This is quite a big day in our lives, seeing it’s the day we got married, some time back in the last millennium. We both knew that it was imminent but it took a congratulatory email from my sister this morning to remind us that it had arrived. Or, maybe, just to remind me. Not that Jones said anything when we woke, rather late, given the mist and drizzle that envelops the house. Intermittent gaps in the mist give us glimpses of the valley below.
In fact it’s been wonderfully drizzly and grey for most of the week. Astonishingly for us, the next ten days look to be equally damp, that’s if one credits weather.com’s ten day forecast. I’ve often seen ten little sun logos pictured in its forecast but never before ten drizzly clouds. In anticipation of the wet weather, I planted beans last weekend in the upper section of Sarah and David’s field, an area that I’d already ploughed. The field is narrow and sloping, as well as being dotted with awkwardly placed trees, making it difficult to work with a tractor. I was pleased to learn that my efforts had won compliments from one of the local farmers - no small achievement.
Most of the locals are of the view that it is still a bit early in the season to be sowing beans. If I went ahead, they advised, I should plant the seeds slightly further apart than usual. Later plantings could be closer together. I took their word although I missed the finer points of the explanation.
The sun was still shining last Saturday when Jones returned from feeding the kittens at Sarah and David’s – the Old Bakery -, clutching a cat basket containing the small tabby female kitten that she wanted from Nosey’s latest litter. The kitten was promptly named Dearheart and introduced to the spare bedroom where her previously miserable brother, Braveheart, gave her a delighted welcome.
The two of them have settled down really quickly. They now come running each time we enter the room and are happy to be fondled, especially at feeding time. Their appetites are large and, for two small kittens, they make surprisingly generous use of their sand-tray. We have yet to introduce them to the dogs although the latter have come to terms (of sorts) with the kittens’ half brothers, Squeaker and Squawker, who have been designated “outside cats”. Any correspondence regarding cats – the increase of - should be addressed to Jones.
Which reminds me. Jones is off for her cruise on Monday. She flies to the UK that evening and then on to Venice, where she and Maureen will join the ship. The vessel departs on 26 October and arrives in Cape Town on 29 November. During this time Jones should be contactable by phone, fax or email. I suggest email only as the other two options are decidedly expensive. Her ship email address ought to be:
bbenson0614@marcopolo.cruisemail.net
I suggest that you address any emails to her personal address, as well, at:
Should you wish to phone her, you will be required to supply details of your credit card (costs $7 a minute), the ship’s name (Marco Polo) and the cabin number (D614).
The phone number is: 00 1 732 335 3295 (although I suspect that the first two digits will depend on the caller’s location. The fax number (at approx £10 per fax) is given as 00 873 330 869 311.
This week saw the start of the “Senior University of Loulé’s” academic year. Serious academicians might suspect this institution’s credentials (in much the same way as people harbour doubts about North Korean democracy). But that’s not the point, given the good work that its voluntary teachers do among Loule’s (mainly) older citizens. We returned to Portuguese classes on Wednesday. My English class the next day brought several welcome and familiar faces as well as a host of new ones, among them that of Natasha, who wants to improve the schoolgirl English she learned in Russia.
Also present was the widow of the man who used to run the small car repair shop just below the Quintassential. To my shame, I failed to recognise her until she spoke. In mitigation I must plead that I had met her only a few times, on the last occasion at her husband’s funeral in Loulé, where dozens of expats joined the Portuguese community to pay their respects to Joe. Joe was simply a guy who would bust a gut to help people out. He loved working on cars as much as he hated working out the bill. If there’s a part of heaven set aside for mechanics you’ll find Joe there.
Midweek I took advantage of a break in the clouds to burn piles of old branches that had been lying around the Casanova field. I know that burning off rubbish is now taboo and I did so reluctantly. Any new prunings get turned the same day into firewood or mulch. But the branches in question were too dry to shred and not worth the trouble of cutting into numerous small twigs (of which I already have a large stack). It took me three firelighters to get a blaze going in the damp conditions and two hours to get rid of the branches, which had to be dragged from the edges of the field. A shower came along as I finished to dampen the mound of ash that was left in the centre.
Wednesday evening we were entertained to supper by friends whose names I’ll omit lest they or their acquaintances read this (now available at - http://www.letterfromespargal.blogspot.com/). Not because we were not handsomely wined and dined but because their cat came in half way through the meal, hopped up on the couch where I had left my coat and proceeded to bring up its supper on the garment. Our hostess was most apologetic for the beast’s unseemly behaviour and, having cleaned the coat, offering to have it dry-cleaned as well. That would really have been abusing her hospitality. It wasn’t the sort of coat that visits dry cleaners. Moreover, as I was able to report the following day while walking in the drizzle, it seemed to work as well as ever.
Thursday we had friends around for pre-lunch drinks, really to catch up on their news and show them all the stone work that Idalecio had been doing around the garden, before going off to lunch at the little village of Nave de Barao. The adega there serves both excellent and inexpensive meals as well as boasting a tempting range of affordable wines. It’s a favourite.
One evening I spent downloading the latest version (7) of Internet Explorer – much improved (although I’ve long preferred Mozilla Firefox) and trying to renew my Norton Anti-Virus programme. With the latter I failed, as the company insists that one supplies a (non-existent in my case) subscription number obtained with the previous purchase. I’ve decided to give up on Norton, which is getting very expensive anyhow, and go with AVG instead. I’m interested in the new Microsoft OneCare, which looks like good value but it’s not yet available outside of North America.
Today, while I was writing this letter, Jones asked me to call a small workshop in the hamlet of Torre, where several women run a business making wooden toys and decorative items. Jones wanted a few small objects to take with her on her travels. The women said we’d have to hurry because they closed at 12.30 on Fridays. So we promised to be prompt and they said they’d wait for us.
We’d never been to Torre before. It’s a tiny village (no café, shop or even children) in the hills on the far side of Alte, one of numerous places that have really only stayed alive because of the foreigners who have bought up and restored the derelict cottages. Half a dozen dogs inspected us as we arrived. The woodworking women, three of them, have turned the old primary school into a carpenter’s shop. They were working away, shaping, sandpapering and gluing bits of wood. Along the walls there was a good selection of machinery as well as dozens of hand tools.
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