Thursday. It's a grey, glistening morning. The wettest kind of rain is streaming down, spattering off the jacuzzi, interrupting the satellite TV and wifi signals and soaking the countryside. It's wonderful - real manna from heaven.
I've got every available bucket and tub situated under the spouts on the upper patio to collect the precious stuff. We've had over an inch already and, with luck, might have another by the end of the day.
MAKING A FIRE ON A DAMP MORNING
Jones has made an early fire, more for cheer than warmth - a focus around which the household gathers.
The dogs have had treats and leg-lifters under the carport and we are considering the day.
Not that there's much in prospect. Another week has sidled past, very much like the one before it, and the one before that.
THE BOYS, RUSS & BOBBY
With time on my hands, I have tried to take some interesting pictures. Never mind that you may be familiar with the subjects.
THE GALS, BARRI & MINI
Confined as we are till Covid-19 passes, my lens is limited to rustic and domestic scenes - mainly critters, as my wife does not welcome the camera's intrusion, especially close up. So please be understanding.
Be assured that humans are also allowed on the sofas - when there's room. There was a time when we imposed rules about animals being in their places but over the years the beasts have established themselves as family; they would certainly not take kindly to being thrown off in the name of some Victorian principle.
Dearheart loves to perch upon the ironing board to catch the morning sun. In the afternoons, unless Barbara's lap is available, she favours the heated floor in the bathroom. At night she curls up in the crook of her mistress's knees - outside the blankets.
Mello's favourite spot is right in front of the fire. (It's okay, you can just flick through the pics if you don't appreciate the camera-work!)
Earlier in the week an angry squall hit the village, rattling hail off the shutters and filling the rain gauge nearly to the brim. Rather than mucking through the mud, we stayed on the concrete paths inside the fence.
HONEYSUCKLE
Around us the lush growth was knee-deep. Nature can hardly believe its luck. The recent rains have nurtured the countryside.
The park is a palette of floral exuberance. A newly emerged woodcock orchid displays its delicate finery.
While the lavender is positively luminous.
Pally pursues ghosts among the rocks, yapping all the while. He's more agile on three legs than most of his companions on four. Note the ranks of beady asphodel stalks, still on parade...
ASPHODELS IN FLOWER
long after February's flowers have faded. That's Russ, cutting a fine figure. Although it's not obvious, I have spent hours trimming his coat. He was meant for colder climes.
Twice a day Barbara heads across to David and Sarah's cottage to feed Not Robbie, who rented Casa Nada until Greenie (another cat) took up residence and evicted him. Cats are not kind to one another.
And each afternoon she takes a bag of biscuits with her, down the path to the rocks beside the road where a litter of white cats has taken up home. They used to hang around a neighbour's house but the dogs bothered them and they found safer lodging amidst the nearby cracks and crannies.
There are more waifs that I could tell you about but I shall leave them for another day. The sun is back out and it's time for some fresh air.
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