Letter from Espargal: 28 February 2019

BOTTOM OF THE DRIVE
The week has not lacked interest. Last Thursday afternoon, for instance, as I was about to set out for a medical appointment, we noticed that Dearheart the cat was showing an unusual interest in the towel rack in the bathroom.



Shooing her out, we peered behind the rack to discover a wee mouse. As time was short, we closed the door and blocked off the bottom pending my return. When we opened it again a couple of hours later, the mouse had vanished. We had no idea where it had gone although we didn't doubt that it wasn't very far.


ANOTHER WET KISS
Friday evening, as we supped, the mouse dropped down from the study mezzanine, landed on the floor beside us and shot under the couch. The dogs looked on with interest as I opened the adjacent patio door and stood by with a broom to sweep the mouse out. Next we pulled back the couch to expose the beastie. At the same moment, Squinty leapt in from the sidelines, seized  the squealing rodent and took it off to brexit. Jones was not pleased. She's not into blood sports.



Speaking of rodents, this pair are now regular and relaxed feeders at the bird feeder. It's hard to know how much they leave for the birds. I start to wonder whether to add two rats to the Valapena animal register.



Jones, who is more concerned about the birds, says it's time to make a plan. We might have to go for one of those squirrel-proof contraptions that one finds in the UK. In the meantime I have placed the feeding dish on top of an upturned ceramic pot. To capture any developments I set up the camera on a chair in the lounge.



At one point I spotted a rat climbing the trunk but  it turned around and descended again before reaching the top. I can only think that the new arrangement has aroused ratty suspicions. Indeed, even the birds seem to be treating it with care.



Saturday I worked with Slavic securing and building up the rock walls around the perimeter of the pool area. First we raided a rocky terrain on the fringe of the village - with the owner's blessing. Happily, this part of the Algarve is not short of rocks and carob farmers are only too pleased to have them removed from their land.



A second task was to surface some of the stone steps in the park with concrete in order to provide secure footing, especially in the wet. Ascending is easy enough; it's going down in muddy shoes that's risky. I've taken too many spills down the years to want any more.



Sunday we found police controlling the main roads into Loule for what was obviously a big cycle race (later discovered to be The Tour of the Algarve). Hold-ups and deviations were the order of the day. The police would wait for a gaggle of cyclists to speed past before waving waiting motorists hurriedly through.



After brunch at Leroy Merlin (to follow up on the pool delivery) I took a circuitous route home with a view to avoiding the cyclists. It was a mistake. We found ourselves on the main race road, ushered over to the verge for 15 minutes while groups of cyclists swept past. The riders comprised a mixture of professionals and obvious amateurs (or maybe just hangers on). Five luxurious, gaily-decorated, double-decker team buses indicated the importance of the occasion.



Before returning home we parked in the Cork Walk beneath Espargal hill and strolled along our old haunts in the valley. As I said to Jones, something's missing. Since the death of Prickles last year, our outings have been dog-free. It's made life a lot easier - especially where summer parking is concerned - but it doesn't feel right.



Leroy Merlin said the pool would be delivered first thing on Monday morning and they were true to their word. I met the deliverers down at the village square and guided them back to the house. The pool emerged in numerous sections that they loaded with some effort on to the back of my tractor.



The dogs watched the operation closely. Percipient readers may notice that Russ (top left) has had his first trim of the season. He's a real sheep of a dog and will need ever closer shaves as summer comes on.



I had earlier asked Jones to take a number of snaps of the occasion. In the bathroom she grabbed her phone, only to see it slip through her fingers and dive into a bucket of water. (Jones's phones have all tended to be somewhat willful.) Although she instantly retrieved the device, it wasn't happy. I left it in the sun for several hours to dry out but with little improvement.



The entire pool now rests on the tractor awaiting installation. On Saturday Slavic will assist me to complete the rocky pool surround. On Sunday he will return with a mate to erect the pool - or that's the plan. It could be interesting.



Monday we visited Vodafone to ask what could be done about the phone's misty screen.  "Dry any apertures with a hairdryer," we were advised, "and then bury the phone in a bag of rice for a day or two." We did as we were advised. The rice immersion therapy didn't prove necessary. Five minutes of hot air did the trick.



This is an orchid that Jones discovered with the greatest joy in an overgrown section of her garden. She'd been given the plant some time ago by a neighbour and, after planting it, had lost track of it in the greenery. So you can imagine her delight as she worked in the garden to discover it thriving among the ferns.



Tuesday I had a session with Jodi. Although much improved, my back continues volatile. I often find it more comfortable to sleep in my recliner than in my bed. So does Mini. We have started to call her my personal attachment. Note the TV zappers fastened with cords to the railing to prevent them crashing to the living room floor below.



