Ciggies ahoy

Fab looking sea today.

In other news, Mom has found the perfect consulate substitute. Cigarettes are so cheap here it would tempt anyone to take up smoking just to save money!

We spent much of the afternoon chatting over wine in a local restaurant. When they came to close up the owner said we could stay as long as we liked, which we did. Then home for a nap, followed by the arrival of Mrs Codebreaker bearing avocados. I am so spoiled...

Astral and other etiquettes

NASA runs a website of daily astronomy pictures, and I caught up on recent images today. Yesterday's was pretty phenomenal, but if you go back further there's also a shot of a car that's been smushed by a meteor, with some handy advice on what to do if you're lucky enough to come across things that have fallen out of the sky.

Geez, the things Martha Stewart doesn't tell you about...

In other news, the codebreakers popped in to meet mom. Mr C wanted to take his rubbish downstairs before he got settled, and asked if he'd take ours. Well I said "no no don't be silly", but mom eagerly pushed me into the kitchen to get the bagged rubbish. So when I gave the eighty-something year old man a single small bag, mom chirped up with "the kitchen bin needs emptying too" and pushed me back in to prepare a second bag for him.

It could only have been worse if he'd suffered a heart attack on the way.

Needless to say, I quickly opened a bottle of vinho verde for us all and ensured everyone was well rested before they made any further movements!

Cool as a mountain stream...

We've spent days chatting over various drinks and meals. There's a certain 1970s feel to the afternoons - given consulate ciggies and a campari & soda, my Mom is one happy lady!

I'm afraid to look at my 'daily word count target' - will start writing in earnest tomorrow!

All kinds of reasons to celebrate

Mom is becoming Super Tech Girl, making webcam 'postcards' to email home to Dublin. I bought some of her favourite music from iTunes: she's currently swinging her teeny iPod shuffle to 'I wish I was a punk rocker with flowers in my hair'.

She did ask when the CDs would be delivered. Hmm.

In other news: it's a stunning day here, and the goldfish are well. One of them shed its elegant swishy tail during the week. It lay panting at the top of the bowl for a couple of days, but seems back in fighting form now, except a bit - you know - stumpier.

Obviously, I find it adorable...

All is calm, all is bright...

Well, all is bright anyway. We went in to Funchal for the turning on of the Christmas lights, which we finally got around to after beer, shopping, movie, meal, wine. There was a fair crowd gathered in front of Sé Cathedral, with some music, miscellaneous dignitaries, and a lovely atmosphere.

Mom was especially excited. She plays it cool though...

The precious

I'm fascinated by regional word usage & slang (like the way "where is it?" becomes "where's it to?") in Devon. Mom brought me over a Dictionary of Cork Slang, which is good fun.

And so, in that vein...

The pawny was down all afternoon, and the place was fierce shlowny. The old wan is a dooshie little thing, but had a great lip on her for drink, so we had a gwall of wine, and then had wagons more. It's fair to say she wasn't far off rotto. We razzed each other loads, and then she had a good stroke so we vamped across the road for dinner. We had great taspy on us, and caused ructions in the restaurant - it was great hack. She's getting used to having her steamers indoors here, which is a change from Dublin. Anyway, she was flahed-out pretty early. Today she's had a gander around doing her traditional knawvshawling. She's cut the tripes out of me already regarding a variety of transgressions, involving the fridge, towels, coffee, bed, hangers etc., and she gave me down the banks for not having an extractor fan.

Still, it's me daza to have her here!

Pawny = rain; shlowny = slippery; old wan = mother; dooshie = small & neat; have a great lip for = desire; gwall = large quantity; wagons = loads; rotto = intoxicated; razzed = teased; good stroke = appetite; vamped = walked; taspy = high spirits; ructions = uproar; hack = fun; steamers = cigarettes; flahed-out = exhausted; gander = inspection; knawvshawling = fault-finding; cut the tripes = criticise severly; gave me down the banks = reprimanded; me daza = very pleasant!!

I couldn't work in 'scuttling' which means to smoke the butt-ends of cigarrettes, but what a verb!

So basically, all's going extremely well. Mom's somewhere around doing her famous Gollum impersonation. Adorable!

