The Soundtrack of My Life

... translation of the words on the telly screen. 

Today was the funeral of Marco Paulo, who died from cancer on Thursday, an extremely popular Portuguese singer, who was born 79 years ago in Mourão, hence a television camera in our main square (though we didn't hang around to see what happened). Yesterday was an official day of mourning. Here a short biography, with two videos of him singing, the last one gives you a good view of the Fátima shrine.

Presumably because of the funeral, most places were closed, so we ended up having a coffee at Hortensia's place, where two "Marroquinhos" (supposedly from Morocco) were selling things - that's one of them in the doorway. Our cigano neighbour bought a coat, that's his wife's back on the right. We had a laugh because I'd just ordered a plate of toast, held it out to her to take a slice, and she took the lot, ha! So I had to share Mike's.

Definitely not my favourite photo of the day (those were: Mike lighting our first fire of the season, and the ten jars of four fruit marmalade I made, glowing in the afternoon light), but an interesting insight into Portuguese culture.

Capon, still in the Preface:
Food is not just some fuel we need to get us going toward higher things. Cookery is not a drudgery we put up with to get the fuel delivered. Rather, each is a heart's astonishment. Both stop us dead in our tracks with wonder. Even more, they sit us down evening after evening, and in the company that forms around our dinner tables, they actually create our humanity.