It is not every day that you will find me firing off petitions to the President of Loule Camara but Wednesday was the exception that proved the rule. In my best Portuguese, taking in several Present Subjunctives and a couple of Formal Imperatives, I set out a good case for the reduction of my July water-cum-garbage bill. Seeing that this bill exceeded my water budget for the entire year, I had every reason to throw myself at the President’s metaphorical feet.
The problem wasn’t the water bill per se. I accept that last month we went through a lot of water. As I explained to the President, attaching several photographs to illustrate the point, a buried t-junction fitting had given way, causing a serious leak, the existence of which I became aware of late in the day.
The problem is the way the bill is calculated. It rises exponent- ially with consumption. But worse, the bill for communal garbage removal (from the big green wheelie bins placed at convenient points) is proportional to one’s water bill. Thus I found myself billed with well over 100 euros each for water and garbage in July, plus tax – a total of nearly €270 – more than six times our mid-summer average. (In winter our water bills are negligible.)
RUSS AT THE WHEEL
Jones heard me whistle when the bill came in and she was good enough the following day to trot into the citizens’ one-stop shop in Loule with my petition while I waited in the car with the dogs, engine and air conditioner running at C34*. The petition has been recorded and we await the outcome.
I had hoped to go straight from there to Staples in Faro where “Paulo” had promised to set aside a Canon Pixma 885 multifunction printer for me. But I had a medical appointment on the coast 30 minutes later and it was evident that the printer would have to wait.
PATCHING THE PUPS' MATTRESS - AGAIN
The appointment was at the small medical centre at Vale do Lobo, one of several resorts in the area. We arrived spot on time at 16.00 to find that there were two patients waiting ahead of me. So we lounged for an hour under an umbrella pine at the edge of the golf course and watched golfers arrive in their golf carts and tee off just in front of us. Jones thought it ridiculous that the only exercise the golfers got was to whack the balls and then hop in and out of their golf carts.
Finally I got to hand in a couple of reports to an ophthalmologist and a GP, who clucked approvingly, patted me on the head and told me to come back in six months’ time. Oh, and please pay the receptionist on the way out.
From there we headed to Staples where Paulo, good as his word, had left the printer at the cash desk. As it was quite heavy I asked for help to carry it to the car, at which diminutive Sara, who had been serving me, lifted it up and carried it out herself, declining all assistance. She was used to it, she insisted. Talk about embarrassing!
After having Marie and Olly around to drinks that evening (on the eve of her replacement hip operation), I spent much of the night trying to install the machine – a process comparable in complexity to launching a space shuttle. Eventually I managed; the appliance now works just fine although I’m using a USB connection rather than the available wifi – and I can’t link up the fax cord without losing my internet connection. So there’s more work ahead.
DOOR WITH BROKEN NIPPLE, BOTTOM LEFT
The real story is that the new appliance replaces an HP printer/fax/scanner that this week finally gave up the ghost. The problem is that a tiny plastic nipple has broken off a door hinge. The door has to be closed before the appliance will function. I took the printer down to the HP outlet for repair but they shook their heads.
BEING THROWN OUT
For some months I’ve been able to persuade the machine that the door concerned had been properly closed, enabling it to print. But it finally rejected my attempts and bombarded me with “open door” messages. So, for the sake of a minute plastic nipple, an appliance lands in the bin. Kinda sad!
CAROB HARVEST
This is the season not only of carobs, of which I’ve been harvesting a sack a day, but also of figs, a fruit in which Jones delights. She knows the location and fruitfulness of every fig tree for miles around and brings home dishes of the most delicious black and green figs for the pair of us. It is my contention that the tree of the knowledge of good and evil was not an apple tree, as widely rumoured, but a fig tree.
While an apple gleams with a hint of interior virtue, a fig beckons with a suggestion of a good time to be had. It’s a decidedly sexy fruit. Anyhow, we’re eating lots of figs.
We joined neighbours one evening at Benafim’s annual bash, held at the social centre above the town to raise money for a retirement home. Everyone turns out for music, dancing and either barbecued chicken (most of our group) or porridge and pork (me). Plastic cups of beer or wine cost just 80 cents – a bargain although, as ever, the crowds were well behaved.
MY THORNY ENEMIES
With us were two of Fintan’s grandchildren, young ladies who accompanied me to the tombola stall where a fiver bought 35 tickets and delighted them with a host of prizes. Their only complaint was that a boy had put water on the slide, which meant they had to stay off it for a while or soak their dresses. The youth explained that his intention was to lubricate the slide, as he illustrated by shooting down it on his feet in an impressive crouch.
HEADING FOR THE GARDEN
Jones and I spent an hour at Olive’s place. She worked in the garden while I discussed the security report drawn up for Olive by a consultant. In short she needs an alarm system, the installation of which we hope to arrange on her return from a visit to her family in the UK. It is regrettable that burglaries and robberies have greatly increased in the Algarve these past few years, certainly since Europe adopted open borders.
MORNING GLORY
Let me hasten to reassure North American readers who may be alarmed by news of riots, arson and looting on our side of the pond that all is well here in Espargal. We have suffered nothing other than the distant throb of amplified music from the Benafim Sports Club festa on the far side of the valley. True, several people have been struck on the head by falling carobs, myself included, but they suffered no injury that a couple of beers didn’t put right.
Speaking of injuries, I took a fall on Friday morning that would have left lesser souls in intensive care. I slipped on some gravel as I was tracking down Puffer Path with the puppies – and went flying down the rocky slope. The landing was bruising. Jones came back to inquire whether I was okay and the puppies to lick my face as I caught my breath and checked my extremities. I felt cheated that, apart from some earth-streaked clothes, there was so little evidence of my sufferings.
Later Friday the solar panel man and builder came along for a pow wow on the planned installation. The builder has to construct the reinforced concrete base.
Latest: Mario the local digger man arrived Friday evening with the builder to see what needed to be done. They measured the work out and calculated the right angles.
Then, as the evening was overcast and fairly cool, Mario promptly fetched his digger and went to work on a trench for the cable and foundations for the base.
Actually, it wasn't that simple. You can see some of the rocks he encountered but the rest will keep for next week.
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