This blog oozes into life around 17.00 on Monday afternoon in the study where Jones and I are both at our desks, she briefly before watering her garden. I am seated in front of the tower fan, pausing every few minutes to mop the drops of perspiration dribbling down my neck or to squirt a fine spray of water towards the fan - not that it helps much. The reading on the thermometer is C29*; on the patio outside it's about 10 degrees higher.
The heat is all embracing. There is no escaping it. Through the window a thin blue sky is visible, clamped over us like an upturned oven dish. There's just a hint of movement among tree tops protruding above the patio railings, not enough to offer any relief. The dogs are camped in various corners of the study and living room.
Even Pally, a dyed in the wool outsider, has sought refuge inside. It's the hottest afternoon of the summer, one that was predicted several days ago along with numerous warnings to the public to act accordingly. This is not an option open to the fire-fighters trying to extinguish the huge blaze in the hills between Portimao and Monchique, an hour to the west of us.
(THURSDAY) SMOKE FROM THE FIRE FILLS OUR SKIES
The next day or two are forecast to be nearly as hot. Then, mercifully, temperatures are due to fall to around the 30* mark, at least for the next week. The weather bureau reports that this summer has been the hottest and driest since 1931. It has certainly been the hardest to bear that I can recall, an ominous foretaste of the globally-warmed world that awaits us. The very air we breathe seems to have been singed in a furnace.
FLOPPED OUT
I am biding my time until 18.00 when I must go outside to irrigate my young vines, a weekly task. Jones insists that one is less conscious of the heat when one is actually outside doing something useful like picking up carobs or watering the flowers. I reserve my doubts.
Jones has been carrying on regardless - this in spite of nursing several injured finger-tips, the result of scooping the crystalised remains from an old earthen flower bowl with bare hands.
The bowl itself is one of several whose fragments had been tossed on to a heap across the road from the Hamburgo, fragments that caught Jones's eye. I managed to glue some of the bits together. The remaining gaps are being disguised with suitable greenery.
FLOWERING YUCCA GROWING IN SECTION OF TRUNK
Sevenish we'll go walking. We keep a sharp eye on the dogs to see how they're coping with the heat. The youngsters carry on much as usual but the bigger, older beasts pant furiously. We pause with them in the shade and, if necessary, cut things short. Barbara likes to get back home in time to to watch the sunset from the telef, an ambition that conflicts with her need to finish the watering.
Morning and evening we top up the stone bird bath, more for the benefit of the bees than the birds. The former swarm around it throughout the day, seeking refreshment. There's little to be found right now in the dry bed of the Algibre river. The birds have more fun under the sprinkers that Jones sets whirring among her plants.
Llewellyn and Lucia are spending the last of four days at Milfontes (A Thousand Springs) on the west coast, a popular tourist resort on the banks of the River Mira. They have used it largely as a base to explore the region as they have reminded us with daily emailed pictures.
THE HOLES AND ARROWS GIVE THE CLUE
A pause here for thought in order to report on the week's successes. One that comes to mind is the adjustment of my new watch strap. The jeweller who supplied it had removed a link too many for comfort. So, with the assistance of a demo on YouTube, I set about replacing it myself. This appears somewhat simpler on the screen than it is in practice, especially when one lacks the right tools. Nonetheless, it was accomplished and the strap is now comfortable around my wrist.
It was with some surprise that I glanced down at my phone to see that I had somehow opened the health page linked to my Pebble watch - not something I've done before. The information it supplied speaks for itself. While I was well aware that smart watches convey such health-related information to their wearers, this was a first experience for me - a step up from the pedometer I once possessed.
Wednesday morning: We have carefully filled in, (had) witnessed, registered and posted off assurances to the UK government that we are still alive and kicking and desirous of continuing to receive the pensions they pay us. A BBC radio programme earlier this week explained how and why the pension system arose and why it is now deep in crisis in most of the western world. It was quite scary listening.
THE FIG TREES ARE IN FULL FRUIT
If it brought home anything, it was how lucky our generation has been, those of us with final salary pensions - good fortune that the generation behind us is unlikely to share.
L&L arrived back from the West Coast last night and have gone off to the beach. Llewellyn, whose movements are being tracked by Google (with his blessing) keeps on getting requests from Google for pictures of particular facilities in the resorts he is visiting.
POOPED
An exhausted Mini has returned from a two-hour jaunt in the hills. She starts out with us on the morning walk and then takes herself off, she alone knows where. Her absence twice drove an anxious Jones up to the telef to call for her. My wife says we have to train the dog to return with the rest of the pack but short of keeping her on a lead I don't see how it can be done.
Wednesday evening: We are back from a light supper at JL's snack bar. The temperature has fallen sharply and the wind is up. What welcome relief it brings! The girls have put on jackets to sit out on the patio. Mini, Mello and Sparky are playing high-speed chase games around the garden.
Thursday: I joined some of my neighbours to watch a digger building a wall from huge slabs of rock at the bottom of the village.
OLD WALL ON THE LEFT, NEW WALL ON THE RIGHT
Then along came a truck with a new supply of slabs that it tipped into the drive with a thunderous crash amid a cloud of dust. One is reminded just how unpleasant it is to be caught inside a shaky building in an earthquake.
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