Letter from Espargal: 31 of 2010

In the Espargal headlines this week:

Cooler weather expected any day now.
Nimble hare eludes pampered dogs in valley chase.
And leaning cypress tree border dug over and mulched.

That’s enough headlines. The bottom line, as opposed to headlines, is that life has continued pretty much along its placid pastoral course, with little disturbance except from the restless village dogs.

The latter included the brothers, Raymond and Bobby who, finding themselves locked out one night, barked in exasperation until I stumbled sleepily downstairs to let them in. I had forgotten to open the rear sliding door that we leave ajar. Ours are not pets accustomed to sleeping on cobbles at night.

Jones and I have spent much of our time in the garden and the park (an acre of hillside above the house) she generally cutting back and clearing under the trees - I bringing in carobs or mulching. She often works crouched down on her haunches in the shade,

hacking away at a vicious creeper (that she calls) vipers’ vine in a display of suppleness that I can but envy. Even the undemanding Lotus position proved beyond my powers during my attempts at yoga. To pick up the black carob pods that lie scattered under the trees I either kneel or bend over in a wide-legged stance.

Jones pointed out to me the appearance of crocus-like plants (sea squill) that spring up from bulbs each autumn. These bulbs, found all over the hillside, are huge and often appear to have been gnawed. But, however tousled, they shove out their plants energetically on cue as the sun loses its sting and the air freshens with the promise of moisture.

The fence erectors made a brief appearance towards the end of the week after spending most of it taking arms against a sea of (human and mechanical) troubles. They hastened to assure me that they usually run a tight ship but had run into a few storms. After making a series of measurements they departed to do some preliminary post welding. Their sand and stone has already been delivered and they hope to start putting in the posts next week.

Other visitors included the local builder who came along to assess several jobs that we have in mind. He’s happy to do them as long as we’re prepared to join the queue for his services. Recession! Not as far as he’s concerned. Nor for his son, the local painter, who is due to repaint the house exterior before the onset of winter.

Equally busy is Dinis the metal worker, who dropped in one afternoon, apologising for keeping me waiting. He’s got just about as much on his books as he can handle.

SOUTH PATIO

He came round to measure up a safety rail that I want to install along the south patio. We often concertina back the doors in summer before sitting down for drinks with guests. But it’s a practice that I’ve felt uneasy about as anybody who unwittingly stepped backwards would take a nasty fall on to the cobbles below.

Thursday we made a leisurely visit to Loule. We popped into Teresa’s ceramic shop beside the castle to fetch bowls featuring the names of our latest Canadian great-nieces. Teresa was seated in a corner, painting designs onto bowls, as ever. We love her products and regretted that our display cabinets were already bulging.

Around the corner are two old-time clothing shops that I visited to look for trousers. Both were manned by elderly males who, on ascertaining my needs and relative fluency, plied me with everything in sight. I resisted the advances of the first but came away with two pairs from the second. Regrettably, they are not the same size as he had only one of each.

One pair fits perfectly; the other will do if I succeed in losing a little weight (as I have long desired – an aim that conflicts daily with my beer requirements). Jones urged me to take them back, declaring such “hopeful” purchases to be a waste of money. But I’ve kept them, if only because they’re nice trousers and I got them at substantial discounts – albeit without a receipt. I don’t think that either of the outfitters has much future. They belong, like the town’s retiring cobblers, in another age.

Loule’s main drag, which runs in front of the shops, has been closed off to be turned into a semi-pedestrianised area. In due course it will be very smart and popular and the shopkeepers will benefit but for the moment the place is a mess and customers are few.

I called in at the senior university to get the timetables for the next academic year. The secretary was pleased to see me and to confirm that I’d continue giving English Conversation classes. He put me down for lessons at 4 on a Monday afternoon once again. The term begins the second week of October. What’s not yet clear is whether the principal, who’s recovering from a stroke, will be able to resume his duties.

Another visit was with neighbours to the medieval festival in the town of Salir, some 15 minutes away. Salir clings to a hill, the top of which still boasts the remains of a Moorish castle. The turn-out on the third and final night of the festival was good. Visitors thronged past the stalls lining the narrow alleys of the old town although few stallholders seemed to be doing much business. Three camels and a host of folk in medieval dress, some on horseback, lent what flavour they could to the occasion.

I stopped at a display of Moroccan leatherwork and furniture where I took a fancy to a wooden and leather stool. It was priced, the vendor informed me, at 60 euros. But the amount fell rapidly as I shook my head until we agreed a price satisfactory to both parties.

You may (or, more likely, may not) recall my recent relative success in Spider Solitaire when I achieved a score I’d long been striving for. Since then, I have stuck to my decision not to play the game again. (It’s wickedly addictive.)

I have, however, occasionally played another computer game, Freecell. This is quite demanding, requiring both luck and concentration for success. I was pleased with a streak of 52 games – at least until I googled other people’s results. One player claimed a streak of nearly a thousand games. That’s hard to imagine as some are very difficult. Indeed, one of them, game 11982 has apparently never been cracked. I certainly had no success with it.

The Dutch ladies’ dog, Ermie, has been spending a couple of days with us while her mistresses make a brief visit to Lisbon. She is the most docile of creatures – until she goes walking when, unless kept on a tight rein, she demon-dives into every bush in sight and has to be hauled bodily out.

P.S. Ermie escaped 2 hours before she was to due to return home and had a glorious romp through the hills, ignoring our imploring calls for her to come back. Jones eventually bush-bashed to collar her.

P.P.S. Last night of the Proms! What a mixture of emotions, as always!