Last Friday our winter firewood delivery arrived. The driver and his mate are hardy annuals who know the drill. They raise the truck's cargo bed sufficiently to tip the wood down. Then they load it into barrows and wheel it round to the wood shed. The delivery comprises a variety of hard woods that will burn for hours. It's a luxury that future generations may not enjoy.
While our days still feel hot - in the lower 20s - the evenings close in on us by 7 pm. Overnight temperatures nudge single figures, cool enough to justify the warmth and companionship of a small fire in the stove.
It's not only the human occupants of the house who appreciate it. The dogs - having been walked, loved and fed - surrender themselves to their reflections. After a dram of single malt, I sometimes follow suit.
Saturday, at long last, the rain gods delivered. A couple of hours of light rain were followed by a brief squall. The rain gauge registered 15 mm. It was lovely - manna from heaven. One could almost hear the plants cheering too.
In the days since there have been lots of promising clouds and sight of distant showers. But the outlook isn't good.
Sunday we went for a long walk down Faro beach, the spit of land that connects to the mainland via the bridge seen top left. A tarred road about a kilometre in length separates the dwellings on the sea and the estuary sides of the spit. It ends just below the last red dot (restaurant).
From there a two-kilometre boardwalk runs to the end of the spit. One has to proceed with care as some of the boards have given way and others threaten to follow suit. Along the route one passes isolated fishermen's cottages, whose occupants traverse the boards on motor scooters.
From the top of the sand dune at the end, one looks down on the tidal estuary mouth.
It's a place to gather one's breath and ones thoughts
and to spy the sea birds sunning themselves on the sands.
From across the estuary comes the occasional roar of jet engines followed by the sight of aircraft tucking in their wheels as they nose into the sky, taking home the holiday makers who sustain the Algarve.
Sunday evening we repaired to the Hamburgo for an anniversary dinner. Manuel brought out a special bottle of wine, one worthy of the decanter and the day.
ON THE PATH THROUGH THE PARK
Changing the subject: my one-year old Samsung smart watch has been playing up; the battery won't charge. So I took it back to the retailer to get a new battery.
However, the retailer said the watch had to be inspected by the suppliers - and this would take a month. As I have grown much attached to the device, the prospect of being watchless was dismal. It so happened that the latest model (pictured above) had just become available.
While in Lisbon mid-month, Barbara and Llewellyn attended a pop-art exhibition
where subjects could simultaneously become objects of their own curiosity.
Barbara was invited in by our Portuguese neighbours, Joaquim and Maria, for conversation and a drop of the local liquor. The kitchen scene must speak for itself.
My tale is nearly done. To conclude I have downloaded the following photo from the recent album of my Scottish glen-striding brother-in-law, Rolf, who takes such stunning pictures along the way.
