(February sunset over Espargal)I have discovered that I own a chunk of land of which I was ignorant; what a stroke of good fortune! The man who enlightened me is the owner of a contiguous property, a man, as it happens, with a slightly shady reputation for moving boundary markers. He is a resident of a nearby hamlet who has long been trying to sell me his property and probably would have done if we had been able to agree on a price. But he wanted 20,000 euros (he now wants 25,000) and wouldn’t negotiate. I’d have been more tempted if it were the only property we wanted to acquire. But it was merely third on our list – behind two other plots that are closer to home.
Anyhow, this fellow has recently been very keen to sell. He drove up on a marketing exercise and, when I again declined, asked me to approve a new marker stone that he wanted to put in on the edge our land. This was speedily done. Afterwards I asked him about the ownership of some 400 square metres of uncultivated land adjacent to mine. This land was also mine, he informed me; and he proceeded to show me the exact boundaries. I can tell you that I was chuffed.
If only one could begin all one’s letters with such welcome news. Still on the good news front, we have had some soaking rains, the first in two months.
The other news of the week, even if it’s not our own, is of the sale of the company that my Canadian brother, Kevin, has been running. I was most surprised to hear of it in the BBC business slot. So let me wish Kevin and Ann all the best in whatever lies ahead once the sale and handover are completed.
Our own lives have continued in a much lower key. On Friday evening, we dropped Dani (back for the first time in months) and Natasha off in Loulé and then continued to Faro for supper and a Beethoven concert. His first piano concerto was followed by his first symphony – both lovely works, close to my heart.
Thursday meant the usual English lesson. Spare hours went into cleaning up the recently-acquired Graça plot, which is still covered with a carpet of branches awaiting attention.
Wednesday we had to present the results of our Portuguese grammar homework to our teacher. We had recently requested more grammar instead of extended conversation classes, as much as we enjoy the latter. I had left my homework till the last morning when I tried to fill it in at the breakfast table. Jones, still a diligent pupil, had carefully completed the exercise earlier. She refused to allow me to copy her answers, even if she did assist me with my own. I thought this a bit mean.
After the lesson we took David and Dagmar to lunch to celebrate the birth of their first grandchild. We chose a little country restaurant that did us proud on the tenderest cuts of wild boar. I hoped that we might similarly salute the arrival of their next grandchild, due in the summer. In the event of a stream of heirs, I warned them, we might have to limit ourselves to tea and biscuits. They didn’t seem to think this likely.
On Tuesday, after my English class, we drove to Faro where we were due to have check-ups with the dermatologist mid-afternoon. Our first assignment was to find a Sony shop near the hospital where, according to Natasha, we might obtain a cord that she wanted to link her video camera to a TV. Although we found the shop it didn’t stock the item. Nor did a big electrical store in the city. So we gave up and walked the dogs down to the harbour, where we found a rough fisherman’s eatery for lunch. On the 8-metre high walls of the old city opposite us pigeons scuffled for the best nesting places. We dined handsomely on salmon and salads.
A Portuguese diner at a neighbouring table was much amused to learn the meaning of the English caption on the back of his t-shirt: “Does not play well with others”. So were his companions.
The dermatologist’s waiting room, when we got there, was choc-a- block. After an hour, Jones gave up and went to walk the dogs. I eventually got to see the consultant, who blamed the delay on two fellow doctors, a married couple, who – she said – were obsessed with their health and waste her time in a fruitless pursuit of disease. As she spoke she subjected me to 20 minutes of cryogenic zapping. It left me with a new respect for St Sebastian.
At least I got to see her after just two hours. Most people, according to media reports, now have to wait up to 18 months to see a dermatolgist on the national health service. The consultant told me that 4 of the 6 dermatologists at Faro Hospital had resigned. If they are doing as well in private practice as she is, they’ll survive well enough.
(Chico and Dina)
Shortly after we got home, the barking of the dogs announced the arrival of old Chico and Dina. She was clutching yet another large plastic container of fig liquor – the third they have delivered. He grasped plastic bags holding rice and a chunk of animal fat. This tribute was presumably in return for firewood I had delivered to their cottage.
It was pressed upon us in spite of my protests that we already had more fig liquor than we could drink (15 litres to be exact; 16 if we count a litre received from Leonhilda).
Chico said that he was feeling better, which I was very pleased to hear. Then, because it was beginning to drizzle, I escorted them home under the golf brolly. They walked hand in hand, he 82 (he told me) and she 46. It was really quite touching.
Not so touching is our growing tendency to nod off in front of the telly in the evenings. It’s jolly irritating, especially when we have made a point of sitting down after supper to watch a documentary programme. When I’m not watching Jones nod off, she watching me drift off instead. She at least has the excuse that she rises at five in the morning. I’ve none.
While I confine myself mainly to local news there are occasions in which titbits from other parts of the world call out from attention. One such was from the Caribbean island of Grenada, where Chinese and Grenadian dignitaries assembled to celebrate the opening of a splendid Chinese-funded sports stadium.
This was a reward from Beijing to Grenada for breaking off relations with Taiwan two years earlier. As the suits stood stiffly to attention they heard the Grenadian police band salute them with Taiwan’s national anthem instead of China’s. If ever there were any proof required of the universality of Sod’s law, that must be it.
(On the road with neighbours Sarah and David.)
No comments:
Post a Comment