111. Beached as

PORTIMAO, THE ALGARVE, PORTUGAL 

Up at seven and off to Roady to get the EGR valves replaced. Prompt start is due to Roady being a first in, first served, business. Arrived in good time and waited for opening. A latecomer jumped in and made it first to the counter but I didn't protest as it is possible that he was extremely busy however, on reflection, I think he was rude.

First Position

The service manager phoned the local JLR dealer and reported that the valves would be two hundred and ninety five euro each (a little more than eBay, in fact five hundred and ninety six euros more), plus fitting, making the job around eight hundred euro. I possibly would have gone for it except that he then said that the parts are in the UK and delivery would be, at best, forty eight hours from time of ordering. Having waited for a number plate I wasn't up for that again. Phoned Robbie in Ireland for EGR and life advice and he offered to ask if The Mountain Goat* can get a pair at a better price for me and what he recommends. Will wait to see which returns first, Robbie or the check engine light.

Second position

On talking to lovely German neighbours Anita and Kurt they recommended a local beach ten minutes away.  As it was a nineteen degree day we all agreed that we would waste about an hour stuffing around before we departing forgetting towels and a change of cloths in the process. Pleased to say we almost nailed it and departed an hour and a half later sans towels and a change of clothes. Had a bit of a navigation challenge getting to the beach as the hotels, apartments and gated communities block most access points but on arriving were greeted by a spectacular beach.

Third position
Tsunami didn't materialise

Halfway down the lovely beach there was a sandy bank, perfect upon which to sit and watch the children's antics as they frolicked in the dumping surf.  Iris was annoyed with us as, according to her, we had forgotten her towel. She is above such matters therefore, clearly, it was our fault. While she sat pouting a wave ran right up to the bank and she and my Mother lept to their feet with my Mum tripping over Iris' feet and sitting down, fully dressed, waste deep in the surf - fantastic except that I was flying an aerobatic kite with Fyfe at the time and missed it. Gradually, the beach, surf and drenched Grandmother melted Iris' sullen resolve and soon she too was digging furiously with a beach spade building walls and channels to divert/trap the water. My mother now, sensibly sitting on top of the bank to dry out. For our entertainment, after half an hour drying out another wave raced up and ran up the bank re-soaking my
Mum - couldn't have scripted it.

On returning to the camp dropped my Mum at her apartment for a de-sand and shower. Collected her  again by Disco for dinner in the Giantavan. Video above of children appraising her bed.

*Ancient Mountain Rescue Irishman and all round good bloke in Wicklow, Ireland, friend and neighbour of Robbie's that ran the legs off Robbie and me, not Fyfe.