Today I continue the anecdotes of my personal life, and I start by introducing to you my 21-year-old son James.
James lives in a flat in the university city of Bangor, North Wales.
For two years he has had schizophrenia, and during that time the love on my side, and the trust on his side, have developed into a soul bond that goes far beyond the mother-son bond.
At present James is staying with me in Tenerife to soak up some of the natural beauty of this Island and its healing properties.
Last Sunday we left home early for a circular walk with friends from our MSN Group.
The sky was cloudless and when the group stopped at a ruined farmhouse to take a look round, I applied some sun tan lotion to James' reddening skin.
When we looked up, the group was nowhere to be seen. We heard voices in the laurel wood, so we headed towards them. But it turned out the voices belonged to another group.
Thinking our group must have gone on ahead, we quickly set off again. In some places we could see the path snaking below us along the side of the V-shaped gorge, but no sign of humans.
At last we came to a look-out point above the ocean, where we found a group of four Germans: male identical twins and their parents.
They got out their map, which was much more detailed than ours, and showed us the way back to the hamlet where our group had left the cars. We had only to go down as far as the lighthouse, then follow the coastal path to the hamlet.
James left me behind as he leapt and bounded down the steep descent to the lighthouse.
When I got to the lighthouse enclosure, there was no sign of James.
Seeing the German group close on my heels, I waited for them and then stopped them and asked them to put me on the coastal path, which they did.
I walked in solitude and total silence apart from the shush-shush of the breakers at the foot of the cliffs and a chorus of birdsong.
After what seemed like an hour and a half and not having seen a soul in that time, I spotted some roofs ahead and heaved a sigh of relief as, by that time, my legs had turned to jelly.
However, it turned out that the place was uninhabited, having been abandoned because there was no road and the only access was by sea.
I met a young couple – again Germans – coming the other way. After glancing at their map they reassured me that the hamlet I was heading for was the next along the coast, and I only needed to keep walking for another 40 minutes.
I looked ahead of me to where the path climbed very steeply in order to find a way around the next headland, and felt somewhat daunted.
I plodded along as fast as my legs would carry me, wondering with each step whether my companions with whom I was sharing a car were still waiting for me or whether they had called it a day and set off home. I wondered too whether James had managed to meet up with them or whether he was lost.
At last I made a somewhat unceremonious entry into the hamlet of El Draguillo, so called in honour of an ancient and sacred Dragon Tree at its centre.
I was relieved to find the bright red, brand new car in which I was sharing a lift, parked exactly where its owner had left it. I would not have to continue walking to the next settlement, which had a bus stop.
In the almost unbroken silence, I wondered, where are my companions?
My mobile was still out of radio range. I thought I would see if I could get a text message through to my daughter Valentina at home, who might be able to establish communication with James, but the mobile could still not pick up any signal at all.
So, in the late afternoon sunshine, I settled myself down to sunbathe in the rays from the still cloudless sky, making an impromptu pillow out of some clothes.
However, I didn't have time to drop off to sleep, as I soon heard the scraping of a walking stick on the tarmac of the car parking area. It was the owner of the beautiful red car, alone.
I asked him where he had come from: had he been down the steep path to the beach while waiting for me?
He said no, I was the first one to finish. The Group had scoured the area for James and I for half an hour after we were separated at the ruined farmhouse, and the Group was upset that I and James had apparently gone on ahead deliberately; but I explained about the voices in the wood and the mix-up.
At that moment James came up behind our friend and explained to me what had happened to him. He had gone a little way along the path that skirts the lighthouse, and waited for me there.
Then the German group came past him, recognised him as my son, and told him they had just put me on the coastal path.
He then set off to join me but was too far behind to catch up.
I was awe struck that the Germans had appeared a third time to guide James after he became separated from me. It would not have surprised me if I had seen white wings folded on their backs instead of backpacks.
