Although my dogs adore me and my wife agreed to marry me, I have never been under the illusion that my face (or figure) was likely to find its way on to the cover of a glossy magazine. My virtues lie elsewhere, or so I tell myself. If we were all handsome, none of us would be handsome. In short, the bland must bear the burden of buoying up the beautiful. These days, strangers smile at me only when I have mis-buttoned my shirt or am wearing my hat back to front (which is more often than pleases my wife).
None the less, I am proving painfully attractive to two unwelcome classes of people. During the past week, Sir Innocent Johnson, Mr Goodwin Emefiele, Mr Festus Anthony, the Honourable James Rubek and Mr Tony Mark have all made contact, anxious for me to claim the vast inheritance that is my rightful due. These gentlemen claim to represent some impressive international organisations, all via their Benin or Nigerian offices. Just a small fee to the UN Security Council at gmail or the CIA at Yahoo will supposedly open the door to unimaginable wealth.
POPPIES AMIDST THE BEANSJones expresses surprise that the scam is now not as passé as penny-farthings. One can only conclude from its continuing popularity that more idiots must be born every day. My brother, Brendan, told me some years ago of a colleague of his who was convinced that such an offer was genuine; he couldn't be persuaded otherwise and was deeply offended when Brendan refused to lend him the bait money.
DEARHEART, SUNNING HERSELF ON THE IRONING BOARDMore irritating than the persistent scammers are the women who proclaim themselves anxious to meet me. I used to get one or two such approaches a week; of late it can be one or two a night, all via the infernal Google app, Hangouts. I don't know where they have discovered me although it's not hard to guess, given the wholesale marketing of cyber contacts. The "Hi handsome..." message senders are easy enough to block but the late night callers are a pain. I think that I may have finally succeeded in closing the app down.
BEE ORCHIDSLike most weeks, this one has been busy. Looking back, I really don't know where we ever found time to earn a living. One person who is earning a good living is our dentist, largely at my expense. Over the past several months, I have completed root-canal treatment for one tooth and partially completed the treatment for a second. Our bank account was just starting to recover when a third (much repaired) molar started getting tetchy, wincing at hot or cold nourishment.
Aware that yet another root-canal episode lay ahead, I was not keen to hurry back to the dentist. But as the tooth's complaints grew more vociferous, I bowed to the inevitable and grasped the nettle by the horns (?), making an appointment for 15.00 on Tuesday. I kept on telling myself how lucky I was to have access to modern dentistry. But by the time I emerged at 17.30 I was starting to doubt the power of positive thinking. In my next life I am definitely going to be a superbly healthy multi-lingual heir with a fine set of sparkling white, even, life-time guaranteed teeth, whatever the negative implications for the dentistry profession.
Such reflections apart, we twice visited (May's nephew) Ken at her (now his) house to take away such possessions as the prospective purchasers will have no need of. We had long since emptied her bedroom cupboards on his behalf. The new contents came from a locked storeroom. The car boot groaned with fine dresses and other goods that must have been hidden away for years. While haute couture isn't my forte, May evidently had excellent taste in clothes and the means to satisfy it. The haul now occupies most of the living room of Casa Nada, awaiting sorting. I've no doubt that we'll find an appreciative home for it all - among neighbours and workers, the community centre and the many clothing bins in village centres and hypermarket carparks.
Things continue to improve on the dog front. Barri has been tempted to return to her food bowl, even though she is constantly distracted and seldom finishes her meal. Pally, although still heavily bandaged, is showing ever greater three-legged agility and speed. Bobby has made a complete recovery from whatever ailed him although he still gives us a hard time each day when we come to clean out his ears. And the rest carry on as usual although 17-year old Ono shows increasing signs of geriatric decline. (For that matter, some might think it true also of his master.)
As always we've walked the hills twice a day, had some jolly good meals out, chatted to our neighbours (Portuguese and English-speaking) and got on with our daily chores. The weather has turned warm and dry, with day temps already in the mid 20s, too hot to leave the car (with dogs) in the sun any longer.
The flowers are full of bees which, while essential to our well-being, often give us a hard time. Our morning walk takes us close to numerous hives, the occupants of which take a dim view of humans who get in their way as they hurry to and fro. They sometimes bounce angrily off my hat and, more alarmingly, get tangled in Jones's hair when she forgets to wear a hat. (She prefers her peak!) This week she got stung painfully on the scalp by one impatient bee that couldn't free itself.
I watched (on TV) the former CIA chief, John Brennan, deliver the Richard Dimbleby lecture on security (of every kind) in the modern world. (There ain't none!) I thought him most impressive. He didn't once mention Trump by name although he left his audience in little doubt about his opinion of the man.
Thursday: We have run a Portuguese neighbour into the physiotherapist in Benafim, dumped the recyclables, visited the accountant and enjoyed morning coffee at the Hamburgo. We glow with virtue. Jones is about to visit one of her old ladies, a monthly duty that weighs on her in anticipation. I am going to search our recent photos in search of some illustrations for the blog - mainly flowers, for April is their favourite month.
That's about it.
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