Letter from Espargal: 41 of 2009

Saturday p.m. We are waiting for rain. Just one of the 14 inches that fell on Cumbria late this week would do us nicely. The several weather forecast sites that we consult have all promised us the wet stuff. The skies are clouding over. But nothing is falling, nothing useful anyhow. We are so dry that it's painful. If I knew a good rain dance, I'd do one.

I recall the days when the God-fearing government of the old South Africa summoned us all to church to pray for rain. There was a crazy ultra-nationalist - I forget his name - who used to blame the droughts on the wearing of mini-skirts. If the girls would only dress modestly, all would be well.

We haven't really done anything to speak of this week so I'm just going to have to make this letter up. If it looks a little different it may be because I'm writing it on WordPad, a basic word processor that comes free with Windows. I usually use WORD, one of the MS Office suite programmes - and then dupe it across to my email programme and the blog site.

But I uninstalled my Office suite before trying to download and install the Beta version of Office 2010. Not only did I fail to do this, I am also unable to reinstall my existing programme. I'm afraid that I shall have to trot down to the computer doctor on Monday. It's a long time since I did anything (else) adventurous on my computer and likely to be equally long before I try again.

On Thursday, I hitched my trailer to the new car for the first time. It took a while. The trailer lives under a carob tree on the far side of the driveway. It's too heavy for me to pull alone across the rough ground - I usually need the tractor to retrieve it - but with the help of Nelson (our worker) and subsequently Mike (our neighbour) I got it lined up on the driveway.

The tow-bar ("hitch" Americans) is cute, and so it should be at the price. By law, it has to be removed when not in use. Mind you, I used to leave one in place on my previous CRV to discourage both tail-gate drivers and shunt parkers. (Barbara arrives with a welcome cup of tea and a slice of cake!) The bar simply clips into a socket and locks into place (although it took me 10 minutes with the handbook to ensure that I'd got it right.)


The trailer was required to convey a wooden bed that Mike had made to the cottage of its new owners, some 30 minutes away in the village of Cortelha, high in the hills. Mike dismantled it for the journey. The parts fitted easily into the trailer and the trailer sat effortlessly behind the car. On arrival it took us a little time to re-assemble the bed. Mike then tested it out, as much for the camera as anything. I am able to assure its absent owners, Rob and Helen, that's it's a fine bed and should last them a life time.

On Friday I went into Loule with Jones (and the boys in the back seat, of course) to fight with the bank. There were several things I was unhappy about. The banker concerned was obviously used to dealing with awkward customers and smoothed me over. I wasn't getting my online statements (they would arrive from the end of this month). A deposit of mine had vanished (because I'd reinvested it in another account and forgotten that I'd done so). And we were being charged 8 euros a month - double last year's fee - for the privilege of lending the bank our money. The banker explained all the advantages of doing so and the alternatives. I promised to get back to him with our decision. We parted on good terms.

Then we went to the jeweller to fetch my father's wedding ring. I've worn it on my right ring finger since his death. It fitted comfortably until some months ago when I injured my finger, which swelled up and has refused to swell down again. The ring wouldn't come off, not with olive oil or soap or Jones's earnest efforts. The jeweller cut it off with a small instrument that obviously saw frequent use. The ring has been slightly enlarged and now it floats a bit but at least I can slip it on and off.

It's pruning time. The valley is full of wisps of smoke from the fires that farmers have lit to get rid of the pruned branches. I have been burning the prunings from the Park, where Nelson and I laboured for much of last week. I burn only the real rubbish. What I can I keep for kindling or firewood and the smaller branches are mulched. But there's nothing one can do with the thorns or the higgledy-piggledy cuttings from the wild olives other than burn them.

When first we came to Espargal, I followed the law and contacted the fire service before burning anything, to seek authorisation. A fire officer would inspect the heaps of branches, and then give one a fixed period - a week or so - in which to burn them. I soon discovered that the locals shrugged off this bit of bureaucracy; they simply heaped up their cuttings and set fire to them. So I followed suit, taking due precautions. Fires are permitted only in the winter months. In the summer, the fire helicopter patrols the valleys virtually every day.

Saturday night: We are back from Faro where we went to attend a minor concert as "friends" (i.e. minor patrons) of the Orchestra of the Algarve. Such friends were invited to bring their own eats; the orchestra provided tea and coffee. We arrived a little late. I assured Jones that we had all of half an hour to spare while the snacks were consumed.

THE MUSICIANS

It was not so. We found the concert already underway and had to creep in as incon-spicuously as we could. Our neighbours afterwards said they could see me drifting off. Although I denied it I have to confess a tendency to meditate on higher things at concerts, generally during the 2nd or 3rd movements. As we left I complained to one of the organisers about their promptness. "Nothing ever starts on time in Portugal," I pointed out, "except your concerts. Why can't you be like the rest of the Portuguese?" She said they did their best.

We came home in the rain. It was lovely. But we found Espargal and the house in the dark as the rain short-circuited some connection. For the next hour the electricity came and went. Mainly it went. We lit a fire, then sat down to supper over candles and mused on how our ancestors had survived without telly. Now it's back, for the night at least.

One afternoon I got a scolding from Jones. She was looking for a healing cream and couldn't find it. The medicine drawer overflowed with (my) ointments and pills, she insisted, as did the middle drawer of my bedside table. The last straw for my spouse was her discovery of two identical partially-used tubes of soothing stuff in the bathroom. Why was it necessary to have two, she demanded to know of me. I didn't tell her the obvious answer because she wasn't in a mood to hear it. It's because half the time I can't find a tube when I want it. Obviously, if I have two tubes, I will always be able to find one of them. Instead of trying to explain this, I found the healing cream that she was looking for.

We are having a small problem with the animals. Once I was in charge of the animals and they mainly did what I told them, like sleeping in their beds and not eating one another's food. Now that's changed. For reasons I can't explain, Ono came to sleep on the bed at night. He sleeps on his own blanket close to Jones (after I've shoved him off my side of the bed). Three's a bit of a squeeze on a modest double bed but we all manage to get a good night's rest, especially Ono.

Then the grey cat decided that she also wanted a piece of the action. Before I retire I have to remove her from my side of the bed and place her on the chair in the study. Then I race back into the bedroom to jump into bed before she can hop back up. It's ridiculous but I don't know how to reassert my authority.

Last night I dreamed that there were bodies in the garden and I spent half the night trying to reach undertakers to take them away. Eventually I helped carry one of them out of the property myself. I think it was because we had earlier watched Stanley Kubrick's "2001: A Space Odyssey" on TV. The bit where Hal, the computer, killed off the hibernating scientists on board must have gone to my brain. Tonight I'd like only sweet dreams, the sort one is sorry to wake from.

P.S. Computer problem with Office 2010 Beta resolved! Time, patience and a bit of luck did the trick!