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.
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.
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.
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
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.
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.
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!
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)
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.
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.
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.
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).
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.
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!)
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.
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.
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.
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