Work on Saturday started early, before the wind arose. It tends to get up late. I had several large piles of cuttings to burn and time for burning is growing short. The bombeiros who authorise such fires (when conditions allow) ask callers three questions: What's your name, where do you live and what's your mobile number. Public notices, pamphlets and advertisements emphasise the precautions that one should take.
Slavic set to work while I took the dogs out. After doggy breakfast it took the pair of us the rest of the morning to reduce the piles of branches to ash. Most of them came from an area adjacent to the cottage below us, now cleared as the new regulations require. We kept the fires small, adding a branch at a time. Even so, the flames leapt up as the dry leaves caught, emitting a fierce heat that drove us back. We agreed that it was an awful pity to waste all that energy. If only we had a way of storing it!
BJ: ISABELLA PLANTATION, RICHMOND PARK
Saturday evening I fetched Jones from Faro airport. Several planes had landed in quick succession and she texted me to say that there were long queues at passport control. They moved quickly and she was through in half an hour. We supped across the estuary at Faro beach, watching the aircraft race back down the runway on their way home.
BJ: LONDON SKYLINE FROM THE TOP OF TATE MODERN
Barbara said that, guided by Llewellyn, she'd walked miles around London. She found much of the city centre renewed and refreshing, especially vast gleaming railway stations that had been meticulously renovated, becoming attractions in their own right. It's a striking improvement to the city in which she's spent much of her life. I suspect that at heart she's a Londoner. I don't share this fondness. The city's too expensive, frantic, noisy and polluted for me.
Sunday afternoon brought with it the mother and father of a thunderstorm and a welcome inch of rain. I pulled the plugs from the sockets to protect our electronics as the skies lit up and the heavens crashed about us. It was a real Highveld cracker. We seem to have had fewer of them in recent years. At the Quinta they ruined a lot of expensive equipment. The insurance won't pay out without a shop certificate specifying the damage and the cost of repairs. And sadly, very little gets repaired these days. It's just thrown out.
We did our best to console a terrified Barri, who hates loud noises and trembled throughout. The other dogs didn't seem to mind. The garden certainly didn't; it simply soaked up the rain. Water spouted from the upper patio into the half dozen large tubs that I rotated on the cobbles below.
By late afternoon the storm had passed on. The sun came out. The blackbird resumed his song. The air was still. It was the calm after the tempest. For an hour or two the world seemed to be at peace with itself, our patch at least.
Monday my English class discussed a leaked email from the head of a new fire-fighting force to his troops. He warned them, as the fire season loomed, that they faced a severe equipment shortage. Their protective uniforms were not yet ready and no gloves were available. The situation is not uncommon. An organisation that represents expats has been raising money all year both to support the fire service and to supply defribulators to ambulances.
It so happened that Ignacio, one of my pupils, was describing the measures he'd taken to spray his fruit trees. As mine, like his and those of our neighbours, are afflicted with leaf curl, I was most interested. Fungicides and insecticides to treat the contagion are available only to citizens with the necessary agricultural accreditation, which Ignacio possessed and I lack. I had a useful word with him after the class.
BUDDING ALLIUMS
Tuesday afternoon, together with fellow expats, we were treated by our Swedish neighbours to a coffee and cake afternoon, products of the magnificent new kitchen they've just installed. We were distressed to learn that Dougal, the Airedale dog belonging to a Scottish neighbour, had gone missing. We've had that sinking feeling several times although our beasts have always returned, even if it was several days after going astray.
Wednesday morning I ploughed under the last of our fields. We'd been leaving it alone in order to pick a few fava beans, the residue of last year's crop. But, spoiled by our farmer neighbours with fava donations, we didn't get round to it and the bean plants were gradually swallowed up in the surrounding wild flowers and grasses.
AFTER THE WALK
In the afternoon I had a medical appointment to hear the results of recent tests. They were mostly okay but one or two suggested - as did the doctor - that a little weight loss would be in order. I've taken note.
Thursday started out wet. The garden loved it. We didn't. While 2mm rain saves us watering, it also soaks the foliage bordering our paths (and us as we pass) and leaves the paths themselves treacherous. We slithered around the hill. Returning doggy prints trailed across Natasha's newly mopped floors.
With more showers forecast for the next two days, Jonesy was torn between remopping the floors (she likes them spotless) and pulling out weeds. She opted to pull out the weeds. If weeds were worth, we'd be wealthy.
And thus the curtains close on another week and so does the blog.
HAPPINESS IS
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