Goodbyes and Hellos

Martin's on his way back to London, and Mom is on her way here. She just texted from Lisbon to say she's been upgraded; her new flight will be getting in 90 minutes earlier.

90 minutes is coincidentally the amount of 'tidy up' time I figured I needed.

There's a certain symmetry to that...

Martin signing off

Broadband on the blink most of yesterday, so we missed Martin's last guest blog.

Apparently it would have contained something about ovicide, genocide (he's finishing a book on Rwanda) and being hungover (the kind of hangover where as a hostess, all you can do is put plenty of food within reach throughout the day and leave them to it). It was a very laid back day, ending with a spectacular lightning storm.

Ovicide - that's the killing of sheep. I didn't ask too many questions...

Yoga Conspiracies

Martin is off playing on the buses again, scenes from The Italian Job in his head as he zooms around corners.

The weekend was gorgeous, filled with wine and conversation (shock horror). I still managed to get some writing done, although my 'daily word count target' is at an all-time high. Need to churn out a couple of scenes and bring it back down again.

But first some yoga. I often wonder if it's deliberately orchestrated to suck you in to practicing for life; you stop doing it for a week and joints and bones start creaking. Well, at least the session ends with a nap - er, I mean a meditative relaxation period.

And then Reid's for cocktails this evening. It certainly is a tough life :)

don't nobody get off the bloody bus either

I am currently winning 2-0 (yes I know shock horror... Orlaith is losing again) in my attempts to get out of bed after her. Deep down I know that she is upset, but she is pretending that she's not competitive - she can't fool me). Today I had another two journeys into Funchal courtesy of the suicidal municipal bus drivers of Madeira. If you have yet to experience the death-defying mountain roads of this volcanic Island these journeys are a essential part of any visit to this fair isle. Picture the scene; state of the art 1970s vehicular technology, together with 1950s design, complete with fake plastic leather seats (no expense spared) combined with a near Hindu belief in the virtue of death - a bargain at one Euro forty.

You may have heard about the main industries of Madeira being wine, wicker baskets, or as hosts for massive cruise ships. Whilst no doubt important contributors to the island's GNP, they appear to have forgotten the massive work being undertaken by the population in gearing up for Christmas - especially the light decorations. I can only imagine the countless unswept streets, poorly maintained Levadas and the general lack of untidyness that is currently being endured by the proud Madeiran nation as they attempt to outdo last year's light extravaganza. In this noble aim, every available hand - and let's be clear, only male hands are deemed safe enough for this important job, for this onerous task is too important to be left to the weaker sex. And no one with even an elementary knowledge of Madeiran history needs to be reminded of the great light disaster of 1972, when the fair maidens of Madeira electrocuted all single men between the ages of 18-35, a disaster from which the island is still recovering - has been called upon to wear yellow safety jackets, receive basic health and safety training in ladded ascending/descending techniques and complete a course in the subtleties of colour co-ordinattion kindly sponsored by the Dulux corporation, this year's generous sponsor of the newly named "Dulux Festival of Colour and Light".

It will be a spectacular to beold!
(Copyright Martin Samuel 2006)

Watching the Bay

Great day - wrote for much of the morning, caught up with my sister, then went into Funchal with Martin. We pretty much just sat around chatting for hours, which was heavenly.

Funny moment was when we got on to the subject of scabbard fish: he happened to mention that the boat in Baywatch was called The Scabbard. He insisted he wasn't a fan of the show or anything, you know, he just picked up the information along the way.

Doth protest too much methinks...

All tidy

Yep, yesterday was doomed in terms of getting stuff done. Chatted to Mrs Codebreaker (who came in with The Guardian) and Landlady (who came bearing raspberry chocolate) for a while. Then Landlady decided I should have a washing line across the terrace, and went and got her husband, who was sent off to get the drill, go and buy hooks, a washing line etc.

Meanwhile Landlady couldn't help herself from straightening things up - you can see it's an overwhelming unconscious urge in her. She checked over the plants, removed dead leaves, tidied the kitchen surfaces, arranged the fridge magnets - it was a haven of activity! I could see relief wash over her when she saw the pantry - it truly looks like something Doris Day put together. I love pantries :)

I made some Lady Grey tea in the background, then through a clever rationalisation whereby I 'deserved' a treat, went out and bought wine and cake.

