APAPS 2017 no.11: End of Term Shenanigans

Oh, dearie, dearie me! What a let-down! After 9 intensive practice sessions, the squad had been narrowed down, by one absenteeism and by elimination of three would-be´s on the grounds that they were too tall for group symmetry, to an Elite Eight. The choreographer had been given his instructions by the powers that be, and indeed had agreed to abide by them, viz. no frivolity, no gesticulation, arms round waists for solidarity, perfection of alignment,etc., etc.This, just to remind you, was the standard of precision that we were aiming at:-

And what did we get? A “school´s out” mood of couldn´t care less, a fit of the end-of-term giggles, abandonment of discipline and practiced routines; in other words, a total shambles, that´s what we got.

Look at this lot. One geriatric balancing on poles and propping himself up against the metal work, four individuals not even looking at the camera, one with both feet squarely on the ground, and the  choreographer himself apparently bent more on rehearsing for the Auchenshoogle Highland Gathering than for…. words fail one. Total Confushianism. Some grand finale. Never again.
But of course I am kidding you – the final shot wasn´t quite that bad…. but even so , where did all that rather furtive under-the-thigh clutching come from? I never rehearsed that. If the original Tiller Girls had gone in for that sort of thing, the Lord Chamberlain would have had something to say about it.

                                                   The Final Shot
Anyway, enough is enough, as I am sure you will agree. Back to the narrative. And so it was that present at 7.30 am at Mira Rio on 6th September were:- Rod, Paul, Chris, Antje, Hazel, Rose, Myriam, Janet, Ingrid, Yves and JohnH. Also Sascha and Ember.
We all set off along the canal and reached the bottom of the steep hill. Here, Chris and Paul left us to take the low road, and Hazel captured the efforts required to make that kick-start up the slope.



Maurice´s blue blob is still there and two old-timers paused for a pose.

On the hill top, we renewed our acquaintance with the young horse but took care not to trespass on that  grumpy farmer´s land as we did on our last visit up here (APAPS 2017 no.5: Trespass or No Trespass).



There were pigs too, worthy of  Wodehousean names such as Empress of Blandings,  for those who know those books. And then we made our way through scrub land to the rather mysterious large unoccupied house. No apparent access road, no electricity. Water, maybe. How and when had they built it? No sign of any builder´s detritus left lying around. Windows on the ground floor viewless, being almost below ground level. A Chinese laundry inside, so I was told.

Is this a garage door ?


A front door portico and staircase worth posing on, but no front drive.  Any clues ?
Tracking down into the valley below the house was relatively easy, although no recce had been done. An inviting  path then appeared which we followed, only to land among a mass of active beehives, so we did a quick about-turn unscathed, with only Rod having his collar felt by one inquisitve insect.


          Beating the Retreat

We then cut across country, and over some old terraces, on one of which we came across a remarkably deep brick-lined well, captured on Aristotle´s imaging device. It was devoid of any barriers or fences. Don´t venture there at night.

Hazel found it safer to photograph some miniature thistles..

By about 9.15 am we had rendezvoused with Chris and Paul at the Clube Nautico  with its usual inspiring wall signs.


and so back, uneventfully, to Mira Rio.
The Track and the Statistics

Distance: 6.35 kms; Moving time: 1 hr 35 m; Total time: 2 h 17 m.
Total ascent: 193 metres.
Chris and Paul, despite having opted for a less-vigourous walk, ended up having travelled a longer distance than the main group, as Paul´s Garmin shows, so their breakfast was well-merited.

Apparently the Leader had issued them with imprecise instructions – “don´t take the road going uphill to the right” – which caused them a certain amount of back.-tracking. But they didn´t really get lost.
Although we were back at the restaurant some minutes before 10 am, which was the time breakfast had been ordered for, nevertheless the food arrived with exceptional promptness, and the eggs had probably been fried too early. If we breakfast there again next season, fluent Portuguese assistance will need to be enlisted to suggest that they only start to cook once we arrive. But quantity-wise, taste-wise, service-wise and price-wise, it´s not too bad a place.

And, talking of eggs, Paul tried to persuade Janet to partake. Let´s take a moment to hear it for the egg. As an afficionado has written “Weigh an egg in your hand, the smooth porcelain capsule like a miniature Barbara Hepworth sculpture. No beginning, no end, no seam or join or stem: no wonder they have an almost mystical significance in most cultures.Inside, it packs a nutritional punch. It’s two thirds albumen – the white – which has more than half the egg’s total protein, a majority of the egg’s niacin, riboflavin, magnesium, potassium and sodium, and none of the fat. Suspended in the white is the golden globe of yolk, a powerhouse of nutrition, rich in B6 and B12 vitamins, as well as an alphabet of other vitamins and minerals from A to zinc. For chefs and cooks, life without eggs is nigh on unthinkable. Egg is the philosopher’s stone of the kitchen, capable equally of turning flour, butter and sugar into an light sponge, or transforming liquid olive oil into an unctuously rich mayonnaise. It sets a quiche filling, stirs up to a delicate yellow custard, and sets a mousse. It forms the structure that suspends sugar in air for meringue, and it is the dense, crocus-yellow and white centre to a Scotch egg.”
But Janet remained resolute ansd stuck to her fruit and yoghourt assemblage

and was not put off by would-be horror stories about the unnatural chemicals leached out of even the most expensive Antipodean tupperware by the effects of citric acid.
The rest of us munched on, irregardless of this culinary tug of war.

while some were lucky enough to be entertained by an impromptu fashion display by the perambulatory police contingent.


My thanks to Hazel, Myriam, Paul and Yves for photos this week.
And some closing quotations on the providers of our bacon:-
“I am fond of pigs. Dogs look up to us. Cats look down on us. Pigs treat us as equals.”
― Winston S. Churchill
“Never wrestle with pigs. You both get dirty and the pig likes it.”
― George Bernard Shaw
“Yes, we praise women over 40 for a multitude of reasons. Unfortunately, it's not reciprocal. For every stunning, smart, well-coiffed, hot woman over 40, there is a bald, paunchy relic in yellow pants making a fool of himself with some 22-year old waitress. Ladies, I apologize. For all those men who say, "Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?", here's an update for you. Nowadays 80% of women are against marriage. Why? Because women realize it's not worth buying an entire pig just to get a little sausage!”
― Andy Rooney
“These are bagpipes. I understand the inventor of the bagpipes was inspired when he saw a man carrying an indignant, asthmatic pig under his arm. Unfortunately, the man-made sound never equalled the purity of the sound achieved by the pig.”
– Alfred Hitchcock
And we cannot, I am sorry to say, conclude just yet without one further and, I promise you, final reference to our faulty attempts at precision leg work over these past few weeks. (Next year, by the way, if we should be daft enough to bother with themed Starter Photos, new ideas will be welcome, perhaps kung-fu positions taught by Myriam.) So here is THE ultimate farewell leg work photo, rear view:-

photo credit: Rod, I think
One or two plus points for some attempts at arms around the waist, but Aristotle definitely earns a red card for that blatant high tackle on Ingrid. The camera does not miss things like that. He also gets a nine month´s suspension from choreographic appearances for dissent.

Additional photo/comment by Paul