Al Stewart was not wrong when he sang about the Year of the Cat. I can’t get away from them – if it’s not the angular Dylan Lewis numbers that have invaded Stellenbosch tasting rooms, then its Giacometti’s wonderful etiolated pussy in the Berggruen collection in the Charlottenburg Palace in Berlin on Saturday. The kitty on the top was William Kentridge’s Scribble Cat in the Weekend Financial Times. Fantastic oblique advertising for Eben Sadie who has appropriated William’s scribbles as wine labels.

My kinda cat

Eben is in Priorat for the harvest as are we. Off to Sintra on Wednesday to help Aníbal pick grapes for his Escondido (translation: “Hidden”, sorry Dave!) red blend of Touriga Naçional and Merlot. Although this year, the Merlot is so mildew infested, Aníbal thinks he may have to switch to Cabernet Sauvignon.

But first, breakfast in Lisboa with that irritating song of Al’s playing in my head

On a morning from a Bogart movie
In a country where they turn back time
You go strolling through the crowd like Peter Lorre
Contemplating a crime