Letter from Espargal: 35 of 2011

Friday is when it happened, mostly. We were setting out on our weekly widow-assistance and shopping expedition when the electric gate people rang to say that a technician would be calling by that afternoon to follow up our problems. (Sometimes the gates won’t open, at others they stop halfway, which allows the dogs out but not the car.)

Shortly afterwards Rosana rang from the salamandra suppliers to say that they could install our new salamandra (wood-burning stove) after lunch – if that would suit. It certainly would.

And in response to my email appeal, Ana at the appliance repair shop replied they were doing their best to have our digibox ready for collection after three. For the past fortnight we have relied on the computer and my smartphone for our rising and setting radio programmes. And as useful as they’ve been, it’s not the same thing.

True to her word Ana had the digibox waiting when the shop opened its doors at three. (You will be aware that most Portuguese shops close for lunch from one till three. The exceptions are the proliferating Chinese stores that hardly seem to shut at all.) I plugged it back in as soon as we got home and joy! – we had all our radio and TV channels back again. Radio arrives digitally via the TV monitors although it’s also available via the bedside mini-speakers and cordless headphones.

Barely had I got the digibox up and running when the salamandra arrived. Clients have the option of installing the stove themselves or having the suppliers do it. We opted for the latter because, with seven metres plus of flue, it’s quite challenging. The job took the two installers a good hour of lining up, sealing the flue-joints, blocking off the ceiling aperture with glass wool collars and finally gluing a metal collar to the ceiling. They advised us to allow the high-temperature silicone seals to set overnight before lighting any fires.

From the electric gate technician we heard nary a word. But scoring two hits out of three is pretty good for this part of the world and we’re not complaining. Speaking of which, if you have an idle moment, try yourself on the 10-minute “11-plus” exam that all school children in the UK were once required to write in order to separate grammar school material from the rest. I was taken aback by the difficulty of the questions and, if I passed the test, it wasn’t with flying colours. http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/magazine/7773974.stm

At last I’ve removed the firewood that was unloaded beside the driveway a week ago. It took nine tractor loads to clear the area. Each load was conveyed up to the old shed beside the crumbling bread oven and laid carefully in a pile. I was quite proud of the result which, I feel, would compare well with the immaculate piles that Olly, our neighbour, likes to create just down the road.

Another task has been clearing the forest of suckers that spring up beside the olive and carob trees. The carob suckers make excellent mulch. The olives tend to wrap themselves around the blades of the shredder, which means that I have to open up the machine and clear it every few minutes. So most of them also go for burning.

Our existing piles of mulch have been distributed across the remains of the huge solar-panel cardboard box, which we have laid flat beside the concrete block in order to create a weed-free approach. (We await inspection and approval of the installation early this coming week.)

You see the box here pre- dismemb- erment, along with neighbours who came around for drinks. This gives me an excuse to raise the difficult subject of socialising – difficult because we do it a lot and Jones often points out that I have not mentioned various get-togethers. I respond that there’s nothing to be said about them. That’s to say that I haven’t the knack of elevating canapes and conversation to the blog, as much as we enjoy them.

Jones has spent long hours clearing a carpet of ivy from various corners of the garden. Some of the strands were easily six metres long, inter- twined and reluctant to move. Getting rid of them meant crouching on her haunches while patiently snipping and pulling.

She then rolled the strands into piles that she carried up to the cobbles or down to the fence, where I loaded the same on to the tractor for conveyance to the field. It took several tractor loads to remove them. An ivy mountain now lies mid-field, awaiting burning once the rains come. As yet there’s no sign of them.

At least our temperatures are moderating at last. The autumn crocuses that are now springing up give promise of the changing season. We became particularly aware of the crocuses after hearing about a substance derived from the flowers that appears to be highly effective in tackling cancer tumours without harming healthy tissue.

As ever, we’ve been doing a lot of walking. We take it in turns to manage the pups, which we still keep on the lead as they’re not yet very responsive. Jones, who is both fleeter and surer of foot than I, takes charge on the trickier sections. The paths are often narrow, steep and very stony and unless I proceed with care, I am liable to fall down, which I really hate doing (as it’s both painful and most undignified). I sometimes feel like Melanion chasing after Atalanta, without the advantage of golden apples.