Anyhoo, I got it all done this morning - and his plane doesn't land for seven minutes! Landlady just phoned from the police station (about the cheque fraudy thing) to say they may need to come over and look at the machine.

Good thing I tidied!

Billy in the Bowl

I have a friend arriving tomorrow, and the day he leaves my mom arrives. The neat 'To Do' list I drew up last week has been ignored until this morning.

And what am I doing? Getting stuck into a big bowl of fresh pineapple, and writing away. I'm still in 18th century Dublin. There was a guy who used to go around Oxmantown called Billy in the Bowl, "having been introduced into the world with only a head, body, and arms". The historical account is worth sharing:

When he grew up he conveyed himself along in a large bowl fortified by iron, in which he was embedded. This man was the original "Billy in the Bowl," for though many other personages who got along in various ways were honoured with the same sobriquet, yet this fellow was the king of them all.

He soon ingratiated himself with the simple servant maids from Meath in the respectable houses of Oxmantown. "It's only Billy in the Bowl, ma'am." "Oh, very well," and Billy's bowl was filled with beef, bread, etc. Nature had compensated for his curtailment by giving him fine dark eyes, an aquiline nose, and a well-formed mouth, with dark curling locks, and a body and arms of herculean power.

It turned out that this favourite of the ladies was also a thief and murderer, who took on two women at a time - he'd grab one while turning the iron bowl over the other one to knock them out!

Sufficeth to say I'm engrossed. I can probably distract my visitor with the sea view as I hoover quietly tomorrow...

The thin blue line

Today's horizon is the neatest ever.

Burn baby burn

When I moved to the UK I had to get used to a mostly bonfire-less halloween - instead we had Bonfire Night a few days later. Several villages in Devon have developed their own unique traditions for celebrating. In Ottery St Mary it's the night of the tar barrels - a crowd of thousands line the village and try to stay out of the way as people run through with flaming tar barrels on their backs. In the village of Shebbear they 'turn the Devil's stone' (which weighs about one tonne) to ensure good fortune for the coming year.

My favourite celebration is in Sticklepath, where a massive stage is built in a little paddock in Finch Foundry. A surreal play ensues, with huge papier mache figures, maybe some Abba music, and a plot that no-one can really follow. Now, the year I went the stage was an ice palace; the play featured flying horses, some disco divas, and a Mommy and baby dragon. It ended with a firework display, so everyone gazed upwards for a bit. When I looked down I noticed that baby dragon had caught on fire. In fact, the whole stage was going up in flames.

And that's the point. They build this fabulous set, and it becomes the bonfire at the end of the night. No better place to have a bonfire than in a teeny paddock, surrounded by ancient protected trees - and eighty fire officers.

Up on the roof

Purdy sunset from the roof terrace.

Enough to make one blush

Apparently when you blush the lining of your stomach also turns red.

I don't challenge this. What I ask is, how would anyone know that?

What was the idea, tease someone and when they're embarrassed enough slice them open???

Sounds like the work of the Pinkindindies to me...

News round up

I've been immersed in the history of Dublin for days now, and have finally made it to the eighteenth century. This is the century of the Hellfire club, kidnappings, battles between the Liberty and the Ormond boys, and plenty of other general trouble-making. For sheer flamboyance of name, my favourite rabble-rousers are the Pinkindindies. As a gang name, it doesn't exactly instill cold fear. There's one account of them trashing a Dublin brothel, led in the violence by balloonist Richard Crosbie. Ooh a balloonist, scary... Anyway, I was highly amused just imagining the headlines from the period.

Listening to RTE and BBC radios this morning - everyone's talking about security on flights - I was reminded of the Eddie Izzard unattended bag sketch from the early 1990s. Don’t watch it if you’re travelling soon, because giggling when the safety announcements come on just makes everybody else nervous.

In other news, it's a stunning day here :)

Appropriate Weather

There's thunder right over the building, windows are rattling, the world is all white and misty with the palm trees doing their Dance of the Arcs.

The job for the afternoon was to write a stormy scene, so all is ordered for the best!

And the mermaid on the terrace is happily drenched.

Myths of biblical proportions

I had a screensaver of Stonehenge on my laptop for a while. One day Landlady came in and pointed at it, "We have one of those here".
Really? Stonehenge was finished around 1500 BC. Madeira was discovered about ten minutes ago...

