I have only a modest miscellany of pictures, pastures and postures to offer this week in no particular order. The photo, for example, is of the "water rock" on our trail, which the dogs used to mount for a drink after rain. That was in the old days when the Algarve still had rain and the Algibre still had water.
This was the group that turned up at our gate one afternoon, asking if they could visit the old house on our property where the pair on the extremes of the picture said they had lived as children, before emigrating to Canada. So I showed them around Casa Nada. In the course of the tour it emerged that it was really (the old bakery) Sarah and David's house 200 metres away that they were seeking. So I dispatched them there instead. It was the first time they'd returned, they said, in 42 years.
Dearheart loves to sleep on the ironing board in the study in the morning sun. I liked the picture for the contrast of light and shade - a modern take on the Dutch masterpieces.
This is another artistic effort. Jack has taken possession of the lesser sofa, which is fine as long as he confines himself just to resting on it. The upholsterers say they haven't yet got around to mending the damaged one. We reassured them that there was no hurry.
It's not that Jack lacks a certain artistic flair, it'ts just that he has expensive tastes.
I risk repeating myself by reporting on the long hours that Barbara spends in her garden. Here she removes mealybugs from the leaves of a rosemary. Twice, as she was working among her plants, large snakes slithered off elsewhere.
We were joined for drinks one evening by Lisa and Ben. Lisa is the daughter of commuting Irish neighbours. Ben is a friend. They are both airline pilots.
They said some nice things about Barbara's garden, as indeed they might. They can come back any time.
I've been doing my bit in the garden too. I might add, apropos of nothing, that while I am not much given to schadenfreude, I took a certain pleasure in the results of the first round of voting for the new Tory party leader. To be sure, I speak of two of those who fell out. We shudder at the prospective next leader.
My gardening efforts were closely monitored my Mini and Bobby.
I said goodbye to my English class, who presented me with a fine bottle of port.
We went along to the monthly mini street market in Benafim where the kiddies' band was preparing to entertain the crowds.
Today's Portuguese youths are reported to be several inches taller than their parents.
Morning and evening the beasts wait at the top gate to be set free.
And off across the veld we go.
With a treat midpoint to look forward to.
I've had to cut some walks short as I've been plagued by sciatica, which is like having a leg used as an electrical conduit. A spinal injection last week failed to alleviate the problem. Next step is surgery.
If you've got it, flaunt it.
Sufficient unto this week. I may not get around to blogging next week.
