ANOTHER SCORCHER IN PROSPECT
All I can offer you after a hot gungy week is a sweaty mish mash of murky miscellania, a battered basket of tatty bric-a-brac. It's a week in which Portugal has endured hundreds more wild-fire outbreaks - 268 according to one TV report. Our temps have ranged from the mid to the high 30s. It is with envy that we have noted accounts of rain in other parts of the world - Sierra Leone excluded.
To escape the worst of the heat, Slavic has been starting his Saturday morning labours at 07.00. Our first task was to revive a distressed fig tree by removing the paving that had enclosed it and renewing the surrounding earth. A low decorative low wall put the finishing touches to the project. The tree has been losing its leaves in spite of extensive watering. I hope it rewards our efforts.
SIDE VIEW
The harder task was to retrieve a substantial tree stump from an adjacent field and convey it on the tractor to the pen, where it was destined to become a natural sculpture. We had to walk the stump across the low boulders (on the left, below) in order to position it, before building up the stone foundations and admiring our efforts.
FRONT VIEW
We rather liked the results. As I informed Slavic, were I an artist of note, I might have sold it for vast sums (although any buyer would have had a devil of a job to remove it). More to the point, Jones - who had wanted something sculptural there - pronounced herself well pleased. Several other tree stumps with sculptural potential remain in the field. (For some reason, my left big toe was unhappy.)
BOBBY IS A HANDSOME FELLOW, WHO'S HAPPY TO POSE
Apropos of nothing, I sent a phone message to a neighbour, Anneke, concerning a lift for herself and her partner, Nicoline, who happens to be a smoker. But my phone, with a mind of its own, changed her name to Nicotine - an alteration that I didn't spot until after the event - and which caused me (and them) a great deal of mirth. We have grown used to phones that correct their users but a phone with a sly sense of humour is something else.
ONO, 17 YEARS OLD & SLOWING BUT STILL GAME
At our Sunday brunch gatherings we try each week to resolve at least one important international issue. Just to get the conversation going I raised the topical question of breast-feeding in public. Was it acceptable, I asked the group. "Why not?" responded my companions in unison. Well, that was that resolved. As you can see, we don't mess around. Next week we'll deal with North Korea or maybe global warming. (My big toe is really miserable.)
YUP, THEM'S GALS
I watched England's amazons mauling some unfortunate Italian lassies who thought rugby was supposed to be a gentlemanly game. Gotta say the girls played terrific rugby in the ladies'(?) world champs - no holds barred. I wonder what the Saudis would make of it! So much for that baloney about the weaker sex!
THE HOYA IN FLOWER
Monday: I made an appointment with Jodi in Alte to inspect my ailing toe. (She has recently undergone a specialist course on foot care to add to her physiotherapy skills.) After reporting that the toe was both inflamed and infected - the result of some over-enthusiastic nail cutting in Benafim - she set to work with a probe. Ouch! But I think she's done the trick. I've bought new sandals to ease the pressure on it.
Tuesday: Portugal enjoyed a public holiday to celebrate the feast of the Assumption of Mary. In my (distant) days as a Marist Brother, it was a feast that the community observed with some devotion - as if to substantiate the credentials of our patroness. From Madeira at lunch time came tragic news that a giant tree, an ancient hollow oak, had toppled over, crushing worshippers taking part in an outdoor ceremony.
Thirteen people died and scores were injured. The village, Monte, on the slopes above Funchal, is one we know well. I couldn't help thinking that there was sometimes a case for divine intervention! But it also occurred to me that if God had to intervene in human affairs, He would be hard pressed to know where to start.
Speaking of oaks, here's a splendid one, a tree that offers shade to half a dozen picnic tables in Benafim's official picnic park. We stopped there briefly to give the dogs leg lifters.
Tuesday evening: Neighbours gave Jonesy a lift to the birthday celebrations of friends who live in the hills half an hour away. I nobly stayed home to water the garden and look after the household. To mark the occasion, the gang presented Helen (turning all of 40; how old can you get?) with the solar lamp (below).
The lamp can be turned on and off with a remote zapper and can be set for either (bright, medium or low) white or yellow light. We gave one to neighbours on a previous occasion and it has been a decided hit.
Wednesday: Slavic, who had a day off from his usual employment, worked for us instead. On arrival he waters the fruit trees and plants in our fields next door while we walk the dogs. Then he rides side-saddle with me on the tractor to a nearby carob plantation, whose owner is happy for us to remove rocks from his property - the more the better.
These rocks are everywhere piled up into great heaps by bulldozers that first cleared the land. Wednesday's task was to construct more low walls along the steps that lead down from the cobbles to the pedestrian gate at the bottom of the garden. As a result of our efforts these past few weeks, the lower garden is looking most attractive.
Thursday: We woke to a smoke-filled valley and the stink of wild fires. The bombeiros said the pollution wasn't local but had come drifting down from fires raging up north. The government has proclaimed a state of emergency - that will free up funds - ahead of scorching temperatures and high winds forecast for the weekend.
SMOKY SKY OVER MONCHIQUE MOUNTAIN
We went into Faro to get some essential information from the department dealing with expats but as we didn't have an appointment, no-one would talk to us. So, after standing around hopefully for 15 minutes like statues in Charlottesville, trying vainly to get someone's attention, we came home again, none the wiser - and watered the garden instead. Welcome to Portugal, poised uncomfortably between the electronic age and the stone age!
I leave you with The Portugal News, a local English newspaper intended for expats, well known for its famously optimistic front pages. For its income it relies on advertising and for its content on the Portuguese media, which it retails in (frequently suspect) English. Free copies may be found in supermarkets and at the airport, presumably to make up numbers. The paper's editor has an unflinching determination to emphasise anticipated good news, no matter how remote and dubious. Judge for yourselves!
Fire in the sky! Another smoky day dawns. Stay cool!
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