Monday was a red letter day. It was the day the Hamburgo reopened after an extended break. We celebrated the occasion by supping there with neighbours, David and Sarah. The dinner was as good as ever. But, much to our chagrin, the music that blared from new TV screens featuring screeching, gyrating bimbos did nothing to improve the occasion. Oh dear!
THIS IS ONE PUSSY (CAT) THAT HE AIN'T GRABBINGIt's hard to blog while pretending to ignore the mammoths in the room. We feel dispirited, as depressed by the swearing-in of a petulant fantasist on the far side of the Atlantic as the onward march of the Brexiteers closer to home. Yes, we know that the world is sharply divided and that others see it differently. Farewell Obama. Whatever history's verdict may be, we have admired your efforts and we are sorry to see you go.
In the face of these great tides of change, I have only trivia to offer. Portugal, which spends most of its time sweltering in the sun, has this week been shivering. Dawn frost glistens in the valleys; on the hills there have been brief hints of snow. We've needed two jackets to face the bracing morning air. Our wood-burning stove has been working overtime, its hairy acolytes camped gratefully around it.
On Monday my mobile phone twice threw a fit, heating itself up alarmingly and discharging its battery. On Tuesday I took it in to Vodafone who sent it off to the repairman after first removing its (nano) simcard, reframing it (as a micro sim) and replacing it in my back-up phone. We lunched in the pale sunshine at the Electrico snackbar on Faro beach, our favourite. In the car-park across the road, a dozen motor-homes idled away the day, TV antennae poised and solar panels soaking up the sun.
A dozen more were drawn up in the vast new parking ground on the far side of the estuary. Their occupants have easy access to the beach via the new boardwalk across the intervening water. Such vans are sprinkled, like spots on a plum-pudding dog, around every beach, picnic spot and resort in the Algarve. It's as though northern Europeans have fled south like refugees from the arctic winter.
Back home it took me a couple of hours to set up my replacement phone and to persuade it to talk to my watch. What I hadn't realised - among other things - was that WhatsApp needed to be reconfigured before it would function as me in a different phone. Apologies to any WhatsAppers who found me mysteriously absent. At this point, everything seems to be up and running again.
JONES WITH A FAVOURITE SCARF AND A NEW SWEATER
Wednesday brought my weekly back tune-up with Jodi. Thursday and Friday were unusually sociable. After Thursday lunch with friends at the Hamburgo (Oh, that music!) we visited their house 30 minutes away. It's impressively high-tech. A bank of solar panels feeds underfloor heating, supplemented when necessary with electricity, gas or wood-fired combustion. A panel in kitchen wall constantly monitors the operation of the above.
The whole house exterior has been clad with insulation panels, covered and painted to look like plaster. All doors and windows are heavily double-glazed. Energy requirements are minimal. I like it.
HEDGE IN BLOOMFriday, after shopping, we joined another friend, Kenneth, for lunch. He's down from Scotland to oversee the sale of the house he inherited from his aunt, May - the old lady we assisted in her final years. We've been his link with agents, as well as the gardener and maid.
In-between times (and especially between twice daily walks) we have repaired more of the cushions that the dogs ripped apart, helped neighbours make travel arrangements online and acted as foster parents to a (tenth) dog while its owners are abroad. (That's apart from six more local mutts that we "treat".) Even without the likes of Trump and Brexit, life sure hasn't been dull!
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