Behold the moon rising over Spain and bestriding the Algarve in its glory. Jones hurried outside on a biting-wind evening to take this striking picture. From the moon the earth would look equally beautiful, even if not clad in gold. You wouldn't see all the horrible things happening in so many places. Jones complains that the world is in a mess. I tell her that turbulence is its normal state. We just happen to be lucky.
You could be forgiven for imagining that you are looking at the approach to an Alpine ski resort in mid season. But you'd be wrong. This is the main road to Espargal on Monday afternoon. The area has just been bombarded by the mother and father of all hail storms.
We had seen a huge pitch-black cloud gathering its forces overhead like some alien mother ship; fortunately we just missed the pounding that followed. It's hard to believe that a cloud so black can harbour such a lily- white heart. Half way up the hill a vehicle was stuck, blocking the road. We joined the queue of cars waiting to get past.
When the road was cleared, we proceeded slowly, watching the vehicles in front of us slithering hither and thither in three inches of the white stuff. It's not often that we need to resort to the Honda's 4-wheel drive but we were grateful for it on Monday.
SCILLA PERUVIANAS SCATTERED THROUGHOUT THE PARK
We were returning from Faro where I had acquired a pair of slip-on Timberland shoes. For the past week - since last I put my back out while trying to do up my bootlaces - Jones has been fastening my shoes and boots, a service which I much appreciate. In fact, I'm starting to quite enjoy it. The new shoes slip on and slip off with boot-horn rather than Jones assistance.
My workers were back on Saturday morning to complete the wall at the top of the Inacio field. It looks good -and so it should. Building walls is not a cheap way of enclosing a property. On the other hand, such a wall is a work of art that will please those who pass by long after the builders themselves have passed on.
The next job is to widen the concrete strips that separate the house from the fields. We have laid down a gravel base already and covered it with metal-grid reinforcing.
Saturday afternoon I took my tractor down to Vitor's workshop for its first major service - an expensive exercise involving the changing of the transmission oil - 45 litres of it in my case - as well as the engine oil and filters. I've also replaced the front tyres, much quicker to wear out than the rear ones.
This sign is pasted awkwardly on the tractor beside the oil feed. Vitor couldn't read the English. I couldn't bend down to see what it said. But my smart phone had no problem either way.
Nelson has continued to clear the park of winter greenery, especially the triffids (Jones's name), huge invasive annuals. When he saw me taking pictures, he asked whether I would take one or two of him, a request to which I readily agreed.
Afterwards I selected eight of the best and printed them out in two collages. I explained that I normally looked at the pictures on a computer and put them on the internet for the benefit of friends and family . Nelson nodded vaguely. His interests lie more with breeding mares than the internet.
You can see some of the green monsters growing along the fence behind Ono, spurred on by recent rains. Jones likes them but they completely obscure the stony ground - bad news for me. As soon as the wild flowers fade and the ground hardens, I'll till it.
Jones tells me that these are wild tulips. I call them pixie caps. We are blessed with dozens of such wild flowers and cursed with the weeds that thrive alongside them. But you can't have one without the other.
Wednesday brought our annual rates demands, a property tax known here by the acronym, IMI. In our case, it runs to several hundred euros. That's light by UK standards although quite heavy by local ones. Many of the old houses, which haven't been re-rated in decades, face taxes barely running into two figures. Politicians are said to regard re-rating as political suicide.
One morning, after my weekly tune-up back massage, we took two large bags of May's classier outfits down to the charity shop at Guia. It's an area much visited by tourists who are likely to appreciate the quality. All profits go to support animal causes. We have also taken a second load to the community centre as well as passing some to a friend who is active in theatre costume and set design.
Here's Espargal hill, outlined against billowing clouds and taken from the hail-strewn main road.
Our clocks go forward this weekend. Summer looms!
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