Letter from Espargal: 45 of 2008

The weekend has turned up and caught me unawares. It looks like sun and showers. Jones has gone walking with Llewellyn, Lucia and the dogs. I tried a gentle amble around the koppie above the house midweek but got an unmistakable thumbs-down from my knee and have reconciled myself to another inactive week. Mind you, my sufferings have been quite tolerable. I’ve grown attached to the sleep-in benefits of my valetudinarian state. One could almost be tempted to delay one’s recuperation.

After a smattering of toast and coffee around 07.30, consumed in bed with one hand while I fend off Raymond’s affectionate approaches with the other, I turn on the BBC’s morning news programme and drift off again. Given the latest depressing financial developments, there’s much to be said for sleeping through the news.

Llewellyn and Lucia flew in yesterday morning for a Portuguese long-weekend, having caught a red-eye from Birmingham. It would have been nice to have them for Christmas but ticket prices didn’t permit. L&L got a great welcome at the airport from the dogs, which know that’s where we meet people and went rushing up to couple after surprised couple to inquire whether they were the lucky guests.

En route to the airport I stopped at the big Staples store on the outskirts of Faro and bought myself a comfortable office chair on which to seat myself at my desk. For years I’ve alternated between a wretched swivel chair (topped up with sponge cushions) that must have come from a CID interrogation suite, and a kneeler. As part of our efforts to end the recession, I thought it was time to invest in some more suitable seating. It’s a splendid chair, even if it’s made in China, one of those padded leather types that allow the occupant to lean back in occasional contemplation of higher things.

Another acquisition is our new camera, hand-delivered by Llewellyn because Amazon UK wouldn’t post it down here. It’s a Canon Ixus 85, smaller and neater than the Ixus 400 (with a failed charged-couple-device) that it is replacing. Regrettably, the new camera takes a different battery and memory card from the old one. For the rest, we are delighted with it. We promptly tested it at Faro beach, where we sat down in the sun to coffees and ham’n-cheese sandwiches at the “Electrico” (tram), so-called because the little café was housed in an old tram until it burned down some years ago.

A little later: The walkers are back. I have made an early fire to ensure their comfort. The aroma of fresh toast invades the study. Little Jonesy squeals are coming from the breakfast table, where Lucia has handed over some Christmas presents; just little ones, she says, to thank us for having them. Jones particularly likes a scarf that Lucia has given her – “just my colours”.

Last night we took them to the Snack Bar Coral, a small establishment in Benafim, where we joined neighbours for supper. It is run by Celso, a Portuguese who spent much of his life in France, and his French wife, Brigitte, who struggles with the Portuguese language. The Coral boasts a billiards table and a brisk turnover of locals who drop in for a drink and a chat.

Brigitte has started adding cakes and quiche to the menu. We’ve often had snacks there, generally out on the patio in the sun, but never a meal. So last night was an experiment – steaks in mustard sauce – and most acceptable too, even though Jones (speaking to Brigitte in rusty French) had got the day wrong. Jones wants to expand the number of local venues available to us. She likes a bit of variety in her eating. My preference is to eat as locally as possible, with home just a short drive away down quiet back roads.

I’m reading a book about protecting one’s identity. I recently heard an interview with a man who had his identity stolen and spent painful years recovering it. The steps he has now taken to prevent a repetition by becoming virtually anonymous are startling. When he described what he’d been through, I understood why. It’s a destructive experience suddenly to find that there’s another you who’s been running up debts and signing contracts in your name, at your expense.

As to the rest of the week, it’s very hard to know where it’s gone. It seems to have just drifted off into corners and vanished. There are a few useful things that I’ve done, apart from giving my final English lesson of the year and some limp-around shopping (tick-collars for the dogs, a new zapper for the gates).

One is to take Bobby’s kennel on the back of the tractor around to Zeferino’s yard and set it up beside the run to which Bobby is generally chained. While his owners appeared grateful for our efforts, Bobby has not been. So far, he has shown the greatest suspicion of his kennel and confined himself to peering in just far enough to secure the biscuits that we have tossed in as an enticement.

The other useful thing – at least I hope that it will be useful – is to start going through the hundreds of letters that I have written to my family over the past 15 years since acquiring my first computer. They are really a diary of our lives – work at the Beeb, the development of the Quinta, our move to Portugal, our tenants, our hassles and our holidays – all chronicled in a great deal more detail, and sometimes rather more florid and verbose style, than I suspect any readers appreciated.

I’m converting everything to the same WORD format, font and style, before I print out a draft. It’s slow work and is going to take months. So many memories come tumbling back, of people and incidents that I’d long forgotten. I also have a record of my fax exchanges with Barbara during the summers she spent the Quinta looking after guests for several years before I retired from the BBC. I plan to arrange all the material in chronological order first, for the record. Then I might think about any possibilities it offers.

Friday night we joined our friends, David and Dagmar - former Quintassential neighbours - for drinks, followed by supper at the local. Dagmar has the knack of giving her home a warm, Christmassy feel. We tried out our new camera in their lounge. Llewellyn's camera is giving up the ghost as ours did, with a failing CCD. What does one do with cameras that are not worth repairing? It seems crazy just to throw them in the bin.

The moon is supposed to be extra large tonight, at least as seen from earth, as its orbit brings it particularly close to us. Mmmmm! I'm not sure, beautiful an orb that it is, that it looks any different - maybe because it was so high when I snapped it.