I have yet to find the stones she's talking about, but today being Halloween, I was thinking that one year I'd like to be in Loughcrew in County Meath on this day. There's a series of hills called the Mountain of the Witch with a load of underground cairns that catch the sun around the autumn equinox. One of the main cairns is circled above ground by kerbstones, the coolest one being the Hag's Seat, which is a massive ceremonial stone measuring 10ft by 6 ft (pictured). The building work is all megalithic (between 4200 BC and 3500 BC).

In reading about Loughcrew, I noticed these guys, who are convinced that:

1. Jeremiah is buried in one of the cairns. Seriously, the biblical Jeremiah. In Meath.
2. The final resting place of the Ark of the Covenant is the hill of Tara. Who knew?

I used to work for a fundamental christian in the States, and one of his pet projects was finding the Ark. Many believe that it's buried on the top of Mount Sinai, so he hired a super-duper military helicopter to take him up there. The local authorities saw what they thought was the US military approaching. It did not go well.

Anyhoo, have a lovely Halloween!

Runny honey

It's a bank holiday in Ireland, and I've adopted an easygoing schedule for the day (that's right: any excuse).

The Dublin marathon is on - more than 10,000 are taking part this year. It makes you think: many people have already run 26 miles today. They started in Kildare Street, headed out to the Phoenix Park, then swung back into the city and south, turning again to finish up in Merrion Square.

Me, I've gone out and bought some honey. Yep, that's my big achievement so far today. And it's almost beer-in-the-sunshine time :)

Treats in the post!

What goodies were waiting in the mailbox!

I got a wodge of sudoku & cryptic crosswords (all hail the great Crosaire) - they've been specially treated to self-destruct if I go near them during writing time. I don't understand all the ins and outs, but it would be like crossing the streams in Ghostbusters, just bad. Thanks Mike!

AND as if that wasn't enough, I also got a way-cool pack for stargazing. It's got a wall chart and a star book but the coolest thing of all is the twirling star finder planisphere! This also has a built-in système to stop me using it during the day. Can't wait for it to get dark. Thank you Shona!

So as a treat, here's some Bill Hicks to bring a smile. Shona - I give you the waffle waitress asking one of life's great questions: 'What you readin' for?'. Mike - Bill didn't do much on financial regulation, but there is a nice piece on marketing.

Have a lovely weekend :)

All in the balance

If I had rented a cabin by the side of a lake (and indeed, I used to live in one in Michigan - photos attached) I could have holed up there for a year and written away in total seclusion. The thing about living here is that if you tried to live like a hermit, people would notice.

Offerings regularly appear on my doormat: the codebreakers leave newspapers (this is when they don’t want to disturb me, 'being a writer and all'); the landlady leaves plants (I almost stood on the last batch). And if I don’t seek people out, they all drop in happily unannounced - neighbours with a tape of an Armenian mass they thought I might like to hear, landlady with freshly baked cake or new fruits to try.

While the lake I used to live at had deer and waterlillies and racoons and squirrels (who ate all my strawberries), this place strikes a balance between providing the space I need to write, and the company to avoid going bat-crazy!

So very lucky :)

The curious case of the reticent renters

My lovely landlady rents other properties, and I gave her a hand setting up (i.e., I set up) a website ad, email account etc. When it came to accepting payment I suggested paypal, only to learn that she didn't actually have any bank cards (it is such a cash culture here).

Someone contacted her from South Africa to book an apartment for a month. Then a cheque appeared (from a Spanish bank) for almost 5000 euros - we had asked them for a 200 euro deposit. Landlady's bank advised her not to lodge the cheque as it wouldn't clear until the renters had been and gone. And so ensued weeks of bizarre wrangling. Their emails were signed with different names, and they ignored my requests for an address so that I could post out confirmation of booking. The latest email suggests that we've reached an agreement (by cleverly ignoring our previous email), and asks Landlady to send the excess money by Western Union - to Norway! I replied to explain the situation (for the umpteenth time) and asked again for an address.

It's been silent now for three days.

In other news, I moved in four months ago today - it feels longer (although I should, ahem, probably do a bit more sorting out of stuff).

