherwise have had to spend hours awaiting my turn at the crowded registry in Loule.

THE WOOLLY MAMMOTH TAKING A SIESTA

All original title-deeds are kept at such registries and copies, whether obtained online (€15 each) or on the spot, are valid for six months for sales or purchases.

Pause there to stick a hand down my trousers in case the tickle I felt on my knee was a tick. Negative! Better safe than sorry.

On one occasion, while lunching at the Angolana in Loule, I felt such a tickle in my groin and had to make a rush for the gents - just in time. The tick went down the loo with a curse on its kind.

Tuesday we joined Llewellyn and Lucia at a Faro beach snack-bar prior to their return to London that evening. The sandwiches were good. So were the beers, albeit at outrageous tourist prices. The beach was busy. The tourist season is underway.

Llewellyn took some pictures. In fact, he took a whole lot of pictures during the week, some of which you see dotted around the blog. I'm sad to add that he and his wife got home midnightish to find one of their cats desperately ill - and needing to be put down by an emergency vet.

LUCIA WITH THE GANG

Wednesday, while out walking in the bundu, where we never meet anybody, we suddenly saw a couple with a loose dog approaching us. We had a few anxious moments as I tried to bring our lot under control. They think the countryside belongs to them.

Happily, no harm done and matters were amicably settled. The couple, French visitors, are staying in one of Idalecio's cottages. We resolved to put our bigger dogs on leads for the next few days.

Still on walks - all week we have been dodging a huge machine that has been clearing around carob trees that had become heavily overgrown down the years. "Clearing" is perhaps the wrong word. The machine is simply devastating in its environmental destruction; it rips trees and bushes out willy nilly as it lays bare the earth.

It reminds me of the damage done by the vast mining cum war machines in the film, Avatar. I stopped to take a few pics. Jones is horrified at the damage done. The bottom line is that the carobs are income earners and the owner is clearly more concerned with access to his trees than preserving the vegetation around them.

A DESPONDENT JONES SURVEYING THE DAMAGE

Also Wednewday I went into Vodafone in Faro with Jones to ask them to put a new battery in my HTC One mobile phone. If you wonder why I didn't insert a new battery myself, it's because the HTC One is a sealed unit which, as much as I love the phone, is a pain. The phone has to go in to the workshops.

Now the story gets complicated. During previous repairs, I have merely transferred my simcard from the ailing phone to our spare phone in order to stay in touch with the world. But the HTC One takes a mini-simcard and the spare phone takes the ordinary sim. Moreover, the spare phone is a basic Nokia that doesn't talk to the internet, where all our info is backed up.

In short, I bought the cheapest compatible smart-phone (Samsung Galaxy Young - €85 with points), got Vodafone to copy my mini-sim details to an ordinary sim and inserted the latter into the new phone.

It's a beauty, even if it is just a starter smart-phone - really easy to operate and intended in due course for my wife whose own somewhat battered and dog-chewed device is gradually giving up the ghost.

In-between times I have strimmed our jungle, cut back the ivy that threatens to overpower the septic tank and read a book, Commanding Heights. The book was recommended to me by its author, Roy Andersen, whom I met in London recently while assisting with arrangements for the funeral of his brother, Julian.

Roy, a South African business leader who became a Citizen Force general in the old SADF, remains one in the new SANDF. When I remarked that he must have found that one hell of a transition, he said "read my book". So, after ordering it from Amazon, I did. It took me back to the days when I was working in SA TV news.

Some of our cameramen were called up to take army pictures of a war that South Africans were fighting in Angola, a "secret" war on which the SA media were forbidden to report in the interests of "security". Roy, who was in the thick of it, today works closely with fellow officers from the enemy he once fought. Strange world!

DO YOU RECALL THE RIVER SIRENS IN THE FILM, "O BROTHER, WHERE ART THOU"?

Now it's back to Kevin Treston's half read work on how to reconcile scripture with modern science. This, I find, calls for even more imagination than Roy's account.

And since I've still got a bit of room to spare, my RSI-plagued elbow is much better, hallelujah! and I'm still intent on a (very) gradual slimming down. Six kilos lost in six months, which suits me - literally.

Letter from Espargal: 3 May 2014

It's been a funny sort of week.

On Thursday morning, we went on a hike, that's Jones, Llewellyn, Lucia, Prickles and I. Here we are!

Jones thought we were going on a big hike that began in the hills around Cortelha. I thought we were going on a medium hike across the great rise of Rocha da Pena in the distance. I'm not sure what other people thought.

Prickles didn't care, as long as he got an outing.

ESPARGAL HILL FROM ROCHA DA PENA

In the event, we trekked around Rocha da Pena. The circuit takes about two hours. It was a lovely day with views forever, especially across the valley to Espargal hill - under blue skies close to 30*C.

We were relieved to find that the cafe at the bottom was still open, even if the Alsatian chained nearby wanted to eat Prickles.

I took off my shirt and vest at the cafe to look for a tick I suspected was crawling up my shoulder. I was right. Llewellyn did it in.

AT ROCHA DA PENA CAFE

It was my second tick of the day. I wasn't so lucky with the first. We were en route to Rocha da Pena when I felt a sharp pain on my tummy. After pulling the car over, I tugged up my clothing to find a tick just settling down to breakfast.