Wednesday brought Natasha and the usual shopping trips. That evening Jonesy declared - not for the first time - her unhappiness with the stain around the bath plug. It's been there ever since the bath was installed some 15 years ago and nothing has served to remove it - neither product nor person. I ought to say that as far as I'm concerned, it's just a two-tone bath.  Jones, however, feels otherwise, especially as it's in the guest bathroom. There are occasions when I know that I have to do something.


CARNIVAL PREPARATIONS LOULE
So Thursday, after some online research, I visited several paint shops in and around Loule, looking for a product that might resolve the problem. Shops 1 and 2 couldn't help me. Shop 3 directed me across the highway to shop 4 which supplied me, at considerable expense, with a dedicated primer and paint. Each came in a double can, the smaller upper section of which has to be mixed with the larger lower section in a ratio of one to four. Now all we have to do is to apply the products to the bath as directed. To be continued....


BLACKBIRD EVENSONG

Letter from Espargal: 22 February 2019

JUST FRIENDS
This blog is taking its first steps at 11.00 on Wednesday when, according to my smart-watch, I have taken 3,366 steps, an encouraging start towards my daily target of 9,000. This is a goal that I achieve three to four times a week. I also have a flights-of-stairs target of 20. I'm not yet clear whether my watch counts both flights up and flights down. Whatever the case, I seldom achieve it.



I am relieved to report that my  back has been much better behaved these past few days. Even so, if you should come across a shop selling quality used spines I should be grateful to hear from you.



On Monday we had a delightful inch of rain, gorgeous wet stuff that splashed off the cobbles and soaked into the thirsty garden. For the first time in ages we had an excuse to miss our morning slog around the hills. Feeling deprived, the dogs insisted on an outing that afternoon, regardless of the mud and we skidded along the paths - what the pigs had left of them. This exercise satisfied me but was not sufficient for Jones, who suggested an extra walk around our field that evening to photograph the moon.



The orb wasn't fully dressed, still half concealed behind the clouds, but bright enough to make a pretty picture between the branches of the budding fig tree.



As it happens, anticipating the rain, I had requested Slavic to strim the greenery around the base of the fruit trees in the field and to scatter pellets of fertilizer in the surround. While he was busy, I took another bag of pellets to the fruit trees and rose bushes in our garden. Approaching the rose bush in Mary's garden, I stood on a place that wasn't there and landed on my back in a depression between the path and the bush.


FRONT GARDEN
Although unhurt, I found myself wedged into the gap and incapable of getting to my feet, at least not without making rash demands of my back. So I extracted my phone from my breast pocket and rang Jones who, fortunately, had her phone with her. A cautious tug and a bit of sympathy had me back on my feet. If that sounds a bit overly dramatic, it didn't feel that way at the time. In fact I felt bloody stupid, especially with Mini on my chest and Russ licking my face.



The episode took place just beyond the stump where Barbara puts out seeds each morning for the birds. For the last week or two we have noticed that the birds are not the only feeders. A sleek rat - doubtless one of those that we drove out of the work chalet -  likes to breakfast there too. He generally nips up the stump, takes a few mouthfuls and disappears again, too quick to be photographed.



Correction! That's two sleek rats. The pair appeared yesterday and settled down to the dish of the day, giving me time to snap them from the living room with my fancy new Samsung S9+ phone (overtaken this very week by the new S10). While the seeds are intended for the avian community, I don't mind sharing them with the rodents as long as they stay in the garden. The cats are too well fed to show any interest; in due course, however, the snakes will welcome a ratty morsel or two.


20 FEBRUARY SUPER-MOON
Returning to the moon - Jonesy continues to try to take ever better shots, assisted by the tripod on which camera now rests. This certainly isn't a bad one as well as being the last super-moon you're likely to see this year. As you may have gathered, my wife enjoys a mystical relationship with the celestial orbs.



Midweek, while Natasha tended the house, we repaired to Faro beach for a snack and a walk. (I recorded 12,000 steps that day!) Ryanair planes came and went. Indeed, it was the only airline in evidence. I was very pleased a few weeks ago to snap the picture above while we strolled through the nature reserve nearby. It was more by luck than judgement as I simply had to aim at the sky and click. Nonetheless, compliments are always welcome.


TWO'S COMPANY
We have spent some time of late planning a break later this year with a focus on spas and thermal baths in anticipation of a little rejuvenation (I speak for myself). This has involved much scrutiny of suitable hotels and resorts, mainly via reviews on Tripadvisor. I ignore the paeans of praise and concentrate on exactly what previous visitors didn't like, particularly bad beds and rooms that require you to share other couple's holidays.


JONES SUNRISE
We've made a few tentative reservations. (Booking.com allows one to change or cancel without penalty until close to the time.) The other day Jones drew my attention to a viral tweet, quoted in The Times: "The man who invented auto-correct should burn in hello".  I speak as a victim who recently saw his communication about a herniated disc rendered as a herniated dick. Eina!


