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!
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