The sun rises on another week. Jones is up early as is her habit to ensure that the orb is prompt. These days the camera sits securely on a tripod.
Cut to a Saturday scene. This Moses effect arises, not from any heavenly apparition, but from low-drifting smoke lazying up through the trees in the park. Slavic and I were burning off cuttings. It's that time of year.
We were not the only ones. In the valley below, farmers were following suit. That's Benafim smudged across the far hill.
The big job was laying a second strip down the gravel slope on the driveway approach to the house. Deliveries of sand, stone and cement were in place. Beneath the concrete we buried various bits of chicken wire and metal grids, both to get rid of them and to secure the strip. The concrete's had the rest of the week to cure.
The park itself is now a foot high in winter greenery, encouraged by late rains, not that we've had any winter to speak of. Temperatures dip into single figures overnight before climbing back into the teens by day. When the sun's up and wind's down, the days are glorious. It's not only we who enjoy them; the bugs love them too. I killed two mosquitoes in the bathroom one night, wondering where on earth they'd come from in mid December.
BURGEONING LEMON TREE
Speaking of killing things - on our walks I came across a scorpion as I was clearing small rocks from a new path. Well aware of the peril that scorpions present, I was wearing gloves and taking care. And although I was in no danger, I instinctively crushed the little stinger (who was pretty upset at losing his house). I've been reflecting since on the ethics. Flies, ticks and mosquitoes are sworn enemies, liable to instant capital punishment. But I'm not sure what rights scorpions should enjoy on their own turf.
After our morning walk, once the dogs are fed, unless we're going to town, we sit down at the table to coffee and a biscuit. Braveheart the cat, bottom left, likes to occupy my seat.
Such scenes of domestic harmony invite a snap. Jones objected on the grounds that her morning face was not suitable for public viewing. Hence the obscuring flowers. (I might add that I've seen the face just about every morning for 40 years and come to no harm.)
Definitely suitable for public viewing at all hours is the wild rose at the bottom of the garden. It asks only to be dead-headed and for the occasional drink although, as I write, it's being battered by the wind - as are we all after an overnight storm.
One evening we were guests of our Swedish neighbours, Lennert and Annchen, who have done impressive things with their home (not without a great deal of effort) since arriving here a couple of years ago. Annchen puts their gleaming new kitchen to delightful use.
As her contribution to the yuletide ambience of the evening, Jones had prepared a succulent tray - tiny plants that ought to take root and thrive. The bark seen resting on the central candle was intended - when I took the picture mid-morning - to prevent the winter sun streaming through the patio window from melting the wax.
To our regret, the Hamburgo is about to close for several weeks. In truth, the staff deserve a break. I took the opportunity to thank Daniela for the many meals she's served us throughout the year.
One way and another, it's been a social week. We lunched midweek at the Alte hotel with friends, the Grahams. Brexit dominated the conversation. I need hardly say that the continuing circus in Westminster has flummoxed and depressed us in equal measure.
THE FIRE'S WARM AND WE'VE HAD A LONG DAY
Another day we popped up to the community centre with bags of marshmallows and other Christmas treats for residents of the retirement home. Marshmallows are particularly welcome among residents who lack good teeth. The home is a happy place, full of lightness (if that's possible). The staff go to great efforts with festive decorations.
Sufficient unto the week.
(PS: Dearheart makes herself at home on Jones's newly-ironed slacks.)
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