One of the things that I have found about retirement is that unless you plan your day meticulously, it simply slips away. By the time one has scheduled in two dog-walks, a siesta, garden-watering, a sun-downing half-hour and a few household tasks, little time remains. Then there’s always the unexpected – like an SMS from Lesley to say that Eddie would be robbing his hives of honey the following day and did we want to watch. We did - after lunch at a popular eatery in Messines that specialises in grilled chicken and chops. 
By the time we got to Eddie and Lesley’s place, I was ready for my afternoon snooze. I find that this exercise plays an important part in my fitness programme. They were kind enough to offer me their couch. I woke to find them all in the dining room, along with racks of honey and a big silver drum for spinning it out. The honey was delicious. A couple of bees were crawling up and down the window pane, demanding it back. Not until the following day did I discover that while I’d been communing with Hypnos, Jones had donned protective gear and gone out with Eddie to brave the little stingers. She’s had some unpleasant experiences with bees and confessed to being nervous. As Eddie is an experienced builder and plumber. I asked him about the temperature fluctuation problems we’ve been having in the showers with our thermostatic taps. The cause was generally a gummed-up cartridge, Eddie said, advising me to replace rather than clean them. The next day I tried to get at the cartridge. Not a chance in hell. Whoever made the tap didn’t intend amateurs to fiddle with it. I phoned Fintan, a retired plumber neighbour, to seek help. Fintan’s a good man. He came around promptly. Crouching down in a poise that would have busted my knees, he found a tiny hole underneath the tap that took an Alan key and was able to dismantle it.
I took the tap down to Anibal Madeira in Loulé. A very helpful fellow pointed to the faint trade-mark etched on the tap. It was an Italian model, he told me. He phoned the suppliers. They said new cartridges would have come from Italy. Since it was the holiday season in Italy – a period that seems to extend from June to September – this could take a couple of months. I ordered one. I also bought a new manually-controlled tap that I’ve since installed myself. It works fine, although it’s very sensitive and Jones nearly scalded herself by setting it too high.This is the season of wild fires. To minimise the danger, like most of our neighbours I strim and scarify our lands. I took the tractor around to old Chico’s fields to do the same for him. Separated by two steep banks, they slope uncomfortably down the hillside. Only the trees protruded from the jungle of tall grass. I descended nervously to his bottom terrace, using my lowest range of gears. I was glad the locals weren’t watching. They imbibed tractors with their mothers’ milk and would have been much amused by my efforts.
On the top field, Mario was clearing the growth with his digger. He had attached a wide, toothed shovel to the digger arm and simply tore the grass away with raking motions like some huge grazing monster. By the time he was finished, the field was virtually bare.
We stopped in Zé Carlos’s yard one afternoon to find him crouching over the back hub of his tractor, a much-used John Deere, about ten years old. Around him on a sheet of plastic lay a variety of tools. He’d removed the left back wheel to get at the side-shaft, which had lost its teeth - for the third time, he said - and was spinning uselessly. It seemed to me to be a hugely complicated job.
To remove the faulty part Zé Carlos had to undo a series of plates and covers. The tractor had been put together in such a way that nothing could be unbolted without unbolting something else first. In desperation, Zé Carlos had hacksawed off the mudguard. He’s a patient and methodical man, which just goes to show. The bolts were hidden away in places where they were hard to see and harder to get at. Zé Carlos said he liked John Deere because their tractors were well finished. Whatever the case, I made a mental note never to buy one. He and his dad have continued to give us their overflow melons and tomatoes. We have two or three small melons for lunch each day, occasionally with a splash of port in the hole in the middle. They are really delicious.
We asked Idalecio for advice about the mildew that has been attacking Jones’s pumpkin plants. He brought us a packet of muti to spray on the leaves. One often sees farmers spraying their crops, generally from tanks mounted on the back of tractors. Idalecio told us that pests were a huge problem. Unless crops were treated regularly – sometimes every day - farmers were likely see nothing in return. Part of the problem was, he said, that imperfect fruit and vegetables didn’t sell. He warned us that the better fruit looks, the more it has been sprayed.
My spraying has produced mixed results. The older leaves of the pumpkin plants are still dieing. At the same time, some of the plants have been growing energetically. Two of them have spread out of the garden and down the steps. We wait to see whether they will produce any pumpkins. Jones is not optimistic. She says she feels disheartened. On the other hand, our granadilla plants have produced their first proud, purple fruit. Very good it tasted, too.
Each afternoon, after taking the dogs for a brief outing (it’s generally too hot to go far) we stop off at Sarah and David’s cottage to see how the big renovation is going. With Idalecio’s energetic help, they’ve been working like slaves throughout the day. Sarah mixes the concrete, David hauls it up on a pulley (he’s just bought an electric winch) and Idalecio dumps the mixture in the shuttering. Even though they’ve made great strides one can’t see the house being ready next week when their daughter and family are due to arrive. Twice we’ve been to Loulé’s summer fair. The first time was really to fill a couple of hours before taking Dani up to friends of ours in Cruz da Assumada to collect an old washing machine. We made a second visit with a group of expat neighbours and visitors, joining the throngs that roamed around the tented stalls erected on the square below the courthouse. These sell every kind of home industry product. Our group bought a box of cakes that we then consumed, along with coffees and tummy-settling medronhos, at the tables set up on the central islands along Loulé’s main avenue.
Last weekend we went to Faro to listen to Carl Orff’s Carmina Burana, put on by the Lisbon symphony orchestra and choir. I thought it was great. Like most summer concerts, it started at 10 p.m. In spite of this, scores of people failed to make it to the theatre on time. So many were late that the house lights were actually brightened again to assist the late-comers, who continued to troop down the aisles for 20 minutes. One woman, with clippety clop heels, got hissed at. I think part of the problem was the late arrival of one or two coaches.
Maria of the Conception has had her granddaughter, Carina, to stay. Carina, aged 11, is very bright and quite fluent in English. She told Jones (who had gone around to Maria’s place for tea) that English verbs were quite easy to learn although, as she pointed out, the third person singular generally requires an “s” at the end of the verb. Jonesy nearly fell over in astonishment at such erudition. Luckily no English children were present as I don’t think they’d have known what Carina was on about. Jones has just read through my letter as usual. “It’s a bit……” she paused, “humdrum”. “But,” not wanting to be too hard on me, she added: “otherwise fine”. There you have it.
No comments:
Post a Comment