Letter from Espargal: 5 of 2010

ALMOND BLOSSOM

Friday night: not a word is writ. The week has simply run away with us. Take today for example. Forgive me if I lapse into diary form and the present tense.

Jones woke me 7.30 ish, as she usually does, with the dawn pouring through the window. I rolled over gingerly; the dermatologist had zapped me the previous day.

Jones put the coffee and toast on the bedside table – three pieces of toast with marmalade. Ono continued to snooze on his blanket beside me. He has (move-over) bed rights. So does Dearheart – when there’s room. The toast is delicious. The protocol is to leave three crusts on the plate for Raymond, who comes through to the bedroom to fetch them.

When they take his fancy – he prefers butter to jam - Raymond crunches them on the spot. Otherwise he carries them politely back to his basket. As always, we listen to the BBC morning news programmes .

I put on a shirt and zip-up thing to go through to the study. Now that the rain has gone, the mornings are cold. There's a veil of mist in the valley. Jones wears a thick nightgown, with a wrap around her shoulders. First thing we check emails and the weather, then tab through Facebook, news sites and the radio and TV prospects for the evening. Raymond can’t see the point of this. He alternately jogs my elbow (time to go walking) and thrusts his nose into my pockets (biscuits). He’s good natured but persistent. Time to get dressed.

Our worker, Nelson, arrived as we left. He’s been working in the park. I’ll join him later. We went walking down in the valley. In the distance farmers were burning off branches. The smoke kept low and stung our eyes. We had to pick our way across the still soggy fields. The dogs rushed off after a probable rabbit (they caught one a couple of days ago). Jones eyed Jorge Vieira’s broccoli crop longingly. She loves broccoli. I said we’d call on Jorge and ask him if we could pick some.

First to Benafim to order sand, cement and a gravel mixture from the building merchants - to improve the steep path up through the park. Thence to Jorge’s house on the Alte road to inquire about broccoli. Jones also wanted tangerines for Eveline (from the French family, who are about to return home to the Savoy).

Jorge wasn’t home but his wife and son were. She said we were welcome to help ourselves to broccoli (but to give some to a Portuguese neighbour, Leonhilde, as well.) She didn’t have any tangerines but she did have oranges. Her son helped me pick a crateful in the orchard just across the road. They declined any payment.

On the way home we bumped into Cesar, who was loading (our) sand on to his lorry with a digger, the same one borrowed by thieves a few weeks earlier to rip the cash machine from the wall of the parish office. Cesar said he’d be up shortly.

We stopped briefly in the valley to pick broccoli. In the village Jones hopped out with a clutch of oranges for Eveline while I continued home. Cesar arrived moments later. He tipped the sand and the gravel into two neat piles. Nelson came down to assist us. We loaded the cement on to the tractor for safe-keeping in Casa Nada. The skies were greying up and rain looked possible.

It seemed a good time to fertilize the carob trees. Nelson loaded the fertilizer on to the tractor. The sacks are 50 kgs each, really heavy! I don’t touch anything over 20 kgs. It took us 90 minutes to scatter half a bucket around each of the carob trees.

Jones came to say she was off to a farewell lunch for Eveline in Benafim. She walked down into the village to get a lift. I lunched at home, the usual muesli, banana and yoghurt, then lit a fire and snatched 15 minutes on the couch. It’s a bad day when I miss my siesta.

WILD NARCISSUS

Then I went back to the park to re-join Nelson. We had earlier tractored up two loads of rocks to build a series of steps into the slippery descent. He carried the rocks down the awkward, twisting path while I prepared shallow beds for them.

My mobile phone rang. It was Leonhilde, wanting to know where Barbara was. She was expecting my wife to fetch some tangerines. I explained that Jonesy was still at lunch. Moments later, Jones arrived, having walked back up from the village. She immediately set out for Leonhilde’s house – only to return 15 minutes later. No sign of Leonhilde, she said. We rang. Leonhilde said she was at home after all. So Jones set out yet again. She was doing a lot of walking.

At 17.00 Nelson and I called it a day. After all, it was Friday and we could afford to finish 30 minutes early. We carried the implements down the hill to the tractor shed. He was still going strong but I was bushed. I paid him for three days’ work. Fifty euros a day is the going rate. I throw in an additional five euros for travel costs.

In view of my state Jones offered to take the dogs on the evening walk. I preferred to join her, even if we cut it a bit shorter. The evening route is over the top of the hill and around the side. The going is rough. It takes a brisk 30 minutes or a leisurely 40. We hardly ever meet anyone, other than occasional expat dog walkers.

Prickles has to stay on the lead. He’s inclined to wander off. The other three rush around the bushy hillside, searching for rabbits. The other day they flushed out a fox - the third we’ve seen in as many weeks.

After supper we watched the third episode of a history of the British navy. At least we tried to watch. I find the combination of a good supper, a glass of wine, a warm fire and a comfortable chair quite overpowering, especially after a day’s labour.

Saturday morning: We went to a funeral in Benafim, that of an old fellow from a prominent local family. Half the village seemed to be related to him. As usual, the menfolk chatted outside the church until the service was over. (What a sensible arrangement!).

Then they swung into procession behind the hearse to see the old man off to his resting place in the town cemetery.

Tonight we are going to a flute concert in Loule. I shall never stay awake unless I get a quick siesta in – and even then I'm liable to meditate. Time to sign off.

P.S. Saw Up In The Air and loved it.