JONES MOON SETTING

Letter from Espargal: 15 February 2019

EARLY MORNING EARTH, SEA AND SKY
I can't find a starting point for this blog. Each attempt to kick it off has been followed immediately by a blast on the ref's whistle. So, instead of starting it, I shall simply have to pick it up in the middle.



This past fortnight has been a busy one,  a combination of visits to the physiotherapist and delightful walks or other outings. I know that these sound like ridiculous bedfellows. In short, my back continues to give me a hard time. I can't sit  on chairs but I'm comfortable in my recliner and enjoy our twice or thrice daily walks.



I  stand at the table to eat and at my desk to write, with the keyboard handily mounted on a box and the mouse on the old coffee maker.



Those walks and numerous visits to restaurants and snack bars have a great deal to do with the visit of (my sister) Cathy last week and the sudden arrival in the Algarve this week of (my brother in law) Llewellyn and his two dogs, Douglas and Roxy. Llewellyn took the opportunity to drive down from Lisbon while Lucia was away on one of her frequent business trips.



We caught up with him on Tuesday at Faro beach where, after sandwiches and conversation at a favourite snack bar, we strolled along the estuary bank. A cold easterly wind favoured warm jackets.



Douglas and Roxy engaged in high jinks on the beach or  made intermittent dashes into the water. Both are well socialised. Occasional cautious encounters with local hounds proved little more than gentle tail-wagging and polite snifto affairs.



Wednesday's rendezvous was the Janela da Serra restaurant just below the church in Salir. Why my tummy has suddenly expanded to such gross proportions I can't tell you; I normally keep a hot water bottle in my back. If anything, my tummy should be on the wane as I have been back on the wagon all month.



Afterwards we strolled along the quiet back roads in the valley that lies between Espargal and Benafim.



It's an area we love, one we used to visit most days when we had only two or three dogs to care for. The expansion of the household - we had ten at one stage - ruled the area out. These days we head into the wilderness on the far side of our hill, a zone we share only with a rare neighbour or carob picker.



Which brings me to last week and the visit of my sister. Cathy flew down from Berlin to spend a few days with us while Rolf was hiking in Scotland, his favourite occupation in his favourite hiking country.



Cathy proved to be quite a good hiker herself when the mood took her and the weather played along. Note the poised cairn in front of them, the work - we think - of our Scottish neighbours.



On her last evening Cathy treated us to dinner at the Hamburgo. Manuel obliged with the photo. It was a quiet evening, quieter than Manuel would have liked. One of the problems restaurateurs face is seldom knowing how many diners may turn up.



Saturday was early up in order to be ready for the arrival of Slavic at eight.  Jonesy is the usual early upperer in the house. But on such occasions as I rise with the sun, I love the play of light at dawn. The dogs welcome a leisurely exploration of the park.



We concentrated on trimming  and then burning the dead branches from elderly fig trees and the prunings from our fruit trees. The pruning itself was a favour from our farmer neighbour, who had earlier grafted the fruit cuttings on to almond stock.



We can add several other credits to our list of accomplishments. Barbara continues to pay daily consolatory visits to Maria, who is hoping that the plaster cast will soon be removed from her broken shoulder. I patched two items of clothing, including the blue jacket with the hole that Mini had chewed in order to get at the biscuit within.



We found a carpenter to cut (moisture expanded) shelves back down to a size that fitted their frame. The do-it-yourself cupboard was one we bought in the UK some 30 years ago and has served us well. It's been resurrected in the work chalet where it's taking the spill-over from the house. There are more good deeds that we could relate but that's probably sufficient unto the day.


AND THE LION SHALL LIE WITH THE LAMB

Letter from Espargal: 1 February 2019

MIST IN THE VALLEY
Last Friday I woke up feeling rather damp. Jodi said later that it could be the sign of a fever. In my case, it wasn't. The hot water bottle that I stick nightly into the small of my back had sprung a leak and shed its contents equally between me and the bedding.  Fortunately the perforation was a tiny one from which water had seeped rather than spurted. No harm was suffered although I did feel rather chilly.



Saturday Slavic and I set about removing the contents of the wooden shed (the "work chalet" as Barbara calls it) in which we store the kind of stuff that "may one day come in useful". Barbara, unwisely, said I could throw out whatever I pleased. I took her at her word.



The stuff included an ancient, disintegrating chest (beloved of my wife and pictured above), all sorts of doggy utensils and numerous bags of spare cushions and sun-lounger covers. The latter had clearly attracted rats, whose droppings were distributed liberally around the floor.


