VIEW OF THE HOUSEI was reflecting this week how different people are. (I do not expect to win any prizes for this insight.) The immediate cause of my reflections was a BBC TV series about a cooking competition. The final programme had been drawn to our attention by passing neighbours, one of whom had been following the series and was anxious to be home in time to prepare dinner before the final.
Jonesy turned it on out of interest (although she awarded it only 3 out of 10 for compulsiveness). We watched three earnest finalists trying to outcook each other, among a flurry of “amazings” and “incredibles” from the judges, along with a “brave choice” and even a “miraculous”. I confess that watching people cook and eat does nothing to jangle my genes. Given the choice I would have preferred the finals of the snail-racing championships.
Immediately after the programme came the 2nd leg of the Uefa Cup clash between Benfica (one of Portugal’s top football teams) and Paris St Germain. The match was played in Lisbon before tens of thousands of passionate fans. They were desperate for their beloved team to overcome the deficit acquired during the first leg in Paris. Now this was unmissible television - incredible feats of skill, amazing passes, brave tackles and miraculous saves. When Benfica won with a late penalty kick the fans went absolutely delirious. I was rather pleased myself. (Jones had left me to it and retired to bed.)
ON THE ROADI hope that I do not give the impression that I am a dreary football fan with no appreciation of food. This week I was the chef at a barbecue, the results of which were acclaimed by all concerned. What’s more, I can talk at length about the state of my beans, now reaching maturity in David and Sarah’s field. Jones has picked a few and we had them in a salad one evening. They are as tasty as ever.
However, and this is the bad news, there are very few actual beans on the plants. The locals tell me that the lean crop is the result of the poor rains this year (following the torrents that fell towards the end of last year). One would have thought that there isn’t a great deal to growing beans. But not only do the plants require the right amount of rain to perform, they require it at the appropriate time.
THE GRACA FIELDOne begins to understand why farmers are keener on getting subsidies than growing food. I was listening to a report on the radio about how the Scottish authorities have permitted farmers, who get paid for not growing crops, to sell the subsidy contracts while retaining the land that they get paid for leaving fallow. Crazy! Before I abandon agriculture, let me add that Barbara’s unsubsidised garlic plants and her new vine cuttings appear to be coming along well. Her flowers are a joy.
As I was saying, I had cause to reflect how different people are. Another reflection was that half a lifetime of living with Jones had not diminished our (mainly amicable) disagreements on all kinds of subjects.
It happens that I am a fast eater, someone who is disinclined to linger over meals when there is so much waiting to be done – even if it’s having a siesta. Jones has been trying to slow me down. When she offered the opinion that eating slowly reduced one’s calorie intake, I was understandably sceptical. Since calories are calories, I could see no rational reason why the calorie content of a given amount of food should depend on the speed of its consumption.
VILLAGERSWhen I am particularly anxious to dismiss a Jones argument, I google the issue to prove the point. (After all, if one finds that one has the wrong end of the stick, there is no requirement to return to the subject.) Jones, who is not a regular internet user, is at a disadvantage here.
However, she is a great fan of a British magazine, The Week, copies of which she gets from a friend. When Jones comes across an interesting article she cuts it out and files it (her librarian instincts die hard) or leaves it on my desk. You may imagine with what relish she left me a report on the calorie reduction that could be obtained by slower eating.
It’s okay. I’m big enough to admit when I’m wrong. As I tell her, if I were right all the time our marriage would be unbearable. How could you possibly live with somebody who was always right? There is even an argument for deliberately getting things wrong from time to time just to make one’s partner feel better.
Jonesy might have suffered a few doubts about the contents of The Week after reading an article on 10 other uses for one’s microwave. These included softening old mascara with a 40 second zap in the oven. She tried it and succeeded only in frying the mascara brush.
HARD TIMESDani and Natasha are making a double visit this week. He is trying to earn some extra cash before (hopefully) finding work with a carpenter. Natasha works an additional day each month to help her find the money that she now has to pay to the social services as part of her employment contract.
Dani and I have been using the tractor to clear young saplings from the heavily wooded small piece of land that I recently learned was mine. The trees are mainly wild olives and almonds. Unless they have been grafted they are regarded by the locals as little better than weeds or firewood. Dani winds a chain around the base of the young trees which I then rip out with the tractor.
Young as they are, the trees are well rooted. Several times they held fast while the tractor’s front wheels reared in the air at the strain. After a while the heavy coupling holding the chain broke and then the chain itself broke – three times. We have had to work with shorter and shorter sections. (As mentioned, there’s no point in just cutting the trees off at the base because they simply sprout again.)
Early in the week, Vitor arrived at the gate on his quad-bike, towing a small trailer to which he’d attached Olly’s non-functioning strimmer. Vitor showed me the cause of the trouble - the small plastic choke which had broken, causing the strimmer to cut out within a few seconds of firing. I had to persuade him to take a few euros for his troubles. A new plastic choke is on order.
I have also – finally – installed Fintan’s computer in his home in full working order. It took the expertise of Inforomba to sort out the virus update problem we’d run into. At the same time the computer shop added some extra ram and installed SP2 – so the visit was well worthwhile. To my embarrassment, when I first took the computer back to Fintan, it froze solid as soon as we tried to link to the internet. Another visit to Inforomba and an updated driver has resolved the problem.
Tonight we are going to Faro for a concert, the second in the series of Beethoven’s works.
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