In the morning Ailsa calls. Last night their phone rang after midnight and Harry got up to answer, thinking, as one would, that it meant bad news. The ringing had stopped and he couldn't make out the caller, but in the morning they determined that it had been a call from our mobile. So apparently when J was attempting to revive the phone pressing random keys despite the lack of any visible info on the screen, he must have connected with Contacts - and as they are alphabetical Ailsa would have been first, before he switched off. Fortunately whoever stamped on the mobile and left it unusable, didn't remove its SIM card, which has €15 remaining and is now in place in our other Nokia. Home to find we've missed a call from Jane. Mobile was in my handbag but muffled by traffic noise. Return the call and find they're driving back from the olive oil mill in Anglisides. They stop with oil, a lovely pale green colour. As they're constantly adding oil as people bring in their bags of olives, it's impossible to get back precisely the oil from your own olives. A little like cremation, Jane says - who knows which ashes you get back. They are told, though, that our 8 kilos of small green olives translates to a kilo and a half of oil. Quite surprising.
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