The google

The storm lasted all day yesterday: the place is sunny and peaceful this morning, but looks pretty trashed. Here's what it looked like when it finally started to settle - this was still officially daytime.



As a special treat for Anne-Flore (also pictured!) for sterling work yesterday, here’s her favourite Captain Clever talking about 'the google'.


I read the transcript and thought it was a hoax; I should know by now...

Road Trip: Istanbul with Anne-Flore

I love hearing 'day in the life' stories from friends and so the 'blog road trip' came to mind; here is our first one! Anne-flore is French, lives in Devon, and in between LSD trips (that's a type of running - long slow distance) finds time to work on a Ph.D. in things of a mappy nature.

Hello! Most of you probably don't know me, so I'll just say that I'm friend of Orlaith's from Exeter. I was in Istanbul at the weekend with a couple of friends, and Orlaith's asked me to guest blog and share a couple of pictures from the city that was once Byzantium and Constantinople.

Istanbul is a pretty big city full of contrasts. To go for the cliché (that is none the less pretty true), it is where the East meets the West, although I found that it satisfied my idea of the East more than it resembled my experience of the West. This was largely due to the days being rhythmically guided by the crying of the imams who call out five times a day from the city's many mosques. The fact that this was the last few days of the fast of Ramadan exacerbated the awareness of being a visitor to a very foreign culture.

History greeted us at nearly every street corner in Sultanahamet, the most easterly of the western shore of the Bosporus. The Haghia Sophia is by far the most impressive of these constructions, because it has visible traces of having swapped religions over the centuries before settling on being a mosque. Conversely, the nearby Blue Mosque (which is still in use) is a monument to Islam through the ages. The epitomous blues tiles create an eerie atmosphere that remind worshippers and visitors that this is a spiritual place.

The Topkapi Palace a few blocks away was the hub of Ottoman power for more than 3 centuries, and is an edifice that I will shamelessly compare to Versailles. Overlooking the Bosphorous on the Golden Horn, the location is stunning and foregrounds the strategic location of the city. There was an impressive harem (no longer in use, I hasten to add) that once housed up to 400 concubines. There were a lot of blue tiles here, all exquisitely painted and mysteriously entrancing. This where we also got to see a pair of sandals that once belonged to the prophet Mohammed as well as a box that contained a lock of his hair. This was kinda weird.

Not far, still, was the Grand Bazaar where one can purchase all the counterfeit Prada, Dolce & Gabbana and Louis Vuitton one could possibly want. (For the records, I did not partake.) I found this place unexpectedly pleasant, and the shopkeepers not too overbearing. Of course, there were a lot of "Lady, come look", but a quick shake of the head was enough to move on in peace. There were a lot of comparatively authentic trinkets here, such as lamps, ceramics and backgammon boards, so, while the shoppers were mainly tourists, there was a somewhat real feel to the whole thing. Basically, not your everyday shopping mall!

The night scene is pretty scarce. In the Tünel and Taksim quarters (where Starbucks and Levi's can be found), a couple of bars and kebab restaurants constituted most of what there is to do once it's dark and the fast can be broken. The local liquor is raki which is a very strong aniseed drink that seems to resemble Greek ouzo. A couple of those and it's time to go home in a dolmus (shared taxi) that whizzes through the illuminated city faster than I care to know...

All this was fuelled by many exciting foods, my favourites being the sweet and rich baklavas. I highly recommend! But it's also the place for various meats, such as sheep's small intestine, which I must say I stayed as far as possible from...

Oh, and just quickly, because this is me, I'll have to mention that there are some great maps to be seen in Istanbul. Very pretty indeed, with the Ottoman script and sophisticated gilt cartouches.

What was also really cool was the earthquake on Friday night. Yeah, it was very mild and lasted only about 15 seconds. The building shook, the windows shook, the sofa shook, the piranhas in their aquarium shook (yes, my friend has an aquarium with piranhas -- and I slept with my head no more than a couple of yards from them. Scary!).

Orlaith, back to you!

Bazaars and raki and earthquakes oh my! A fabulous glimpse into another world - thank you so much :)

Stormy weather

Howling winds, lashing rain... the clouds were actually below the level of my apartment when I woke.

