The blog opens last Saturday when Slavic and I took a load of gravel down to Ono's grave to smooth out the surface. We found that Jonesy had been there before us to place a glass with a few daisies on the grave. I found it a strangely moving tribute, one of those unexpected little gestures that brings a lump to one's throat.
Later in the day Jones got us to plant succulents and a shrub beside the grave. We have been touched by the numerous notes of sympathy that we have received. In his 18 years Ono got to know a good many folk. And although his eyesight was failing towards the end, his nose never let him down. He always knew his old friends.
Sunday we brunched and I prepared an English lesson. It concerned the dreadful delays that have greeted arriving passengers at Lisbon airport. The problem is said to be a shortage of passport control officials as well as alleged indifference and bad organisation, a situation aggravated by the swelling numbers of visitors. Portugal has become a holiday destination of choice, partly as a result of all the nastiness across much of the rest of Europe and north Africa.
Monday I went to the bank to sort out a few minor problems. The most annoying of these was the rejection of my credit card by a couple of online sites even though I had activated it on the bank website. The problem, it emerged (and soon remedied), was that I had failed to first "initiate" the card by using it either in a store or at an ATM - another security measure. In fairness to me, the banker didn't know about this measure either - until advised by the card issuer over the phone.
MINI
Tuesday began with an "O no!" shriek from Barbara at the far end of the bedroom as I was lying back in bed, contemplating the day. Fearing some dangerous intruder, I leapt out and dashed to the rescue. The problem was less the intruder - a tiny mouse - than Mini's efforts to get at it. For all her rugby-forward frame, the dog is lightning fast. Keeping Mini at bay we slid open the patio door to let the mouse escape. The chances are that the rodent was brought upstairs as a plaything by Dear Heart the cat.
Wednesday early I ran Barbara to Faro airport. She is spending several days with Llewellyn and Lucia in London. The airport looked splendid. After years of work the hoardings and diversion signs have been removed from the revamped terminal. It's most impressive, both inside and out - much bigger and flanked by wide open spaces that are partially occupied by cafes and coffee-outlets. The place was heaving by 8 a.m.
We were lucky to miss a nasty accident on the motorway into Faro that had completely blocked both east-bound lanes. A tourist bus appeared to have driven into the back of a huge wet-cement truck, the bucket of which had gone right through the bus driver's window. I was returning home in the opposite direction. It was rush hour, the air was thick with sirens and the swelling traffic jam behind the accident stretched for miles.
It was subsequently reported that 15 people had been injured, several of them seriously - presumably the occupants of the bus, who were British tourists. Whether the driver fell asleep or suffered some sudden illness isn't known. The motorway, which is the main approach to the airport, was shut for five hours. I fear that many people will have had to rebook their flights as a result of the delays.
Thursday morning we walked early to beat the heat. Then Prickles and I motored into Faro where I needed to renew my driving licence - now a biennial chore. That meant parking in the city centre underground garage, walking up to the Portuguese AA (the ACP) office, filling in the necessary forms - and finally presenting myself at the Forum Algarve Clinic for a (mercifully brief) medical. All done. Now I have only to sit back and await the arrival of my new licence - before repeating the procedure two years hence.
When I stopped on the way home at the Loule Car Wash, I came upon the bus involved in the previous day's crash. It was parked in an adjacent plot used as a base by the tow trucks. What a mess! How the driver emerged alive from that wreckage is hard to know.
Now for a change of scene. Llewellyn has been sending me occasional pictures of his and Barbara's visits to London attractions. Barbara always exploits her visits to the UK to catch up on her exhibitions. This picture was taken at Tate Britain.
And this one at Pimlico Underground station. Barbara is due back home on Saturday evening. In her absence, her cat-feeding duties have fallen on me. Below, contemplating the evening , are Squinty and Brave Heart. Out of the picture is Not Robbie, an adoptee who has recently moved in with them and Dear Heart the mouser.
Thursday evening: the Portuguese media are going dotty over The Wedding - Portugal having ditched its own royals just over a century ago. Wedding fever has not reached Espargal, not this bit of it. Our week has focused on gardening, strimming and ploughing as well as further work on Armenio's gallery and the usual merry go-round of chores that lubricate the grind of life. You'll have enough of your own not to need any further description of ours.
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