Letter from Espargal: 48 of 2008

The year staggers towards the finishing line. Or, maybe, it’s me who’s doing the staggering, having caught a seasonal cold, and indulged in a fit of coughing that’s put my back out again and given me a renewed bout of sciatica. So, coughing and spluttering upstairs and limping downstairs, I haven't been the world’s happiest bunny.

As our friend, Nancy, has wisely pointed out, these ailments afflict men in a form infinitely more severe than the mild doses that their spouses occasionally suffer. This is indisputably the case, as little as we may be heard to complain. My laying low (as opposed to "lieing low") has left Jones to cope. She has been working overtime to feed the cats (neighbours’ and our own) exercise the dogs, prepare the meals, tend the fire, clean the house and – of course – nurse her ailing husband. Letters of sympathy should be sent to the usual address.

My state has limited my mobility. Before my latest setback I’d been driving down to the valley each afternoon for a gentle hour-long amble with the animals along the agricultural road and a return via the parallel tractor track. There’s very little traffic and it’s a lovely area to stretch one’s legs. Jones keeps the two smaller dogs on the lead. Raymond we allow to roam free. He needs the extra exercise if he’s not to drive us mad by chewing up everything in sight, including his basket. Also, unlike his fellows, he’s obedient and comes back when called.

But he got a little overwhelmed by the imagined attractions of a friend’s bitch, for which we cared over Christmas. In her attempts to dissuade Raymond from these unwelcome attentions, Jones suffered rope-burns before being tobogganed along behind him down a grassy field. The experience left her feeling sore and very displeased as well as knocking her confidence. She now knows, she ruefully admitted to me, that she can’t hold him against his will.

Such travails did not prevent us from joining neighbours for an intimate Christmas dinner. Our hosts were Mike and Liz, retired medical workers who occupy a cottage at the bottom of the village. Their dogs, like ours have clear ideas of their rights and role, and tend to share the furniture with their humans. This sharing is done in a tasteful and charming manner, as you may judge, and seems to come naturally to all concerned.

We appreciated the great care that our hosts had taken to prepare a Christmas table and cook a Yuletide dinner. Jones, for her part, spent the better part of a day preparing goodies that we took along to complement their efforts. It made for a pleasant and delicious evening. The cherry on the top was the model tractor that I received from Mike and Liz for Christmas.

Jones had spent a good deal of time selecting and wrapping seasonal gifts and writing appropriate cards. Her kindness was returned with interest. This exchange of Christmas tokens is a process in which I paid little part, other than to drive my wife down the road to drop off some of the gifts. However, I was touched to receive a sack of pumpkins and several litres of wine from one Portuguese neighbour, and a plate of fishcakes, along with more wine, from another.

For Christmas I gave Jones a fine Cashmere jersey. She loves Cashmere and was very pleased with the gift. As it happened, the jersey had been sent to a neighbour by relatives in the UK. It proved to be too small for its recipient, who suggested to me that I might be interested in a deal. I was, as I subsequently confessed to my wife. She was not at all put out. Why should she be? Cashmere, after all, is Cashmere, and gift horses are not to be looked in the mouth.

With night falling early (we’ve passed the solstice already), we’ve been listening to lots of radio and watching a fair bit of TV. Much of the time I settle after supper on the dog mattresses in the lounge, an action that prompts the dogs to snuggle up on all sides.

The TV schedules at this time of year are full of old movies, mainly bad Santa movies that we’ve avoided. But there’ve been a few gems as well. One of them was scheduled to start at 21.30, about the time that Jones might consider an early retirement. However, she thought she could stay awake for it. The demands of the day proved too much for her. I found her in bed, still in her nightgown, with her head against the headboard. Feebly, she told me that she was determined to watch the film. She didn’t have a hope. I watched the first few minutes before deciding that an early bed was the more inviting option. In fact, I've had more early beds this past week than in the preceding year.

There, you can see that I really don’t have much to say – and I’ll cut myself short before you do. The New Year arrives on Thursday. We’re due to join Idalecio and his namorada for dinner on New Year’s Eve. After that we may wander up to the top of the hill where the villagers traditionally gather to watch the firework displays over the coast. Or we may just head for another early bed. Whatever, the case, may 2009 treat us all kindly.