However, I only got to see them for a minute, because now the world looks like this:


You're quite right, it does have all the indications of an afternoon to be spent curled up watching Columbo, but I shall postpone that pleasure and get writing instead! Now where is that sparkle-shiny halo of mine...

Bring your own...

As soon as I got stuck into writing last night the codebreakers called - in case I wanted to see the QE2 as it disappeared into the mist on its voyage from Funchal to Port Elizabeth.

Well, one thing leads on to another: you can't cross their threshhold without glasses of port magically appearing. They brought out a photo album of their trip to Romania a couple of years ago (including piccie of the birthplace of Vlad 'Dracula' the Impaler). One of them had broken the code book of the Romanian secret police way back when, so it meant a lot for them to be able to visit the country.

From there the conversation turned to the Romanian guy in town who goes around with a squeezebox playing gypsy tunes for tourists (the codebreakers get on fab with him, to the annoyance of many). Apparently, when he gets enough money he buys a steak from the butcher, then goes into a restaurant with the raw meat and gets them to cook it for him.

Only in Madeira :)

Time's a wasting...

Ahem, just getting down to some proper writing now.

I did set out on this task around noon, but as it turned out, I was distracted. The good news is that I've made enough granola for a Roman legion, juiced the pomegranate (yum! - in one of her throwaway rude judgemental comments Martha Stewart said that the 'undiscriminating' think pomegranate juice tastes like cranberry juice. Er, I also watched Martha Stewart today - and I think I've done very well not to glitter a decorative bird and make lavender sachets for my imaginary cottage in Maine. But I digress -), finally found a sieve fine enough to cope with quinoa, and made chamomile-infused olive oil for nice facials.

Man this place smells good!

Anyway, down to work rightnowthisminute. Promise.

Life on the freezer

The shops have been filled with Christmas decoration displays since September. Today I finally caved and gave in to temptation.

I got a nativity scene fridge magnet set - very classy indeed!

Let's hope the Penguin of Death isn't threatened by the new arrivals...

Fruity matter

I'm tapping away on my pomegranate, but it still sounds like fruit rather than metal.

I may well just break it open and give it a go. Let it be known that I shall not be counting the number of seeds; apparently that little project is already keeping someone busy.

Happy Birthday, She Wrote

Today is filled with notable birthdays: apart from Oscar Wilde (1854), Nobel prize winners Eugene O'Neill and Günter Grass (in 1888 and 1927), we also have the iconic Angela Lansbury, born in 1925!

I've got the theme tune stuck in my head now: do do do doo-dooo...

Drama in the sky

The stormy night echoed in this morning's sky...

We had a gorgeous evening in the Old Town. The guys are on a tour today, so we said our goodbyes last night.

It's lovely to see the difference in people after a few days of holidaying: rested and tanned and thoroughly enjoying themselves. Fantastic!

And so it came to pass...

...several rounds of cocktails were enjoyed at Reids.

The guys realised that their flight is at 7am rather than 7pm on Monday, so there has been some rejigging of weekend plans.

I'm taking them up to Monte this afternoon to ward off hotel cabin fever. But first, a beer in the sunshine I think :)

You can't believe everything you read...

...although Budleigh is very pretty.

Another crispy Fall day here - no just kidding; it's as summery as can be.

The plotting for the novel continues, then I'm meeting Davrille & Howard later on. I think they're starting to suffer from slouching-round-the-hotel-itis, so the idea is to remove them from the controlled environment for a few hours. Perhaps a cocktail at Reid's might do the trick...

Paranoid much?

We spent yesterday in a selection of cafes, but did manage to squeeze in a cable car trip. A day filled with wine and conversation.

Davrille mentioned to her timeshare guy that she was visiting an Irish friend on the island, and he said yes, he knew all about me: I'd visited the island and fallen in love with the place. Odd. I've never even been to her hotel. She's finding out if it's really me they're talking about, and whatever myth is being cultivated...

All going well - am struggling with novel structure at the moment. Baby steps...

The Great Indoors

The thing about living an outdoorsy lifestyle is that sometimes the outdoors comes in to see how you're living.

The other week I startled 'something' that was on the floor of my bedroom, and it took refuge in my wardrobe. It moved quickly: a scuttle motion, but with padded feet. I said 'You have got to be kidding' through the hands I'd clamped over my mouth, then left the apartment for a few hours.

