Now is a cool, sunny Thursday afternoon towards the end of a cool, sunny week. I have just woken from a pleasant siesta in my recliner. Jones has brought me a cuppa and a rice biscuit smeared with a generous spoonful of Sarah's excellent lemon curd.
Sarah, pictured burning off her cuttings before returning to the UK, has spoiled us with a selection of her home-made condiments in return for favours, especially lifts from and to the airport. There, the scene is set.
Slavic spent a useful morning assisting me with the continuing development of the sand circle. Note the five clay pots that we obtained from Leroy Merlin earlier in the week. In each pot we laid a stone and gravel base before three-quarter filling it with a mixture of mature mulch and potting soil. The pots now await the arrival of suitable Jones succulents.
After topping up the sand in the circle, we went hunting for rocks down in the valley in order to create a new border alongside the half-completed path leading to the house. Another load of mulch back-filled the rocks. Like the pots, this border awaits a delivery of Jones plants. Jones, I might add, has a whole nursery of seedlings and other leafy green life squatting on the cobbles to the side of the house.
Another task was to empty, clean and then refill the jacuzzi - the first time we've done this. A small fitting connects the tub's outlet valve to a length of hosepipe. The process went without a hitch unless one regards overfilling the tub as a hitch. Even though we had the tap only half open, it filled much more rapidly that we expected. When I went upstairs after lunch to check, the water was just about to overflow the brim. Fortunately, it was a case of no harm done and soon mended.
Pictured above are two of Barbara's part-time waifs, Iris (pronounced E-rees - left) and Carachinho (Smiley), who belong to neighbours. Iris is visiting. Carachinho is the father of at least two of our dogs. He's lovely. Barbara takes him and Maggie (out of shot) a bone each evening, as well as a treat to Iris when she's there.
The pair of them usually coming running up the moment they spot Barbara (or me) for the expected treat. Unusually, Carachinho was off colour today (Thursday) and not interested in his bone - very worrying.
We talked to his owners, Joachim and Maria, about taking him to the vet but, after spending some time with the dog, thought it better to wait till the morning to decide. Friday morning he was a lot better, especially after consuming Jones's delicious chunky chicken broth. Big sigh of relief. (Oh, and by the way, Ratty 3 this week was dropped off at the side of the road, half way to Loule.)
Apropos of nothing, we popped into a ceramics shop a few days ago to find a tile required by Barbara's nephew, Chris, in Cape Town as a birthday gift for his wife. It's to complement house-number tiles they already possess - tiles they acquired here last year. The shopkeeper had exactly what Chris was looking for and was happy to pose for a picture.
A quick trip to DHL in Loule - and whizzbang the tile arrived in Cape Town to a delighted Jane. Sending common tiles by courier may be considered a bit excessive but, as South Africans are all too aware, putting anything in conventional post to the country is just an expensive way of getting rid of it.
For some years we have occupied half an hour most evenings while preparing the dogs' meals by keeping half an eye on a train travel TV series presented by a former Tory MP and minister, Michael Portillo. Alas, this past week Jones discovered that the man was a rabid Brexiteer. Horrors! Without further ado, out of the back door went Portillo and his trains. Although Jones is made of hardy stuff and doesn't blanche before four-letter words, the six letter B-word is banned from the house.
Last weekend my phone dropped out of my breast pocket as I bent over to put down Mini's dinner. Although the plastic case took some of the impact, the shock upset the phone's innards and damaged the screen protector. I was severely displeased with myself. I have expensive tastes in mobile phones (not that I run to the iPhone 11) and I am very fond of the one I have. For two days the phone refused to start up. But on day three it limped back into life. I got it a new rubberised case and a new screen protector to reward it. So far, so good. Fingers crossed.
In-between times I have been doing a lot of reading about PHEVs, BEVs and HEVs. If you don't know what they are, you are not into electric vehicles. The ecological me says that I could make a contribution to global cooling by trading in my diesel Honda for a non-polluting vehicle. However, and it's a big HOWEVER, my diesel Honda is a darling of a car. And to acquire anything ending in EV that's remotely as nice would cost an arm and a leg. Neither I am much inclined to trade down. In the meanwhile I'll continue reading.
Friday morning, as we set out to do the shopping, we met the postman at the boxes and had to sign for a couple of very official-looking letters from the taxman, one to each of us. I opened them over coffee at our favourite snack bar to discover four-figure demands for a tax we'd never come across. Thence to the Financas offices where a helpful man explained that it was a kind of inheritance tax that one had to pay for registering an old building on one's property - a final step towards the legalisation of Casa Nada. We left shortly afterwards considerably poorer than we'd arrived although not dispirited. The saga is nearly over.
It's a good life for some.
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