I removed him carefully and crushed him on the road. Benafim's pharmacy was closed for Labour Day and the best I could find was some betadine from the supermarket, which I dabbed on to the bite. Tick-bites swell and itch for days on end.

On Wednesday morning, Jones and I went to Lisbon by train to renew my passport. Sorry, said the lady at the passport office, examining my application form, you haven't got an authorised person to witness it.

But, said I, I'm here in the passport office in person with my passport. Why would I need a third party to confirm that I am who I and my passport say I am.

Sorry, said the passport lady, but we don't witness passport applications. You have to take your passport and application to the notary up the road to attest that you are who you say you are before I can

accept your application. (I may be putting words into her mouth.)

So that's what we did. The notary lady was very nice; there was no queue at her office.

She looked at me and at my passport, swore that I was who I said I was, and charged me only 13 euros so it wasn't too bad.

And then the passport lady was happy that I had proof of being who I claimed to be, as evidenced by the notary's stamp.

AT DINNER

Another time we were at dinner with friends at a restaurant. As often happens, I rose from the table during the meal to use the loo.

I turned on the light to the men's cubicle and opened the door to find that a) I'd actually switched the light off and that b) the place was already occupied by a large gent.

Making my apologies, I switched the light back on and closed the door, to await my turn in the narrow passage outside.

As the minutes ticked by, I began to feel the pressure of circumstances.

It occurred to me that the gent on the other side of the door, who was making loud hawking noises, was not in any hurry to emerge.

So, swallowing my misgivings, I turned on the light to the vacant ladies' cubicle and nipped in there instead. After all, a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do!

THE SOUTH GARDEN

No sooner had I bolted the door and set about relieving myself than the gent next door exited the men's and tramped off down the passage, turning off all the lights, including mine, as he did so. There's more to be said but it might lower the tone.

The complications didn't stop there. On Monday we fetched May and her visiting nephew, Ken, for lunch. Ken was not in the best of moods. The house water had run dry, the Sat TV hadn't been performing and various Portuguese workers, who'd turned up - late - to sort things out, had failed to understand his (Edinburgh)

English in spite of his loud, slow and careful pronunciation.

Worse, he left his key inside May's front door while he came outside to show me the marker posts he'd set up at the corners of the property, using my borrowed paint and stencil.

As he did so, Jones escorted May out of the house and closed the door behind her, trapping Ken's key inside and preventing us from opening the door from the outside.

LABOUR DAY DECORATIONS IN PENINA

In short, we were locked out - not for the first time!

Over a somewhat strained lunch we phoned various contacts - in vain.

Having finished my meal, I set off for the house with Ken to try to force the door by sliding a flexible plastic card under the latch, as I'd seen a locksmith do on a previous occasion. No luck.

Shortly afterwards May's Man-Friday, Fernando arrived, followed by his all-purpose brother, Sergio; the latter had the door open in two ticks after sliding chisels in between it and the frame. I noted Sergio's details for future reference. He's a useful fellow.

Tuesday we had spare keys made for May's side door and the outer security grill before embarking on another session with our lawyer. The recent death of a friend has brought home to me the importance of having one's affairs up to date. Llewellyn and Lucia went to the beach. The weather could hardly have been better.

ALFA PENDULAR EXPRESS

Wednesday we took the early train to Lisbon to renew my passport, as described above.

A first-class return ticket for the pair of us cost less than 60 euros, great value for money. The road tolls alone would cost double that.

The early morning express to the capital is a brilliant high-speed tilting train (unlike the bone-shaking mid-afternoon return).

We lunched on toasted tuna sandwiches at an open-air restaurant overlooking the broad Tagus estuary.

Llewellyn and Lucia have been with us all week. (Most of the better photos are his.) They love beaches and they love Portugal. We met them at the airport and then continued to Faro Island for an informal supper of toasted sandwiches at a restaurant shack overlooking the estuary.

It was cool and windy and there were few diners. Waitresses waited to pounce on those who appeared.

Llewellyn brought with him a new Skype phone and a separate handset to replace our ailing model.

Over the next several days, between visits to the beach, he set up these two phones, transferred the SKYPE base station from my upstairs landline modem to my downstairs booster modem, hooked up the booster and my printer unit to my new Satellite Internet modem, set up a portable wifi hotspot on my smart-phone and proved himself generally very technically useful. (Never mind if you haven't followed the details!)

If this all sounds like a fairly normal week, it hasn't been. More a case of the show must go on.

For we have struggled, both of us, in spite of the consideration of our guests, to come to terms with the death of Mary.

She meant so much to us. She lurks in the corners of our minds, still barking down at the fence and hiding under the table.

We really had no idea of how big a part she had come to play in our lives.

It will be some time I fear before she leaves us in peace.

To those many readers in four continents who have expressed their sympathies at her passing, we can only say a BIG thank you.

Although we have lost family pets before, their deaths have not been so unexpected or untimely.

Most of our dogs and cats have lived out their lives.

While we try to focus on the joy we had with Mary, we still find ourselves often on the brink of tears. How sorely we miss her!

In the meanwhile, we lavish additional affection on her companions and wonder whether they are aware of her absence.

Barbara is planning to remodel part of the garden as Mary's garden. If there's a NO Dogs sign at heaven's gate, I might well consider going elsewhere.