A dull, damp week is drawing to a showery end. The reference is to the weather rather than our spirits, although it’s a real struggle to keep the house clean and the animals happy in the wet. The tiled floor inevitably bears the muddy imprint of the dogs’ paws. I can’t tell you how many times Jones has hauled out the mop to restore the floor’s pristine gleam.
Jones is by nature a clean and tidy person who likes to live in spotless surroundings. She habitually hangs up her clothes and puts her things away (reminding me of the desirability of doing the same). And while she’s a total softy when it comes to animals, she struggles to compromise with the gritty realities of keeping nine of them, especially when they rush indoors after mining the muddy hillside for moles. We dry the dogs off and clean their paws at the front door but they’d rather sneak in the back door, which they nose open if it’s not properly closed.
Not that we mind the rain. It’s a relief to allow the garden to water itself for a change, even if the solar panels get a day off from earning our keep. In-between showers the panels have been working hard. The EDP emailed me with news that three days of October sunshine had brought us the sum of €24.70, by virtue of the energy we had injected into the national grid. That was pleasing news indeed. Generating renewable energy gives one the satisfaction of profiting from a noble cause – a rare example of having one’s cake and eating it.
SORRY - PICS SHORT THIS WEEK
Also welcome was the arrival of a pair of Ecco boots that I had ordered online. They’re identical to a pair I found at an Ecco shop in Copenhagen earlier this year that proved the perfect fit. I have worn them daily since. While in Germany last month I looked for another – to put away for future use – and although I encountered similar lines I couldn’t find the exact thing. Cathy eventually came across them online (where I had searched at length) and tipped me off. It’s a matter of great regret to me that Ecco have closed their factory in Portugal and moved manufacture to the Far East – the story of our times.
What I haven’t got sorted out yet is my wifi connection to the internet, in spite of a visit by a Portugal Telecom technician and numerous calls to the helpline. The connection remains unstable, cutting off Skype calls and banking operations with equal indifference. Very frustrating!
Portugal – for all its financial woes – is relatively high-tech. Most of our banking statements and invoices these days arrive by email as pdf files. City dwellers get high-speed cable connections, generally as part of a satellite TV and telephone package. While broadband is commonly available in country areas as well, it depends on the quality of the landlines, which are far more finicky.
The alternative is to purchase a connect pen that links to the mobile phone masts. I keep a couple for emergencies and for travel. But they are a more expensive option and the connection speed varies hugely.
One of my internet tasks this week has been to apply for temporary exemption from the road tolls that are about to be introduced on the east-west Algarve highway, this amid much public clamour from road users who want to continue travelling free. This road, providing a high-speed connection to Spain, is one of several that the government says it can no longer afford to maintain.
Henceforth, cameras mounted on gantries will note motorists’ registration plates and charge them accordingly. (This raises all kinds of questions about foreign cars that I can’t answer.) Local residents will benefit from a temporary discount – assuming that they’ve registered and submitted an application.
JONES HIDING HER FACE IN EMBARRASSMENT AT A STORY I WAS TELLING
I regret that I have passed on my chest cold to my wife, who insists to neighbours amid her coughs and splutters that she’s fine. We shall do our best not to share our bugs with her brother, Robbie, who is flying in to see us tomorrow from Switzerland, where he’s making a business trip. At least the weather for his visit looks ideal, before the next depression arrives in a few days’ time.
Wednesday evening saw a gathering of the locals at the Hamburgo in Benafim for the celebration of Liz Brown’s 70th birthday. (The Hamburgo is so-called because the proprietors used to live in Hamburg, not because they offer the mincemeat pattie that derives its name from the same.) While you can get a snack or even a light meal at several venues in Benafim, the Hamburgo is the village’s only real restaurant – and an excellent one too. It’s a family affair. Manuel serves; his wife, Graça, cooks. She did us proud with roasted chicken and pork.
Thursday I took the car into Honda to get the air-conditioning attended to. It gave up the ghost last week, reminding us one hot afternoon just how much we had come to take it for granted. (In summer you can tell what cars lack AC in the Algarve because their drivers have their left arm hanging out the open window.) Fortunately, the car is still under its 5-year guarantee. Unfortunately, the air conditioner was out of gas and recharging it was not.
Why, I wondered to the receptionist, had the unit played up after just a couple of years when my previous Honda’s air conditioning had worked fine for 10. She shrugged. It was just one of those things. “Seventy six euros please! Oh, and that includes a new light bulb for an interior light – also not under guarantee.” I’d have changed the latter myself if I’d only known how to get at it. Honda believe in invisible screws and catches.
Friday afternoon: We’re just back from a coffee, baggy and toast snack at the Coral. We managed to give the dogs a leg-lifter between the showers. These days, Russ insists on joining the two usual suspects in the car. The silver tractor is a Swiss-Italian Hurlimann (pronounced: oorlimun). If we win the Euromillions this evening, I shall think about it, although in truth it’s a bit big and I prefer the American McCormick that’s poking out just in front of it.
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