Out of granny's window now, this moment, a swathe of dark land - beyond white buildings sit brilliantly in sunlight, slowly turning pink; now fading altogether as the colours deepen in the sky. Sunset comes fast here to Granny's irredeemably northern eyes.
Odd sort of day. Lackadaisical, neither sun nor cloud concerned which won, half-hearted light, half-hearted shade. Cloud seemed to win in the end, but sun is making a come-back at the last minute. Granny spent large part of day down in main town, at post office (a lengthy process here, tho' today better than sometimes.) She had to send off Beloved's passport for an India visa which had to be done double express to make sure of it's not getting lost. Then lost herself in town - an ordinary Spanish town, not the least touristy, of which she is fond - the few tourists in shorts and t-shirts as usual, the locals huddled up in sweaters: it's always like this in winter, or coming winter. No grid system here, though, hence her erratic process. Got back to find books everywhere, various bookcases having been emptied in attempts at re-arrangement. (Unsuccessful. Still no new bookcases.) Also to find cheerful Mr and Mrs Handsome from Blackburn (things are very good..) insisting on taking her and Beloved out to lunch at local tapas place. Gambas al ajillo. B and G both falling asleep.
They are still suffering from re-entry problems somewhat. Beloved claims he hasn't any, doesn't even know what they are and sets to work as usual. Just the same he looks wearier than usual. Granny continues to drifts, vaguely. Does what she has to. Orange peels are boiling behind her - at least she's begun on that. The scent of them fills the kitchen - closely related to hot marmalade, one of her favourite smells. It's almost worth the efforts to come.
Clouds now brilliant pink; sky behind the islands purple.
Realise that November here is like September back in England; the time the year turns, an end and a beginning.
Beautiful Wimp has very nearly learned to walk to heel. Good. Give or take the odd lunge after passing motorcyclists. Not so good. But he will learn.
Cries of anguish behind - Beloved has thrown what turns out to be sugared Greek yoghourt into his aubergines. All Granny's fault - she brought it. Whoever does put sugar into Greek yoghourt? The Spanish, evidently. You have to look for a very small red mark on the packet and it's easily missed. Wth bi-focal contact lenses Granny can't put her failure entirely down to ageing sight, can she?
Enough. In the half-dark Granny and Beloved propose a brief sybaritic recline in the hot tub along with a glass of wine. The sunset has retreated to the west; is almost over.