Letter from Espargal: 44 of 2010

Although I do my level best to put off Christmas festivities until at least December 24, the intrusion of Christmas carols into the men’s toilets at shopping centres leaves me in no doubt that the dreaded season is upon us once more. Since last I wrote to you I have relieved myself to the strains of (among others) COME ALL YE FAITHFUL and I’M DREAMING OF A WHITE CHRISTMAS, cursing heartily all the while, somewhat to the puzzlement of my fellow peers.

It really offends me that carols have been hijacked by retailers as a marketing tool. I now clutch my wallet meanly and shudder every time I hear one. Carols have infested even the huge hardware store, Leroy Merlin, where we have spent considerable sums this past week obtaining many of the bits and pieces required for the completion of the Bijou Ensuite, Jones’s (name for her) pad in Casa Nada.

Idalecio and I have been hard at work for several days in the same. As you may see for yourselves, we have completed the staircase that leads from the ground floor to the mezzanine platform. A very fine staircase it is too, as it should be considering the price of its mahogany steps (recommended by the workshop).

I can’t tell you how many calculations these stairs involved. What I can tell you is that creating wooden stairs requires three measurements for each tread if one is to ascend in safety. Each has to be levelled along its length and its breadth as well as being aligned with each of the steps above and below it. As we discovered during the construction, treads are inhabited by malevolent spirits that upset the previous measurement each time one tries to take a subsequent measurement. That we managed to construct such fine stairs in spite of these spirits is commendable.

However, the spirits did strike gleefully back. It was only when we reached the near top of the stairs did we realise that we were one tread short (I’d ordered 9 and allowed for 10) and had to go shame-faced back to the carpenter to request another; not that the carpenter minded. All that is now history and the stairs bear testimony to our skills and our efforts. Idalecio has been hard at work too in the mini-bathroom under the stairs, creating the walls, floor and drains. We have already acquired a loo and basin to grace this room in due course.

On the fossa front there has been no progress. The delay is due mainly to the rain that poured down for much of the week, muddying the fields, sweeping detritus across the roads, swelling the river and swamping parts of the valley. It is also due to the builder’s transfer of his team temporarily to a more urgent task (with, I ought to add, our blessing).

I did make some concessions to the Christmas season by taking Jones to Loule’s festive fair, an event at which we joined our neighbours. As usual, we had to navigate our way around the local suits, who were blocking the aisles as they admired the vendors’ handiwork and applauded the children’s choir for the TV cameras.

With few exceptions the items on sale bore a close resemblance to those we’d viewed last year and the year before. That didn’t stop us from acquiring a few. Jones patronised the nursery stall and Kenny’s (home-made) soap stall while I concentrated on the chocolates.

You would hold me to account if I did not bring you up to date on the puppies – or should I say the little dogs – for they are rapidly growing up. They are now seven weeks old and very lively, anxious to explore the world around them. They resent their confinement to the end of the patio and spend a lot of time squeaking to be allowed out of their enclosure. We let them run free as often as we get a chance. They then tear around the patio or engage in noisy tussles on the dogs’ mattress, their favourite place.

I take the other dogs two at a time on to the divan at the end of the patio to acclimatise them to the puppies’ presence. This is no easy task. The puppies try to scramble up on to the divan (which they can’t quite manage yet) while the older dogs gaze malevolently down at them, curling their lips in unmistakeable warning.

Jones has dug two small collars out of our dogs’ box, which I am about to fasten on to the pups. The idea is that we should take them outside to do their business each time we feed them (as set out in Jones’s puppy bible). In the meanwhile we continue to mop up litres of puppy pee and scoop up mounds of puppy poo each day. We have tried to take the pups up to an outside run as often as the sun shines which, this past week, hasn’t been very often at all.

Donations of newspapers from neighbours are gratefully received. Jones keeps a roll of toilet paper handy for various ablutions. It’s a favourite toy of the pups, which do their best to drag it off the chairs on which she places it for safety.

If Jones didn’t have enough to do caring for her present brood, she has also adopted a stray that’s been haunting a field in the village for several weeks. Each afternoon, after our walk, she slips down the road with a bag of dog-food to put out for the animal. (Jones quotes the French dramatist, Jean Anouilh: "There will always be a lost dog somewhere that will prevent me from being happy.")

PUPPY LOVE

At Loule fair we confided to the organiser of an animal charity which we support that we were now caring for six dogs (plus) at home. She knew the feeling, she replied; she was looking after 20 as well as managing the charity kennels. No thank you!