We must all learn to accept blame. Especially when it is fully justified. Admitting to one’s own fallibility is essential for maturity. It encourages growth and is an aid to self-forgiveness and forgiveness of others.
“It should be fun getting out” – prophetic last words spoken by Mr S on entering Redondo Camping yesterday. Destined to take a chunk out of his and Beastie’s backside this morning.
Mr S should have really done his homework. Sussed out the lie of the land fully. We came in from the left, so that’s where we should exit from. It’s a very tight squeeze up there. However, Mr Infallible, AKA SatNav, has other ideas. Instructs “In fifty metres turn right”. That sows doubt. So with front wheels not quite over the brow, Mr S decides to brake and make the decision then. Mistake! Big mistake!!
Beastie is not in the mood for playing a game of tug of war. It’s too early in the morning. He’s not had his Weetabix. The steep incline, ably aided and abeted by the sheer force of gravity, makes the first move. Takes Mr S and Beastie by surprise. Prevents any further upwards movement. Exerts its magnetic influence. Steadily tugs him backwards. Like iron filings in the grip of an invisible force. First gear coupled with an onboard UP gizmo unable to create enough counterplay. Foot and hand brakes work overtime. As do pulses.
Phew! That really was fun! The day is already feeling better. Tomar and its Convento do Cristo, here we come . . .
This beautiful sun drenched town, dominated and overlooked by its high-rise castle, radiates an underlying aura of sophistication we’ve yet to experience in Portugal.
Founded 866 years ago by Gualdim Pais, a Grand Master of the Order of the Knights Templar, Tomar’s Convento is a masterpiece of construction. Intricate and extraordinary carved stonework exudes the importance of attention to detail on every level.
Some children and young adults maintain their basic facial features throughout every decade. Even in their senior years those younger looks remain clearly visible. Others, like Mr S, seem to experience a continuous state of change. An ongoing metamorphosis, flatfish like. Fortunately no signs of Marty Feldman showing yet. Though there may still be time. Early years looking like his mum. Then more and more like his dad. A couple of decades later, he spent some time being mistaken as a Tony Blair twin, during the era when New Labour sprang onto the scene. Of course, hidden dreams of morphing into a Richard Gere, or a Daniel Craig mere candy-floss.
Today, unknowingly, or perhaps unwittingly, his current looks reach a pinnacle unlikely to be surpassed . . . walking back across Tomar we bump into Afonso. (the Portuguese version of Alfonso) “Bom dia’s” exchange; then he stops in his tracks. “You look just like King Charles” . . . eerrrrrrr!
Fifty minutes later, our Royal Yacht sails us into the peaceful port of Quinta da Cerejeira.