Yep, avoidance is often the best tactic. So I reasoned that it was probably only a lizard, and they don't phase me at all when I see them in the outside world. Yesterday's creature was definitely a lizard: I went to feed the goldfish and a startled lizard scrabbled from behind the bowl and darted over to hide amongst the oils & vinegars I keep by the cooker.

I did my best to rationalize: they're more scared of you than you are of them... what harm could they actually do you blah blah blah.

And then I closed the kitchen door behind me, and went out for beer and cake.

Robs & Jem - your parents are safe!

Friends of mine are over for the week - we met up for dinner and holiday-planning last night. Howard wants to see the sun hit the 'beer mark' on my terrace. I hope he's not expecting a Raiders of the Lost Ark dramatic moment...

Today they run the gauntlet of the Timeshare sales folk, so I'm getting some plotting done for the novel. There's nothing like unpicking something entirely - this is why I never achieve much in the knitting department...

Complaining

Another weekend, another battle with broadband. I thought I'd give it one more chance before phoning the company, as I've not yet mastered the complaints process/customer service ethos here.

One thing I bought was clearly priced, but it came up a few euros higher at the register. So I explained to the cashier, who called someone, who called someone else, with whom I walked to the other end of the store to show them the display filled with the lower price. They checked their database for a few minutes, then walked over and started taking the little plastic price holders down. I asked about my purchase, and they said the register price was right, and thanked me for pointing it out.

In one's own language, phrases like 'you have to charge me the ticketed amount; it's my consumer right under EU law' just trip off the tongue.

What's more, I took money out of a cashpoint yesterday and among the bills was half a bill, the serial number ripped through, not legal tender. So that's a discussion for this afternoon with someone in the banking world...

Free of Fall

I understand that Autumn is arriving elsewhere, but just to explain (and I only say this because someone asked if I had a fire lit) it's still 29 degrees here. My candles melt out on the terrace!

'Winter' is when I get to wear jeans and maybe two layers. It doesn't apply to Madeiran woman, who will be in proper winter clothes during winter. You can spot them easily in the summer because in the most debilitating sweltering heat they can wear skin-tight jeans and four-inch heels (in some bright colour which co-ordinates with their top).

I'll never be one of them...

Psst wanna buy a P? With P you can have...

So I'm getting this exotic fruit thing now. There are pomegranates everywhere at the moment. I've always loved their super-rich symbolism in myth, but now I'm going to try the reality.

Apparently you tell if they're ripe by tapping them: if they make a metallic sound they're good to go. Mine are making normal fruit sounds at the moment, so I will wait patiently.

Haven't decided what to do with them yet. Martha Stewart puts them on everything - salad, game hens, pot pourri - all the while directing you to buy her book/watch her Apprentice/purchase fine chocolates via her website. However, it looks like pomegranates would be pretty treaty on a pavlova, so I'm tempted to try that out...

What a week of learning!

So not only do I now know what a persimmon is (all hail Shona!) and that Monte Negran men are the tallest in Yurp (all hail the VERY reliable authority who may not wish to be named!), my eyes have also been opened to some of the kookiest folk around, who live here.

I'm going to teach the goldfish a key word so when they eventually get flushed to the big bowl in the sky and want to communicate with me, I'll know it's for real. Busy busy...

I can see clearly now

The world looks like itself again today: sky sea and earth have all reappeared.

My landlady appears under the terrace and calls for me on a regular basis. I help her with computery things (in that she doesn't have or use one), and she brings plants, yummy cake & generally treaty things. This afternoon she came bearing fruit: it looks tomato-like but comes from a tree, and you don't eat the skin or seeds. She didn't know its name in English, and we couldn't find it listed in the big botanical book. Anyway, it's supposed to be nice chilled, so I have it in the fridge and I await. I'm sure it'll be fine!!

Famous last words.

Just one more question

My broadband connection's been on the fritz for days. Everything takes so much longer...

Well, I woke (after nearly twelve hours of sleep) to find the day looking like this:

Forget the sea and the sky blurring - I can't see either!

All of which makes it the perfect afternoon to put on a Columbo dvd and curl up. Not the most energetic start to the week, but you don't want to rush headlong into these things...