The air has been heavy with the scent of someone's fire this afternoon. I note, and you can see, how the mist has surrounded us this evening seemingly still full of the residue from those Portuguese fires at the weekend. Maybe it is the general stour that fills this land of course but either way it is getting up my stuffy nose.
I did not realise that Portugal was so densely forested until now. Apparently it is one of the most wooded parts of Europe. Now consider a government struggling with a poor economy, the forested areas owned mostly by private companies and organisations and a lack of proper fire control ( a little bit like our tower blocks) a land dry from hot sun and climate change and trees soaking up what water there is and a tinder box appears. Dry ground, badly organised woods, scrub for kindling and a couple of arsonists arrive and there will be trouble.
Several have died in this latest fore, 60 died in June, and today the minister resigned, more for her own good rather than for shame it appears and the government might yet fall in consequence.
It causes me to wonder how a fire so far away can get up my nose here. I wish it would blow over the Atlantic next time as I find it hard enough to breathe today anyway.
Much sarcasm has been offered. Remember this you females of the species:-
Now excuse me while I get matron to fix up that intravenous 'Hot Toddy' drip and wipe my brow while muttering "There there," "Poor boy," and "Be brave," instead of the present cries of "Wimp," "If you knew what a woman goes through," and "Try having a baby!" All of which cut no ice with me! Now where is the paracetamol...?
