I wondered this week as the pace of retirement threatened to exhaust us what the options were for retiring from being retired. It took barely a moment for the implications of this course of reflection to sink in so, instead, I poured myself another shot of Cardhu (Jud’s delightful bottle of Lagavullin having depleted itself) as I looked back fondly on those years when we enjoyed paid holidays and time off. 
On Monday Idalecio came to paint. There was lots of painting to be done – sealant on the floor-tiles of the Bijou Ensuite, undercoat & overcoat on the walls, varnish on the woodwork and a waterproofing paint on the roof which, to Jones’s great indignation, continued to drip in spite of Idalecio’s previous ministrations. In an effort to placate my curmudgeonly back, I have confined myself to light painting duties, leaving Idalecio to bear the heat and burden of the day. Nonetheless the new tractor gate-pillars and the newly-reinforced fossa at the bottom of the garden (as well as my work-trousers and boots) bear witness to my modest efforts.
We took May to lunch, as we now do each Monday – and my English class discussed the predicament of 100 Belgian students who were removed from a Ryanair plane in the Canaries after protesting at the extra charge imposed on one of their number for carrying a larger than permitted bag on board. Valentina said her daughter was charged similarly after being informed that her small handbag counted as a second cabin bag. Jones was once forced to stuff such a handbag into her protesting cabin bag to avoid the same fate.
On the subject of such charges, I confess that I have been cursing outfits that advertise low prices and then ambush customers with small-print penalties - in particular the cruise companies which, to flatter their brochures, load their advertised prices with pre-payable “gratuities” of 10 to 15 euros per passenger per day (to say nothing of fuel surcharges). This, they declare, is to distribute “tips” equitably among their hard-working crew. It makes me spit, all the more so as I’m contemplating a Baltic cruise that would require me to renege on my principles of boycotting such hypocrites.
THE BABESOn Tuesday we went to Spain. We was Jones and me (I If you wish), friends John and Olive and, naturally, Ono and Pricks (cuddling contentedly up to the ladies in the back seat). Following eye-surgery John had been prescribed eye-drops that were available in Spain but not in Portugal. This situation is not uncommon. Portuguese pharmacists are limited to providing medications listed on a central database.
Fortunately, the Spanish town of Ayamonte is just an hour away on the far bank of the Guadiana River. A helpful pharmacist there was pleased to provide us with the prescribed medication. We joined a queue of Portuguese motorists filling their cars with Spanish fuel, which is significantly cheaper than the highly-taxed Portuguese product. 
SCENE OF THE ACCIDENTLater in the day I called round on Ze Manuel to seek the documents pertaining to the property we are trying to buy from him. I found him limping and in pain. As it turned out, I was lucky to find him at all. Driving his tractor up a steep earth ramp, he’d caught a loose rock that spun the tractor around and hurled it down a near-vertical bank. Somehow the vehicle had stayed upright. Had it rolled, Ze Manuel would have been dead.
His near-miss has been the talk of the village. Villagers have come around to inspect the spot and declare how lucky he is to be alive. Anyhow, I obtained the documents I was looking for and spent that evening scanning them into the computer and emailing them to our lawyer.
THE PROPERTYThe topographers popped in one afternoon to measure up the property in question. Finding it to be bigger and awkwarder than they expected, they made another day to do the work.
THE RUIN ON THE PROPERTYLuis, the electrician, called twice, once to wire up half of the Bijou Ensuite and a second time, with the builder, to say what he needed done in order to wire up the other half. Arsenio is due back early next week to knock some more holes in the wall.
GO SLOW - GEESEOn Thursday I paid my third visit in three weeks to Portugal Telecom to chase up the ADSL feed that they won’t give me until my account is transferred back to them from a rival supplier. The young lady who has been overseeing this process tried to explain why it had come to nothing and we would have to start again. “Was that okay?” she asked. It wasn’t. I got quite upset and surprised myself (and her) by finding fluent Portuguese for pulling one’s finger out. We’ll try again next week. In the meanwhile I’m paying Vodafone a reluctant fortune for a shaky internet link.
TRASHEDJones has gradually resumed her walks as her foot returns to something like its normal size although her offended toes remain very sensitive. On Friday morning she gave a cry as she discovered that the pups had broken through from their side of the south patio to ours overnight and totally trashed the place. It looked like a bomb site.
The next day, after briefly leaving the front door open, I found both pups upstairs. (Our stairs have treads but no risers, which daunts most dogs.) I had to carry them down again. It’s all I can do to lift them these days, so quickly have they grown.
And boy, have they grown smart, learning to sit for their treats and manipulate the kong for cat-biscuits. We’ve supplied them with new collars to replace their shrinking puppy collars. At least we are now able to confine them when necessary in the “pen”, the newly fenced-off area above Casa Nada.
WORKING THE KONGOne of my ex-monk correspondents has sent me the following link to the strangest cyber clock I’ve come across: http://lovedbdb.com/nudemenClock/index2.html
Who, one wonders, would have spent so much time and effort on that?
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