It's been a frantic kind of Sunday. I was looking forward to spending some quality time with my computer and writing the feature on flared trousers that was due in on Friday.
But it was not to be. The phone began ringing just as I'd returned from walking Biff and rang almost constantly for an hour. Then Travis rapped on the sitting room window dressed in cycling kit, having pedalled the 15km from his village with his friend Martial.
'Why aren't you answering your phone?' he demanded, before persuading me to go for a coffee at the cafe on the square.
Back home another friend arrived unexpectedly and even though I kept mentioning that I had a feature to write, she was in no hurry to leave.
Next to arrive was the aunt of my Portuguese friend, Magda, wanting to know if I'd heard from her.
'She went to Portugal for Christmas and said she'd be back on January 4th,' I say.
The aunt looks worried. Apparently, the gendarmes have been knocking on Magda's door and the mairie also want to know where she is. I phone her Portuguese mobile and Magda answers sounding breathless.
'Allo chérie,' she says, her voice husky.
'Am I interrupting something?' I ask.
'No, chérie. But can you call me back in five minutes?'
Something tells me that the beautiful and mysterious Magda - who for the past seven months has been helping me to combat the mess created by Biff and his muddy paws - might not be coming back.
We've become good friends, meeting for a coffee most mornings in the local cafe. She has even taught me some Portuguese.
Whatever she is up to in Portugal, I'm sure it's not dusting and I'm guessing the last thing on her mind - who can blame her? - is my floors.