TIDIED UP
Two of the rodents fled through the door as we started clearing. Two more did a couple of circuits around the interior of the shed (where we tried in vain to swat them) before following their fellows into the garden. The dogs looked on with interest but without much enthusiasm (unlike Maria's bitch, which seized an intruding rat and disposed of it).



The nest, located behind the chest, we took into the field and burned, along with a heap of garden cuttings. Loads of stuff (including  the chest itself) we deposited in or beside the nearby public garbage bins. Slavic mopped the shed floor and sprayed the interior with disinfectant before we carried the remaining possessions back in. Two baited traps await any ratty returnees.



Sunday I spent an hour assisting an acquaintance to book an air ticket to South Africa, where his son is to be married. It took us four attempts, sitting in front of my computer, before we managed to make the reservation. This was partly because the software played silly buggers with the prices and partly because of misunderstandings with the intending passenger.



Monday he emailed me to say that one of his four flights had been mis-booked. He was right. I spent most of the morning trying to sort things out, first online (would have cost €120) and then on the phone to the airline. I managed to cancel the ticket and rebook it at a cost of €30. I'm still wincing. I don't know how the reservation went wrong. Somewhere along the lines in a hurry I must have ticked the wrong box.


AND HE HAS HUGE EARS
Over the weekend we joined visiting UK friends, the Mackrills, at the Hamburgo for supper. The couple are frequent visitors and keen photographers as well as fauna and flora fundis. Before leaving the house, we debated whether to leave the back door open in order to allow the beasts access to the warm living room. We usually lock them out as they tend to steal and rip up a cushion when we go out at night. On a cold evening we thought we might make an exception.


MACKRILL: SEASCAPE
It was an error of judgement. We returned to find not only a ripped up cushion, its stuffing drifting around the cobbles, but also the remains of the new box of cellophane-wrapped quality-chocolates that had lain on the dining room table. Of the actual contents of the box there was nary a trace; only the cover and the plastic tray survived.



The thief was undoubtedly Mini (Mini Mouth we call her),  who knows well enough not to get on the table when we're around and to whom we had a few things to say. More worryingly, chocolate is poisonous to dogs. We had an anxious night in case any might suffer the consequences.  None appeared to show any ill effects. Next time the little bastards can shiver.



Tuesday, when Jones trotted down to give her two waifs a bone (as she does each afternoon) she bumped into their hospitable owner. Her difficulty on such occasions is how best to decline his generous hospitality, whether in his living room or in the garage where he and his wife often sit shelling almonds.


ALMOND BLOSSOM
Baggy (the local liquor), often served with olives or biscuits, is the order of the day. On this occasion he was in the garage where he keeps only a small reserve bottle. Lacking a glass, he invited Barbara to drink directly from the bottle, explaining that no-one else had touched it since she was last there. "Did you," I asked her. "Yes, I certainly did!" she replied.  When in Rome.....!



Speaking of which - my sister Cathy will be arriving from Berlin this evening to join us. Rather than bringing me a bottle of whisky, she suggested that I buy one in her name -  not the kind of offer that I decline. Talisker is a favourite smoky malt, generally reserved for very special occasions (although I find Laphroaig and Lagavullin just as acceptable). I thought that it might be a nice idea not to open it until she was here. On the other hand, I reflected, better check it out before she arrives and allow it to breathe.



Wednesday, before my back threw another wobbly, we went to the Leroy Merlin store on the far side of Loule and, after lunching in their snack bar, purchased a pair of lights that we had been considering. They are LCDs, controlled by a zapper and capable of emitting light through the yellow, white and blue range as well as in a host of colours and patterns. I hooked them up briefly to check that they worked accordingly - and they did. The plan is to install them later in the year once we have modified the kitchen.



Thursday dawned damp and stayed that way. Our hike around the hills proved rather muddy, mainly because of all the earth that the wild boar had churned up yet again. On our return we built a fire and let it simmer for the rest of the day. I don't think that future generations are going to know the joy of warming oneself before a wood-fire. Jodi did her best to sort my back out. Barbara went to visit Maria.



Thursday evening Mike and Lyn joined us for supper and conversation. We had intended to meet at a restaurant but my back voted otherwise. The change of venue served only to improve an evening in which we resolved a number of international issues as well as enjoying an excellent meal.



Friday: An overnight storm stripped the blossom from the almond trees and scattered it like confetti around the cobbles. It doesn't bode well for the almond crop. Nonetheless we are grateful for the generous inch of rain that registers in the gauge.


TB SUNSET
In Portugal, by law, all entities dealing with clients have to keep a complaints book and display a sign to the effect that such is available. I hope to find the same when I get to heaven so that I may register my views on the poor design of the human spine. Whether that will bring about any improvement for future generations is another matter. In the meanwhile we are grateful to live a long way from Chicago.


BJ: SUNSET