Although we don't get frost up here on the hill (as opposed to down in the valley) it feels icy when the wind howls down from Siberia. As so often, we bless the fire.
The evening schedule, once we've walked the dogs, is to turn on the radio news, pour drinks, feed the beasts, light the fire and then settle down near it to reflect on the day and see what's on TV.
It's a rare night when there's nothing worthwhile to watch.
This unflattering picture of me (most pictures of me are unflattering) was taken by Jones as Bobby and I enjoyed a brief mutual evening doze on the couch. (You can just see the top of his head on my lap.)
Jones says she took it to illustrate that even when asleep, I carefully grasp my glass. So I should, for it contained an outstanding whisky given to me by our neighbours, the Cusacks.
The wall brings me a glow of satisfaction each time I pass it. It is a most beautiful wall.
In fact, as I remarked to Jones, it is the most beautiful thing I have ever built, "I" being used in the sense that the queen uses "we".
It has another 40 metres or so to run along the base of the adjoining Graca field.
Sunday passed into oblivion. I have reached the stage when I can generally recall what we did today, struggle to remember yesterday's events and haven't the foggiest what happened the day before.
There is so little to distinguish one day from another!
I scolded her for leaving her appeal to the last minute. She had planned to go shopping herself that morning, she explained, but had to take a sick dog to the vet instead.
It was May's 84th birthday. She was in excellent form over lunch, consuming her fried shrimps appreciatively and conversing with zest.
My English class was the last of the year. We talked about corruption and the fate of José Sócrates, who remains in preventive detention while his lawyers do their best to get him out.
Proceedings were laborious. The notary throws the draft deed on a big screen and goes through it line
Dusk was falling as we all finally signed the contract. So Natasha is now the owner of a three-bedroom apartment. Or, put another way, she is now the owner of a mortgage and the occupant of the apartment.
Next we ran a car-load of dog-food out to the dog sanctuary before I attended an end-of-year lunch with my class. It was held in one of Loule's several large, canteen-like restaurants. My grilled turkey seemed to come from a pretty tough old bird.
Ignacio, one of my pupils, is a keen hunter. Last Sunday, he said, he was with a party of 37 hunters who went to shoot wild boar in the Alentejo. Scores of dogs accompanied them. The hunters took up positions around a thicket while the clamouring dogs went in to chase the pigs out.
In the ensuing chaos, Ignacio told me, the party shot 19 boar. Six dogs were gored and had to be taken to the vet. The dead pigs were distributed among the grateful locals and the hunters' fridges.
I put to her his arguments that boar had to be kept in check because they damaged crops as well as increasing in number by 50% a year.
She was dubious and wanted proof. I didn't have any. I do know that the United States has a huge problem with feral pigs.
To be honest, I felt more for dogs than the pigs.
Thursday we visited May ourselves. Her electrics were working but her TV wasn't. As the TV is May's constant companion, she wasn't pleased. Once again I turned on as many appliances as possible to see if they were tripping the system. They weren't but, after much fiddling around, we discovered that her two heaters were overloading the circuit they were on, causing it to crash from time to time.
From there we continued to the dog sanctuary charity shop in Sao Bras, where I had business. Jones bought a fleece for €1.50 and a polar neck sweater for €2.00
Friday we came across a stray dog in the hills during our morning walk. We think it's a hunting dog that lost contact with its master. We let one of the local hunters know.
Friday afternoon I inserted the newly received (second) printhead into my ailing Canon multi-function machine. Same problem. It wouldn't print black and white.
Evidently, the printhead is not the issue. What to do next! The nearest approved dealer is in Lisbon.
When she went to feed her waifs and strays, she came across the dog we'd spotted that morning.
It wouldn't come near her. She's put down water and some food. Oh dear!
To our distress, the restaurant is closing for five weeks.
In the corner of the room, a large party of Portuguese sang folk songs before standing to toast each other.
It felt almost as though Christmas had arrived early, the kind of Christmas I could identify with. In my heart I was singing with them.
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