Last Friday evening we attended a fado evening dinner at the Hamburgo. The restaurant was booked out for the occasion.
That's us in the picture with (an invisible) Anneke behind the camera. Michael, on my right, was sporting one of his fine waistcoats. I had to rely on charisma.
The group's two guitarists were outstanding and their red-jacketed singer was very good. The applause was prolonged and sincere.
A drop of rain was ever so welcome. The Algibre still runs dry and the dust still lies thick on the ditches in the valley.
On Saturday Slavic's big task was to repair a section of wall that had given way. Although the traditional dry stone walls were cunningly constructed, they bulge over the years and eventually give way, generally after rain. These days we hide mortar inside.
ON THE SHUTTLE IN THE CHUNNEL
On Sunday afternoon Llewellyn, Lucia, Hazel and Douglas arrived after a brisk 2000km-plus drive from London. They are staying next door in one of Idalecio's cottages.
They are beach people who are relishing the sunny days and empty strands.
SOLSTICE SUNSET AT THE TALEFE
When the sun goes down, temperatures fall sharply. Llewellyn has a fancy watch that tells his camera when to take pictures.
SUPPER AT O REGRESSO
We've dined in and out. This was our first visit to a newish restaurant on the fringes of Salir. We were impressed. To our regret, three of our favourite haunts are closed for the season.
NOTE THE SPARROW ON THE HANGING
Thursday Jones and I idled away a couple of hours at the Algarve Forum while Honda replaced faulty airbags in the car. Sparrows in the dining hall waited hopefully for customers to share a few crumbs.
DOG DEEP IN THOUGHT!
Warning: What follows is about dreams - my dreams! Other people's dreams are generally about as exciting as their aches and pains. But what if the dreamer, while dreaming, doubts the reality of dream and tries to test it? Consider the following:
PREPARING TO CLEAN RUSS'S EARS.
One night I had several dreams in a row. From each unsettling dream I awoke to reassure myself that I'd been dreaming, only to plunge into another equally unsettling moments later. I recall them quite distinctly.
The first concerned the visit of a man and two children to our very large house. In the second I struggled on a high roof to survive a storm that was threatening to topple a structure looming above me. The third had me trying to phone Rosebank Convent (in Johannesburg), to talk to my sister who was head girl (she once was). And the fourth was located in a large crowded hall where I suspected the occupants were ghosts.
As I was immersed in each of these episodes, part of my subconscious questioned whether the episode was real or I was dreaming. Things came to a head in the hall where my doubting voice urged me to touch people to see if they were corporeal or merely illusions. I eventually clasped a woman - middle-aged, plump and not very attractive - and concluded that I wasn't dreaming - only to wake and find I had been.
TIME TO CALL IT A DAY
If you've had enough dreams, so have I.
Meanwhile, it's nearly Christmas. I hope you have a lovely one. Ours looks damp. That's suits me fine!
Too soon and too scary even to think of 2018! Miserere nos!
No comments:
Post a Comment