This week has slunk up behind me and chopped my legs from under me. Forgive me if I employ a familiar image from the FIFA world cup finals, an event that I have spent long hours watching. Some displays have been electric (I whooped at England's last-minute winning goal) although many have been a slog, with the refs often blind to foul play - to say nothing of the theatrical agonies we have to endure.
At least my team is still in the running, thanks mainly - some would say "entirely" - to its captain's extraordinary talent. Speaking of whom, the international airport at Funchal was recently renamed in Cristiano Ronaldo's honour as he hails from Madeira. On our last visit there we stopped to examine the much mocked "leering" bust of the great man in the airport terminal. In truth it didn't look much like him. So we were interested to read this week that it had been replaced with another bust (albeit by the same sculptor), one truer to Ronaldo's image.
We also noted that the footballer had reached a deal with the Spanish tax authorities involving a suspended two-year jail term and a €19 million fine, his accountants having "overlooked" his publicity income. Just imagine losing three months' footballing wages!
BRAVEHEART SUNNING HIMSELF ON THE WALL
On Sunday evening I returned our car to Vitor's care in a renewed bid to rid it of the pot-clanging devil in the engine. So we were carless for Monday and most of Tuesday. Vitor returned the car on the latter evening just as we got back from our walk. (The dogs were puzzled to see it coming home without me inside it!)
Vitor thought that he'd finally excised the demon, holding up a small, heavy (mightily expensive) part that he identified in Portuguese as the *stretcher clutch*. It later took me several minutes of googling to establish this as the "belt tensioner clutch". That's the black wheely thing on top of the actual tensioner below. I'd never heard of it. It apparently smooths out the belt-speeds to the several units on the drive.
As it's the first serious repair of nine years and 135,000 kms of driving, I can't really complain.
Wednesday we lunched with neighbours at a favourite little restaurant in Loule while Natasha got on with things at home. On our return she asked me if I would make copies of a group photo that had been taken on an outing to a water park. Right of frame are Slavic and Natasha. She has an arm around her talented gymnastic son, Alex. The four figures on the left are Slavic's brother, Roslan, and his visiting family - a Ukrainian, Russian, Portuguese mix. You may toss in Irish, British and South African if you include Barbara and me. Welcome to the new Portugal!
In fact, as Brexit looms, I'm giving some thought to Portuguese citizenship. One consideration is that, as things stand, Barbara and I look set to go through separate immigration queues at European airports - and with two hour queues at stake, that's no minor matter.
BOBBY & RAYMOND, March 2008
Between football matches I spent long hours sorting out our many thousands of photos, especially our pet pics, and more especially those of the recently departed Ono. The pet photos I then put on to the digital photo frame on the living room wall.
ONO, May 2018
Thursday morning a tickle on my shoulder turned out to be a tick that I grasped (before he bit) and flushed down the loo. Mercifully, they've been thin on the ground so far. This weekend I'm flying to the UK to spend a few days with a friend whose partner is seriously ill.
BARBARA SOLSTICE SUNSET
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