Hiding

No, not really. Just not a lot to say, and feeling generally under the weather*. The very wet weather at that.....

Back soon when I have something to write about that doesn't involve woolly jumpers and waterproof clothes.

*seemingly-everlasting shingles.

Philosophical on Exmoor

For those of you who, like me, hadn't come across Henri before, and like a bit of French existentialist gloom, watch this and the subsequent videos made by this poor suffering cat. You may, like me, laugh aloud.



For those of you who want a bit of uncomplicated joie de vivre and some Autumn colour instead, here's Flossie's take on the Meaning of Life.

Sartre? Whassat? Like sausage? Sandwich? Snack? Stick?

Stick!

Smells!

Leave? Why? Look good enough to eat.....

Paddle. 

Droop. Please hurry up; photographing alpacas is DULL!

Trespass; get scolded. Behind these gates is a nice deep pond....

Climb.

And go home again. Slowly.

Existence for dogs? Simple, if you don't over-think.

Contrast

The Gardener comes in with an armful of flowers, including sweet peas, to fill the house with their scent.

Looking after gardens whose owners are away for months provides joys like this. Keep picking the flowers, and more will come.

In the evening, the air is chilly, the wind whistles in the chimney, and we light the stove. The scent of an autumn wood fire mingles with the  summery fragrance of the flowers. 

Disconcerting, but nice.

Postcard from Mallorca

Well, there was certainly a lot to see and do in one week.

There was weather. (It improved, and we were told that the first rains in 16 weeks had ended a period of unbearable humidity, so we weren't complaining.)

There were roads, either superb or interesting, all a joy to drive on.

There were views.

And stairs.

Lots of stairs.

So many churches! 

And a cathedral, promising much, but such a chaotic jumble of styles and standards of artwork (Palma cathedral was a WIP for over 300 years - that's a lot of project managers) inside the beautiful soaring interior stonework! I can't bear to show you. An earnest guide was explaining the Gaudi additions, and asked her large group if anyone liked them. There was a tense silence. No one did. And neither did we.

We would have liked to explore Palma, but decided to leave it for another day, and instead took the coastal route north. We bypassed popular Magaluf; we know our limitations.....

A stunning route, winding up and up through the Serra de Tramuntana. We stopped for lunch at a wayside restaurant, and - with the benefit of siesta time keeping everyone else away - sat alone on the terrace. 

With this view.

We went to lovely little Deia, where we got a parking ticket and a fine, that we didn't actually discover until we got to Port de Soller. Too long and complicated a tale to relate about trying and failing to pay that fine as night was falling in the mountains a long way from our hotel, so if you don't want to read anything more written by an exasperated fugitive from the law, stop right here. 

Despite the inadvertent criminality, Deia may well be our next holiday destination. We know where not to park.

Port de Soller was pretty.

Soller was seen briefly in darkness; I know where the police station and its surly cop on duty is.

The week flew by. We went to markets.

And a certain someone bought some very malodorous cheese. Blue, vintage, goat.... need I say more?

We ate fairly well; the local ensaimada became a particular favourite of mine, although I have since read that it is made with pork lard - best not tell the vegetarian Gardener about that....

Vegetarianism is not well understood - how many dishes do Spaniards smuggle ham into, we wondered? Grilled vegetables were a good standby. 

We didn't limit ourselves too much!

We sat in cafes and people-watched.

And we took far, far too many pictures.

Including of trees.

Shady plane trees.

Citrus.

Date palms.

Olives.

Carob.

New to me, carob, except as a revolting drink. The Gardener reminisced about life on an Israeli kibbutz. As he did when he spotted ripe prickly pears.

We passed that stringent test, the Being Together On Holiday, with flying colours. We had a lot of fun, enjoyed almost every moment (well, you don't enjoy a parking ticket, particularly), and came home with exactly 20 euros, which will be the start of our holiday fund for next time.

Oops, this postcard is getting rather full; the writing is sprawling over onto the corner where the stamp must be stuck, so perhaps I should stop. Like all good postcards, it arrives late: too late for the traditional 'Having a wonderful time. Wish you were here' message. But we did have a wonderful time. Now it's autumn in Somerset, and that's pretty wonderful too.

Hasta la próxima.