This is one of those weeks when no leading contender for an introduction springs to mind. In fact, there are no trailing contenders either. In a way that's quite nice. We didn't have to decide whether to nuke Pyonyang or inflame the Middle East by moving to Jerusalem. In fact, the most exciting event of the Espargalian week has been the rising of a supermoon.
Blog readers might be interested to know that there's another supermoon due on January 1 and yet another on January 31 - a veritable trilogy of supermoons. The 31 Jan orb will be both a supermoon and a blue moon - two for the price of one. Okay, that's enough moons. This isn't an astronomical blog!
Talking about things over our heads, I have dolled up our new bird table in the hope of attracting birds to it. Bird landing-pads have been fastened to it and bird-hosting branches attached. All that's lacking now is the birds themselves. You'd think the little blighters would be grateful.
Still on little creatures, this is a little lizard that I purchased from two creative Zimbabweans in the harbour at Kalk Bay on the Cape Peninsula last month. Its creators are among a million (or so) Zimbabweans who moved south prior to the felicitous fall of the Mugabe regime. Whether they will now be tempted to move north again, is moot. In the meantime the Kalk Bay Zimbabweans continue to subsist by creating a host of intricate little wire-bead creatures.
Some years ago we acquired another artistic lizard, a sketch, from a friend here in Portugal. To remove developing crinkles from the paper, Barbara slipped the sketch between the pages of a magazine - and then forgot about it. When she remembered, she couldn't recall which magazine. There are scores of these lying in piles around the house. Finally she came across it, with all the joy of the New Testament shepherd who stumbled on his missing sheep.
Barbara is a former librarian who likes to be surrounded by lots of paper, whether in newspapers, magazines or books. Pages are her friends. She still has collections of garden magazines that I subscribed to on her behalf when we lived in London. My occasional attempts to reduce the paper (and related) contents of the house have so far not met with success. Jones says that when she dies "they" can just bring in a skip and toss everything into it.
I made reference earlier in the blog to my visit to South Africa. Every property in the Pretoria suburb where I stayed was protected by high walls topped by electric fences. Guards controlled entry to gated villages (such as that above). I was reminded why from this (slightly redacted) email from a contact in Johannesburg; it concerns his son and daughter-in-law.
"Gary and Nina have a clothing factory and supply ladies' underwear to boutiques. They were doing a delivery to a company ..... near Alexandra, a black township. As they drove through the gates of the business they were accosted by six gun-wielding robbers and robbed of everything of value they had on them. Nina couldn't get her wedding ring off her finger and was told, "Get it off or I cut your finger off." All this happened while they had guns pointed at their heads. Much of the clothing they were delivering was also taken, and even Gary's shoes."
Monday's English lesson dealt with negotiations between Portugal and Spain over the flow of western Iberia's biggest rivers. All three of these, the Douro in the north, the Tagus (Tejo) in the centre and the Guadiana in the south, rise in Spain and flow through Portugal to the sea. The quality and quantity of water that Spain releases is a sore point with the Portuguese, all the more so in a drought-stricken year such as this.
DEARHEART IN HER FAVOURITE SPOT ON THE HEATED BATHROOM FLOOROn the home front we have done as much early grocery and festive season shopping as the pantry will bear. I cannot abide the Christmas rush, not even here in the Algarve hills. I was relieved to find that although the shops are already overflowing with yuletide fare, there isn't yet an audio loop of buy-more Christmas carols blaring from loudspeakers. (Relieving oneself to the strains of Come All Ye Faithful is the limit!) As is my wont, I have invested in some acceptable bottles of festive cheer to sustain me over the period.
On Tuesday we took Russ to the vet. He has developed incipient signs of leishmaniosis (a zoonotic disease caused by Leishmania parasites transmitted by the bite of an infected phlebotomine sandfly - Wikipedia). It's all too common around here, causing ugly lesions in its victims.
Some years ago our other big dog, Bobby, contracted the disease which, in animals, is easily treatable although not curable. (The human form can be cured.) Fortunately, initial tests on Russ proved negative. Still, the vet sold us some expensive pills which, he said, ought to kill any bugs and clear up the flaky skin in Russ's ears and around his eyes.
HERE'S THE SUPERMOON AGAIN, JUST IN CASE YOU MISSED ITOn Wednesday, en route to a session with Jodi, we dropped in at the Benafim community centre to wish the residents and staff a happy Christmas. We had intended to stop off at the parish office to query the non-arrival of a package that Cathy posted to us from Berlin some weeks ago. As it happens, that very morning we found a notice of the package's arrival in our post box - and we collected it the following day. Much appreciated! Thank you Cathy.
A MOMENT OF REPOSEThursday we had marked down for lunch with the manager of a struggling dog sanctuary but she had to rush an animal to the vet. Instead we topped up our supplies of baggy and olive oil at the lagar near Sao Bras. During a brief Lidl's stop on the way home, I took Ono and Prickles for leg-lifters across the road. On our return to the car park I spotted a woman driving off with two dozen eggs resting on the roof of her car. My frantic waving brought her to a puzzled stop. And very grateful she was when she discovered why. That's my good deed for December, done nice and early.
Friday: Portugal is today celebrating a national holiday in honour of the Immaculate Conception. More accurately, most Portuguese are making the most of a long weekend; for I doubt that one in ten even knows what the feast is about.
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