This week nothing has happened. That’s to say, nothing has happened that springs to mind. So let me justify my existence with a few pictures while I think. Here’s one of Maggie, a neighbour’s unfortunate bitch - “unfortunate” because, like her son on the other side of the property, she spends her life at the end of a chain, with a barrel for a home. We tell ourselves that Maggie knows nothing else and, expecting nothing better, may be content. But we’re not really convinced.
And here’s her fat little pup, whom Jones has christened Barry (because he lives in a barrel). He’s doing okay, probably because he has all Maggie’s teats to himself, along with a corner of the barrel and a bit of the old car-seat cover and sack that Jones has thrust into it. The owner is actually a pleasant old fellow. He presented Jonesy with a small bottle of baggy the other day, as she passed by. It’s just that, like much of the older Portuguese generation, he doesn’t share our views on keeping dogs.
We’ve been thinking lots about where to go next spring when our house-sitters will be down again. I’ve spent long hours on the computer researching possibilities. We quite fancied a voyage up the Norwegian coast (with Hurtigruten) on a ferry serving coastal communities until we realised that the reasonable-looking fares doubled when passengers opted for full board.
Twelve meals - six lunches and suppers - cost an additional $1500 dollars per person, would you believe it? – and that’s before drinks. Reviews from previous ferry passengers warned readers to be ready for to pay £8 for a glass of wine. I should be driven to sobriety!
Equally attractive (and nearly as pricey) was a canal and lake cruise across Sweden (see the “Gota Canal”). We were tempted until we noted that none of the cabins on the old boats plying the route offered toilets en suite. Nipping along the deck to a communal loo at 02.00 in freezing temps somehow doesn’t appeal, especially as neither of us is wild about pyjamas.
Last weekend we visited the annual Loule Christmas fair, an event we always enjoy even though it’s always much the same. We like to arrive early to beat the crowds to the kiosks serving supper. Ham and cheese sandwiches, a bottle of wine and the usual (bread, olive and cheese) hors d’oeuvres served us well.
When we came to pay, the delightful and disorganised young lady who was serving us hauled out her pencil to tot up the bill; she made it to be just over 11 euros. Given that the wine alone cost 10 euros, I raised my doubts. She tried again; was it 19 euros she wondered. (No, it was closer to 22, which we happily paid.) A child of the electronic age, she didn’t have her calculator and had never been drilled in mental arithmetic and “times tables”. (I can still do them up to 13 x 13 – well, most days.)
LOTS OF JONES SKIES
Monday I nipped into the Land Registry in Loule to fetch our updated title-deeds. The clerk declined to give them to me, saying she needed the receipt which, it emerged from a phone call, was with our lawyer. The latter emailed it to me overnight, assuring me that I didn’t require the original (as the clerk had insisted).
Tuesday we tried again. The clerk at first rejected my print-out but - when I relayed the lawyer’s advice - went to consult her boss and finally delivered the goods with good grace. In the new Portugal, one doesn’t actually get the title-deeds. One gets a code to key into the Registry website, from which one can then print out document. This code, the lawyer’s secretary informed me, holds for a year. Thereafter, one has to pay €15 for another year’s access. The bottom line is that the Portuguese government is desperate to raise cash by any means it can.
DRIES'S PIGEONS CIRCLING
One of those means is imposing tolls on various formerly free-to-use highways including East-West Algarve highway linking us to Spain, the A22. After months of controversy and confusion, the government announced that the tolls would come into force this week. Because the A22 was constructed without toll booths at on- and off-ramps, cameras have been erected on overhead gantries to record the passage of vehicles.
ZEFERINO'S CAT - ANOTHER JONES ASSIST
Motorists using the new toll-roads are required to register their vehicles with the central toll authorities and to install a small transponder. We got ours months ago, fortunately, because last minute demand has ensured that these devices are currently unobtainable. The implications for those lacking transponders, as well as for foreign-registered cars and the hire-car industry, have yet to be spelled out.
Wednesday afternoon, Natasha joined me in the park, clearing up and burning off the prunings. From there we set out for Vitor’s workshop in the hope of finding Natasha’s car serviceable. The good news was that the faulty starter motor had been replaced with a reconditioned unit. The bad news was that Vitor couldn’t trace the fault that was rendering the car so lackadaisical. Computer tests showed that there was an electronic problem, he said, but he lacked the equipment to be more specific.
He suggested that Natasha take the car into Nissan but advised her to get a quote before requesting any work. For if the problem lay with the central computer, as it might, she was likely to face a 4-figure bill.
If my train of thought appears a little jumpy, it may be because of the enormous bowl of pumpkin soup that Jones gave me for lunch; as a result I keep on having to hop up from my desk. So full was the bowl that she had to tiptoe through from the kitchen with the soup lapping at her fingers on the brim. I’m not complaining; it was excellent soup. The pumpkins/squashes – a whole box of them – came from an ever-generous farmer neighbour.
THE BAKER ARRIVES
Thursday was a public holiday, the feast of the Immaculate Conception. (I find this one of the church’s more puzzling dogmas but that’s another story.) It is likely to be scrapped next year, the holiday that is, as one of the sacrifices that the government is demanding to boost productivity. The church in Portugal has acknowledged that this is an instance when the affairs of mammon might legitimately take precedence over those of heaven.
LIFE IS GOOD
Friday: We’re just back from banking and widow duty. On the way home we got pulled over by traffic police doing routine checks. They were happy with our documents and after a cursory inspection, sent us on our way. What we didn’t mention and what they didn’t notice through the darkened rear door windows, were three dogs stretched out on the back seat. This was lucky as there are painful fines for carrying unsecured objects – including one’s pets – in the back of the car.
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