Letter from Espargal: 33 of 2011
On Monday we bade farewell to our wood- burning stove as it went to its new owners, Rob and Helen; not that it went easily. Firstly the stove was immensely heavy and secondly, it had to be ripped out. The flue was seven metres high, the uppermost two metres inside the chimney, which was where it wanted to stay. Every attempt to shift it brought down a cascade of soot on the workers and the floor, much to Jones’s alarm and distress.
The workers were myself, Rob and his mate, Leon. The latter pair are firemen, fit and strong, while I compliment myself that I can still lift a crate of beers. First we climbed on to the roof to see whether the top of the stack had to be freed from a concrete collar inside the chimney. Happily it didn’t. Then, under a shower of soot, we wrestled the flue down, section by section, all seven of them. It was hard and dirty work I can tell you. (The firemen were grateful for a real shower afterwards.)
I brought the tractor around to ferry the stove down to the recipients’ trailer, where Rob and Leon heaved it on board. With mixed feelings we saw it depart; for it has done good and faithful service down the years. However, for various reasons, we have long promised ourselves a new stove and we set out to find one. We visited four establishments in all. None of them had the perfect stove but we settled on a model that satisfied most of our requirements. It has yet to be delivered.
Also on Monday the solar panel people phoned up to say that because their big truck was being repaired, they wouldn’t be coming on Tuesday as scheduled. Instead they came on Wednesday, a team of three with a load of steel beams, spars and what have you, plus a huge cardboard box of solar panels. We asked them for the box – it took two of us to carry it – as a temporary kennel for the pups.
It was with some fascination that I watched the team go to work. The hardest bit was getting the main beam into place. All three workers were required to carry it. Jones has several times expressed fears that the Espargal winds will tear the solar installation from its mount. But seeing the size and strength of the underlying framework, I think that she can rest easy.
Once the beam was up, the spars were attached and then the panels. A worker scaled the beam and crawled out on to the spars to bolt the panels into place. The whole process was swift and smooth. The boys knew their stuff. Little wonder! - the team leader said that they typically did two installations a week. There’s been a huge public take-up of the scheme – which costs about €20,000 to install – and applications have now closed for the year. We got in just in time.
So now we have a solar voltaic installation – christened “the NASA tracking station” by our neighbours - sitting right in the middle of our field. It’s not obvious from afar although it is very obvious from nearby. Secured above the panels is a mini-panel to energise the machinery that changes the angle of the array 13 times a day in order to follow the sun around the sky.
Although the installation is complete, it has to be inspected, approved and linked into the grid before it starts to earn our living. That should happen within the next week or two. In the meanwhile we have patched up the damage done to the bank by the concrete pump truck and Jones has planted flowers in the spaces it created.
As you may imagine, the project has occupied a fair amount of our time. The rest of the week has gone into the usual walks, watering, carob-picking and running around.
One afternoon I spent meeting representatives of security companies at the home of Olive, whom we’ve been assisting following the death of her husband. We’ve asked them to quote her for an alarm system. She would love to sell the house and return to her family in the UK. But in the present depressed market her chances of a quick sale are low. Vendors, especially of typical “3-bed, 3-bath villas with pool” like hers, are many and buyers are few.
We nearly bought a new mattress at the Lagoa fair, where fancy mattresses were on offer at a discount. I should preface this story by saying that while in London we invested in an expensive mattress in order to mollify my very fussy back. And it’s still doing good service. Jones sees no reason why it should not continue to do so. But I, as the family spender, have been interested in a modern latex or memory foam model on the basis that resting in peace is best done during one’s lifetime.
As it happened, we stumbled on a stall at the fair that had a range of these on display, including one with back massage, magnetic therapy (you may well ask) and much else. As it was going for a declared 50% discount, I was very tempted. Jones was not tempted in the least – “Do we need it?” she wants to know on these occasions - but after much subsequent discussion she reluctantly conceded ground.
We were planning to return to the fair on the final day to seal the deal until, after some serious research on the internet, I concluded that it might not be the bargain it had seemed. So, as we’d showered and fed the dogs early, we had a drink on the patio and watched Ratatouille instead (a great cartoon about a culinary rat), a gift from Barbara’s Vancouver-based family.
We are without our satellite digibox and easy access to our favourite UK radio and TV channels. The box has gone back to the suppliers to establish why many of the channels are either mute or inaccessible. I had hoped that a new remote control – obtained by my sister in Berlin from its German manufacturers – would resolve the problems. (It did resolve some.) As we can still listen to radio via computer or smart phone – and have a range of TV channels via our Portuguese digibox, our deprivation is not excessive.
Thursday brought Natasha (back from holiday in Russia), some welcome rain and some unwelcome mud. We have started to allow the pups into the house for brief periods. Russ is just fine. He settles down and while curious about the cats, is not hostile to them. His sister is a different matter. Mary we have to keep on a lead. She can’t take her eyes off the cats and quivers with excitement as she watches them. It will, I fear, take some time, to persuade her to live in peace with her feline neighbours.
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