This week has been quite busy and several times I have had to bend my rule of planning only one thing a day. Let me skip over the usual stuff, the boys painting the house on Saturday, brunch on Sunday, May visit and English classes on Monday - and come to Tuesday.
On Tuesday morning we had a session with our lawyer. Part of it was to complete the paperwork for the recent complicated purchase of a plot of land, complicated mainly because the vendor lacked the necessary papers.
The other part was to discuss the future of Casa Nada (the Nothing House), the old cottage on the property that we have restored and divided into a workshop (me) and mini-apartment (she). Our several attempts down the years to register it have come to nothing.
After the meeting I dropped in on the old cobbler with my Ecco shoes, remodelled by Mello after I'd carelessly left them on the front patio. The cobbler's a taciturn fellow. "Dog again?" he grunted. I nodded. "Come back tomorrow," he said. I did; he did a great job and charged me accordingly.
NEW STYLE IN HATS, A LA MELLO
Mello also got hold of my Ecco boots, the little bitch. So far my gaffer-tape repairs are holding.
SUPPER TIME
Tuesday afternoon brought the anticipated fall of Portugal's minority right-of-centre coalition government, just 11 days after its installation. The country's three disparate left-of-centre groups have meanwhile reached agreement on forming a leftist administration around policies that reject austerity.
PRIME MINISTER PEDRO PASSOS COELHO (ROCK CURRANTS RABBIT)
Whether the state president will invite them to form a government or whether he will stick with the lame duck incumbent pending new elections next June, we wait to hear. It is hard to know which option bodes worse for the country. (I do not write as a fan of austerity; I simply don't see any viable option.)
ONE OF SEVERAL HUGE ROCKPILES AT THE FOIA LOOK-OUT
Moving on....Wednesday, after my physio session with Jodi, we drove an hour west to Foia. This is the name given to a convex mountain top, just over 900 metres high, which gazes down on the nearby town of Monchique and, more distantly, on both the southern and western coasts. It's the highest point in the Algarve. On a clear day, which we lacked, one can see ships steaming around the corner of Portugal.
STRANGE ROCK MOUNDS BESIDE THE ROAD
The hill is festooned with every kind of communication mast and dish. Barbara's interest, however, was in the views along with the craft centre beside the snack bar at the popular viewpoint. This is less a point than several acres of parking and facilities. The craft shops proved to be well worth the visit.
While Barbara was inside I went out to meet a couple escorting two donkeys who were lingering on the sidelines. The introduced themselves as Robert and partner, a German couple who hoped to set up a(nother) donkey sanctuary in the Algarve. I made a small contribution to the project and wished them well.
Most days I have spent around an hour on the tractor cleaning up our fields following last month's rains. Intermittently I hop down from the seat to cut back overhanging branches that either block my path or snatch my hat off as I pass. I've two or three hours' work still ahead. The big job is to burn off the abundant heaps of cuttings that dot the place.
One morning I called on Vitor the mechanic for assistance when a tractor warning light came on. It turned out that the key wasn't returning fully to the correct position after starting because of moisture in the mechanism. A healthy squirt of WD-40 cured the problem. For her part, Jones is still bringing in the last of the carobs.
Twice, as we were about to go walking, the dogs have barked vigorously at a figure on the far side of the fence. One proved to be a tourist staying locally, a Dutchman called Tom, who said he would be here for a month. Barbara met him again on her waifs run.
On another occasion it was Tiago (James), the young son of Portuguese neighbours. Tiago, who speaks passable English - he says he learns it in school - couldn't credit the number of dogs that insisted on coming up to smell him. "Oh my God!" he called out time and again as each new beast rushed up to check him out. Tiago was pleased to join us on the walk. When I asked whether we ought not to consult his parents, he waved the question aside, informing us that he was now 11.
Speaking of God, West Africa's spammers now call upon His name in the email invitations they send me daily to claim the millions of dollars that await me if only I will furnish them with my details and a modest deposit. Those beginning: "My dear, how are you?" have given way to others that start: "IN THE NAME OF GOD THE FATHER...."
It is a matter of regret to Jones and me that the divinity doesn't strike down these thieves who take His name so flagrantly in vain. Come to think of it, there are a great many other suitable candidates for being stricken. On the other hand, once the divinity began zapping sinners it's hard to know where He (She? It?) might stop.
I note, Canadians, that Mr Trudeau has appointed equal numbers of men and women to his cabinet - one that "looks like Canada". Although I'm slightly suspicious of appointment by gender (ethnicity, nepotism or whatever) I'm impressed by what I read of his first moves. I hope that you are too. He certainly seems a lot keener on open government than his predecessor.
Still on a vaguely political theme, I have downloaded R W Johnson's book: How Long will South Africa Survive? Since I'm still on the early chapters I don't yet know the answer. I'm not sure that I want to.
I'm more concerned with how long Portugal will survive as its young people emigrate and its old ones proliferate. I hope that it's for at least the next 20 years. By that time I reckon I won't have any more worries - at least not earthly ones.
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