This morning I was ready to head for the airport, after a sleepless, mosquito-blighted night.
But it’s been a good day.
Our domestic arrangements have been transformed by a wee man called Mohammed, our daily cook and cleaner, who started work today. We had a most excellent lunch of thick noodle soup, chicken and chips, and masses of salad. The kitchen’s shining like a new pin; the fridge and cupboards are stuffed full. Mohammed speaks fluent Spanish and French, so we can communicate our needs for food. He’s a marvel.
Hopefully, at some point this evening, my air conditioning will be repaired. My big toes are beginning to win the Sandals War. The telly is functioning and we are able to follow events in Walford. Maybe the next eight weeks will pass. Eventually.