Friday evening was Cathy's last with us. To celebrate her visit, we sat down under the trees to an oriental meal supplied by a small Dutch team calling themselves Azul at Home. They offer a variety of Asian dishes that they are happy to deliver and that we sometimes share with neighbours.
Saturday afternoon we ran Cathy out to Faro airport. The plan was to lunch at the beach, just across the estuary, before dropping her off. As it happens, the airport is located close to a vast campsite on which thousands of bikers from all over Europe descend once a year.
- and we happened to pick the rally weekend. Bikers swarmed around us like so many bees. The police had blocked off side roads and did their best to keep traffic flowing. To reach the beach was nigh impossible. So we headed straight to the airport instead.
Cathy, poor soul, was booked on an evening flight to Berlin but bad weather over the city caused her plane - and numerous others - to divert to Hanover. There, among the midnight masses, she eventually managed to share a taxi to the station and find a train to Berlin, where she arrived as dawn was breaking. She had to return to Tegel airport later in the day to fetch her luggage.
While we miss her easy company, the garden misses her heroic irrigation efforts. That's Bobby and Mello, camped among the ivy, that you're looking at. Their canine romance continues to charm us. The pair are simply happier in one another's company, which is really what relationships are all about.
Over the weekend our twice-repaired bedroom air-conditioning unit finally gave up the ghost, once again leaking water all over the floor. A company we've used previously with great satisfaction said they could install a replacement on Monday morning. Yes, please! Jones manages to sleep on torrid nights; I just toss and turn.
With afternoon temperatures tipping the mid-30s, it's not only the humans who flee the heat. The dogs also retire inside. Bobby fancies the guest bathroom. Russ prefers the guest bedroom. Jack, above, isn't fussed one way or the other.
Of late he's taken to joining us upstairs where Dearheart, pictured above, eyes him with the greatest suspicion. She likes little better than to curl up beside her mistress, whether on the bed at night or the sofa for a siesta.
THE WEEKLY SHAVE
Tuesday brought the first of my bi-weekly visits to Jodi for physio on my sciatic leg. It's coming along, I think, sometimes.
So far we have been spared the sweltering temperatures that are cooking the continent. Even so, the pool is almost too warm for comfort. Not that we're complaining.
Wednesday, after shopping, we watched Teresa lead the way to Buckingham Palace to hand in the keys to Number 10 and Boris follow to slip them into his pocket. We are not among the believers awaiting his new golden age. It's only a piss-pot they're likely to find at the foot of the Brexit rainbow.
Thursday early the team arrived to finish the kitchen extension. They had been waiting on the granite work-surface.
In a couple of hours, the kitchen was complete. What a difference it makes to the house!
Outside, Nelson continues to redecorate the walls. He's on to the second coat and should finish next week. Several other neighbours are waiting in the queue for his services. The house has never looked so good. Long may it last and we to enjoy it.
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