Marrakech seems very far away.

Right now I am stretched out on the couch in the upstairs sitting-room, which enjoys a gorgeous view of the bay through some pines, with a cup of pu ehr dante tea to my left and a box of individually wrapped mixed Lindt thins (which I am methodically unwrapping and eating). The centralair air-conditioning is whirring away, keeping me at 78 degrees fahrenheit (I have no idea what that might be in real temperatures, but it is pleasant). Although it is only half-past two, I have had quite a busy day. John woke me up at around 8am, made me get up, and brought me to a café in the town where we had giant cups of coffee (I didn’t plan to get quite such a large coffee, but goodness, when Americans say large anything, they mean it!). After that, we went for a heavenly long walk with John’s father, as my mother- and brother-in-law, who are both artists, had gone off painting.

The walk was marvellous. Imagine you are standing in the picture above with me and the pink umbrella. You’ll want to get under the umbrella too, as it is very sunny and even my Shiseido factor fifty (which I am even wearing under my clothes) does not make me particularly confident about exposing myself to the sun. Now imagine the heat of a huge Victorian hothouse, like the marvellous ones in the National Botanic Gardens in Dublin, beside which we used to live. Next, imagine the sounds of birds, crickets and the murmur of conversation between your two companions. Finally, imagine that you are slightly tired from walking and damp from perspiration and humidity, but that you are essentially perfectly relaxed and comfortable.

After all that, we drove (in the pick-up truck!) into the town where we bought a dozen bottles of Dogfish Head beer, which I am assured is fabulous in every way. I will report back on this tomorrow. I predict that the rest of the day will consist of reading The Plague (Camus, and wonderful), sampling said Dogfish Head on the deck and possibly going for a walk along the beach at sunset. Bliss.

PS: Once upon a time, a friend told me about the time she lost her phone and had to get a new one, with a new number. She sent an email to all her friends and asked them to send her a text message to this new phone so that she would have all of their numbers again. Sadly, many people then went and sent her messages along the lines of “Hi D. - it’s me! Sorry you lost your old phone – I got your email, so here’s my number again. Love you!”. Do you see the problem that she then ran into? Similarly, if you know me and are leaving me charming comments which imply that we are friends, imagine how tantalising it must be for me if you then leave these comments unsigned! I love receiving comments, but do take pity on me and sign them if you want me to know who you are, my loves!