Letter from Espargal: 33 of 2009

It’s hard to know where to start – with the stormy weekend in prospect, the arrival of the long-awaited hall cupboard or the departure of the cousins. Let us begin with the cupboard, a really handsome piece of furniture, designed to cope with the contours of the entrance hall and made to measure by Sergio, the carpenter who did such a good job with our bedroom cupboards. The new item is intended not only to compliment the hall but to absorb the clutter that had begun to collect there, much to Jones’s irritation.

It was all of two months ago that we put down a deposit and Sergio said he’d order the wood. Not long after, he begged a few weeks’ delay to carry out an urgent project that had come his way. We agreed. Then he apologised that he had mis-cut the angled doors on either side of the cupboard and needed to order more wood. After that we had to wait for the arrival of special hinges from Germany – and finally, the mirror-fronts were late. We began to wonder whether the man was just making excuses but no; he was telling the truth. He confessed that had never worked with angled doors before and neither he (nor we) had realised just what complications they present.

In the end it all came right. Sergio turned up with his assistant, Leonardo, one morning to the usual chorus of dog barks and (unlike Horacio, the builder) didn’t seem to mind too much when Raymond tried to impregnate his leg. (I fear that both Raymond and Bobby are due for the snip next week.) The two carpenters grunted their way from their truck to the hall carrying first the base cupboard and then the upper section.

Sergio cut two holes in the backboard to expose a wall socket and the answer-phone. After securing the cupboard to the wall, he installed an uplighter and fastened the door handles. We admired his handiwork – he’s a class act if not always a prompt one – before settling the bill.

There is generally a discussion about the method of payment when such jobs are commissioned. It is truly unfortunate that the parties have to choose between a paperless deal in cash or making it official and coughing up 21% in VAT.

Turning to our cousins – the ladies climbed into their car last Sunday morning, keyed their destination into Henrietta and took off in the direction of Spain. They reappeared three days later, just in time for a bite of lunch and to return their hire car to the airport before catching the express train to Lisbon for a 24-hour visit.

During this brief interval we gathered from them that they had arrived safely at the destination near Marbella, been bowled over by the sheer ostentatious- ness of the yachts in the marina (“we thought we’d seen everything”), and spent half a day in Seville (where they lost and later found themselves).

They are get-around cousins, relaxed travellers who are at home with our animals, get on fabulously together, take it as it comes and seem to have a ball in the process. They have presented Jonesy with a lovely jersey (that both suits and delights her) to thank her for looking after them.

IN THE STATION CAFE

If we have a complaint, it’s that they have not proved diligent correspond- ents, not with their distant relatives at least. We have impressed on them how much we look forward to reading about their adventures and staying in touch.

During their absence we conducted our other guests, Richard and Penny, who are art collectors and cognoscenti, to the rural Corte Real art gallery on the outskirts of Paderne.

There they bought us a hand-thrown ceramic bowl (http://www.suebinnspottery.co.uk/) to thank us for our hospitality, albeit hospitality at a distance because they stayed in the super-comfortable quarters of Casa L (a holiday house belonging to our Irish neighbours). (The “L” stands for Liam, a grandson, and is likely to be followed – or preceded - by the initials of succeeding grandchildren.)

The villa proved perfect for them, providing them with the ideal spot to recuperate from their demanding London lives rather than being woken by Bobby’s occasional nightly howls. The only night he hasn’t woken us was Wednesday, when he escaped through an open gate and vanished off into the hills on one of his jaunts. Jones, as always, worried desperately whether he would return. I assured her that it was very likely. In the event, he wandered in at dawn, to be received like the prodigal son. One has to say in Bobby’s favour that it was his first jaunt for a week.

Jones has continued to walk the dogs alone in the morning while I’ve been keeping up visits to Jodi the physio for ultra-sound treatment on my troublesome tendon. At the same time, I’ve ordered another pair of insoles, this time for my boots, from the German technician who supplied me with the first pair. They really make a difference.

With an eye on the approaching winter season – not that there’s much sign of it - and after persuading the cat to vacate the seat -
I’ve taken the tractor around to Idalecio’s yard to stock up on firewood. Apart from seeing to our guests and animals, we have continued with the sisyphean task of tidying and tending the garden. One difficulty is trying to determine where the garden begins and ends. Apart from the fenced half-acre around the house, there are also the inset entrances, the pedestrian passage along Banco’s Broadwalk, the Park that lies up the hill, the surrounding fields – and so on.

I have had two calls from Portugal Telecom to ask if I am satisfied with their response to a complaint that I made. The first call was generated by a computer that asked me to press different digits to indicate my level of satisfaction or otherwise. I hung up on it. The second was from a real person who rang while I was driving and whom I asked to ring back.

The trouble is that I don’t know whether to be satisfied or not. PT have sent me a bill for satellite tv receiver that I paid for in cash when it was installed. I had no option but to pay cash. The technician who took my money said I’d get a receipt in the post. Instead, I’ve got an invoice and no means of proving that the item has been paid for. There’s a moral somewhere.

The Senior University chief phoned to check that I’d be teaching English again this coming academic year. I will. Classes start early in October after the long summer break. My slot, as requested, is on the same day as the Portuguese class that I’ll be attending. Barbara is not sure. We are to have a new Portuguese teacher. This news has been ill received, not because of any failings of the new teacher but because our former teacher was simply outstanding. He put me to shame with his encyclopaedic knowledge of the grammar of several European languages. His replacement is to be a colleague of his, a woman that he recommends. We’ll see.