DOES SHE FANCY ME, I WONDER!
Our pickings are thin this week and you must forgive me for making the most of the few I have. I was reading an article comparing memorable opening lines in literature (of which this isn't one). My favourite is the introduction to Pride and Prejudice: “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife."
The line came to mind as we were chatting with visitors (friends of friends - I'll spare you names) one of whom turned out to be a registrar of marriages in the UK. In the nature of things her duties have required her to officiate at a number of same-sex ceremonies. She was recounting the danger of forgetting (during the "Do you X take Y to be your loving......bit) who was who and the techniques she used to remember.
HE'S NOT MY TYPE
Which I found interesting, although I did wonder what Jane Austen would have made of it. The best line of the week came from a friend in a Whatsapp exchange concerning Conan, the (heroic) Bagdadi raid dog declassified by POTUS. "Speaking of Trump," the friend said, "have you caught any more rats?" As it happens, we haven't - and we need to, judging by the droppings and almond nut shells that have recently appeared in the shed. (I find it a challenge to keep the blog free of the political tensions that simmer daily inside us.)
WATER BOTTLES STRUNG TO TAUTEN THE COVER
In the meanwhile, with winter looming and swimming a distant prospect, Slavic and I have put the winter cover on the pool. While this isn't a particularly difficult procedure, it requires two people and some dexterity. The brochure that accompanied the cover indicated how a well-positioned gym (yoga, pilates) ball would incline the rain (assuming we get some) to run off the brim rather than drowning the cover in the pool.
As we didn't have a gym ball, we repaired to Decathlon (a vast sports goods store) on the outskirts of Faro to purchase one. At the entrance, guided by an instructor and to a throbbing accompaniment, a mazurka of energetic (mainly) women was bobbing up and down on mini-trampolines.
It was a fascinating and clearly quite a demanding performance, like a human steam engine chugging away. Presumably Decathlon offers the classes as a means of promoting its products. Leaving them to chug on, we entered the store, purchased two gym balls and returned home.
The balls come deflated in boxes along with plastic screw-on nipples for hand or foot operated pumps. I should add immediately that unless one has a couple of hours and a lot of energy to spare, it's much more sensible to use a compressor, which I did - before squeezing the inflated balls under the pool cover.
The idea is that the ball(s) should sit roughly in the centre of the pool. But it becomes immediately apparent that the balls, rather like babies, enter this world with a mind of their own. Prod them into the desired spot and, hey bingo, they immediately return to their preferred position. Eventually, I purchased a third ball and, after much effort, got them roughly centred - as per the photo. Now all we await is the rain.
Another task that Slavic and I have undertaken is the planting of a row of succulents along the fence that separates the park from the cottage below us. The aim is to provide both parties with greater privacy. The first task was to gather a load of rocks from fields in the valley to line the fence. Barbara then selected a variety of succulents from her nursery that we took down on the tractor, along with additional soil and plenty of water to bed them in.
The smaller rocks we used to line the steps down to the fence and the new paths that we have been creating in the park. The rock bed serves to inhibit winter's growth, save on strimming and facilitate the gathering of the carobs that fall from the tree overhead.
When work is done, Slavic and I sit down over a beer and a biscuit and mull over things. Conversation is in Portuguese as he speaks no English and I no Ukrainian. But we get along fine if not fluently. This week Barbara brought out olives to accompany the drinks. They were excellent olives too, almost certainly from our kindly neighbours, as I explained to Slavic, given that Barbara's home-salted variety could be a bit rough. Bring on humble pie!
In-between times, especially during the long evenings we now face, I have spent hours sorting out and culling photos on the computer. For years I have uploaded my photos to Google Photos and Barbara's to iCloud (she has an early iPhone), from which I retrieve them for the blog. For some reason, iCloud will no longer download hers to my computer (apparently, a common problem and not one I've been able to resolve). I got around it by uploading Barbara's to Google as well. Whatever Google's sins, its products are wonderfully useful.
FLOWERS ON SALE AT ALTE CEMETERY
Today is the 1st of November. It is All Saints Day, a public holiday in Portugal. I have just been to Jodi in Alte to get my toenails cut. Although I can still see my toenails clearly, it has been some time since I've been able to cut them. On All Saints the Portuguese flock to cemeteries to spruce up the graves of their relatives and to put flowers on them. It's a nice tradition.
PICKING UP FEATHERS
The day did not have an auspicious start. Or rather, yesterday ended badly. We returned from dinner with the expats to find that yet another of Barbara's precious cushions had been shredded by the beasts, who had removed it from the south patio to dissect it. The cobbles were liberally strewn with its feathery contents.
UNFORTUNATE CUSHION
We have barely a cushion left that hasn't been patched and sewn. There have been no admissions of guilt nor displays of repentance by the guilty parties. Barbara swears that she'll close the patio when we go out at night in future, even if the dogs have to shiver in the garden - not that there's any sign of winter, nor of the rain we were promised at the start of the week.
FROM BARBARA'S NEPHEW IN CAPE TOWN
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