Letter from Espargal: 2 of 2013

We have been taking this week one day at a time. As you may gather, it hasn’t been our best week.

Saturday: A gale raged around Espargal. In fact, a gale raged across the country. It ripped out trees, tore down branches and disrupted rail, road and air traffic. At Valapena it plucked out an olive tree, knocked over flower pots, hurled patio chairs into the railings, slammed doors and shutters, upset the dogs and left us feeling generally insecure. It was as though an evil spirit was determined to get us.

To get an urgent document off to the UK, we drove to Faro airport – the only place with an open post office at the weekend. Jones suggested a sandwich at the beach, just across the estuary. The wind was whipping the water into a minor storm, while the palm fronds on Faro island were bent sideways.

In front of us a digger battled to clear the road of the hillocks of beach sand that came whipping over the low fence. In the few seconds that it took us to emerge from the car and afterwards to get back in, sand penetrated every nook - the seats, the floor, the engine and the windows. It was unreal.

Sunday: Barbara reported that she was suffering shooting pains in her head, leaving it sensitive to the touch. We wondered whether she might be getting shingles. To add to her woes, one of her two crowned front teeth had come loose.

Monday: We went to the doctor for check-ups. He too suspected shingles, saying that if it were the case, a rash or bumps would follow. Next came lunch with May and my English class.

We got back to find Mary very subdued – most unlike her – and walking with a distinct limp. Close inspection revealed that she was nursing a number of small wounds including bitten leg – enough to leave her sore, stiff and very sorry for herself. We think she’d come off worse from a dispute over a bone, possibly with Barri, the other bitch. The two females don’t get on, forever growling at each other.

Tuesday: Barbara’s loose front tooth fell out. She took it into the bathroom to clean. As I was working next door on the computer, I heard her cry out. She had been holding the tooth under running water and – yes – it had gone down the plughole, slipping through the protective grid at the bottom of the basin.

Consoling her that it wasn’t the end of the world, I lay down on the floor to remove the drainage pipe from inside the cupboard under the basin. The pipe proved to be the gungiest I have ever seen – and I’ve seen a few. We washed the gunge into a bucket and strained it to discover the tooth; no tooth! Jones then spotted it caught in a crevice in the basin outlet whence we retrieved it. At five in the afternoon I dropped her at the dentist.

When she emerged an hour later, she wasn’t at all happy. We had thought that the dentist might simply re-secure her tooth but infection and decay discovered in the underlying bone ruled this option out. She had to suffer a mouthful of emergency repairs, with extensive and expensive treatment ahead.

We got back home to discover the remains of yet another chewed up pad, its contents scattered about the patio, courtesy of Barri. She's a lovely little dog but she just has to have something to chew - and she pisses on the patio when it's raining. I don't know how we're going to cure her.

Wednesday: The wind had dropped, the sun was shining and we set out on a long, reviving walk down into the valley. The dogs rushed hither and slither, expending days of pent-up energy. Mary was back on form. What a lovely day – at least until the rain clouds rolled back in after lunch. That evening, Sarah and David had us over to a superb supper. Thank you.

Thursday: We woke to mizzle, a day when one skids and slides on the greasy paths around the hill, with the trees looming like ghosts. It was Natasha’s morning to clean. On wet days, with seven dogs, cleaning the house is a pain. The beasts have a talent for leaving muddy prints on newly-mopped floors.

To Benafim for coffee: The mist was unrelenting. Drivers using side-lights needn’t have bothered. The Coral’s doors were closed. We’d known the end was coming but it was still a blow, something special gone from our lives. Back home to find that the dogs had chewed up yet another pad. As ever, Jones did her best to sew it up again.

Friday: Drizzle and mist. We managed another slither around the hill and a damp shopping trip to Loule. The dogs are peaceful in front of the fire. Jones is doing a salad supper. We've a Harrison Ford movie on disk. Enough unto the hour.

Letter from Espargal: 1 of 2013

Forgive me blog followers - if followers there are - for the empty spaces where the blog usually appears. I have been in a bit of a quandary about it. It seemed to me to have become a bit stale and repetitive as it chased the seasons around the year and our animals around the hillside. But Jones says it's a worthwhile project and that I should continue with it.

DRIES'S PIGEONS - DAWN PATROL
And so I shall, if only to put up such glorious pictures as this one. You will have to forgive numerous skies, dawns, clouds, flowers, villagers and especially animals as these surround us. On the news front, it's really the economic crisis that's affecting us all.

It is difficult, even in one’s comfortable hillside retreat, to avoid a daily diet of bad news and new austerity measures. I have received yet another email – my third - from the taxman informing me about the new regime of invoices that's now in force.

Every sale or purchase of goods or services, even among neighbours, has now by law to be invoiced and the invoice submitted in due course to the taxman. One understands the reasons. In these desperate economic times, the government is anxious to clamp down on the flourishing black economy.

Among the measures being introduced is the requirement for all businesses to install expensive new cash registers that communicate directly with the tax authorities. Although demand vastly exceeds the supply, businesses have to prove that they've ordered one.

This news has been received by Celso and Brigitte at Le France Portugal (aka The Coral) as the last straw and, to our great distress, the snackbar faces closure. It would be wonderful if Portugal could discover a great reserve of precious metals or rare earths and lift the gloom that has settled over the country.

For my part, after months of research, I have endeavoured to give the economy a small boost by investing in a new mobile phone. This is not because there was anything wrong with my old mobile phone, as I conceded to Jones. It’s for the sheer beauty, joy and functionality of the thing.

One night we sat down to watch The Bourne Legacy, a sequel (minus Matt Damon) to the hugely successful “Bourne” series. We had to agree with the pundits that a little more economy on the cutting table would have done the film no harm. The recipe was the same but the cook wasn’t up to standard.

DAVID & DAGMAR - FILM FRIENDS

Another evening we joined friends to see Life of Pi – the 3D version. It’s an extraordinary film, faithful to the equally extraordinary book. I well understood why the producers had to prove to a sceptical Indian government that no animals had been harmed in the filming.

As ever, our lives are much taken up with our animals, who drag us out willy nilly twice a day for a romp in the hills. “Sick cat” (one of our four felines), who moved across here from commuting neighbours when they left for the UK, has moved back on their return.

One morning we joined a group of some 50 expats for a visit to a wind-farm on the west coast, organised by the local expats’ association. It was interesting if not enthralling and we came away well briefed. At the same time, we merely stood around the giant towers listening to the farm manager and might well have found the same information online.

Nonetheless, we discovered that the wind-farm, one of several visible in the region, was privately owned. It had erected 6 wind turbines that supplied the national grid. Each was 80 metres high with propeller blades 45 metres in radius and the tower was topped with a 70 ton nacelle carrying the generator.

A giant mobile crane that arrives on half a dozen trucks is required to weld the three tower sections together and to hoist the huge nacelle into place. That’s probably enough statistics. Although there was just the faintest of breezes, the propellers were turning steadily. I love wind farms. Rather wind turbines than smoky air any day.

The next few weeks look busy. We are planning a memorial get-together for Olive when her (very grown up) children arrive down here at the start of Feb. The following day I shall join them at the lawyer’s offices in a bid to untangle the complexities of obtaining probate. The day after that we shall attend a workshop on Portugal’s new tax legislation.

JONES BEARING TREATS

Next Jonesy sets off for a few days in London and I shall inherit her waifs and strays food distribution programme along with sundry other duties – be it only for five days.

This week began as ever with a May luncheon and English lessons. The subject of the latter was Portugal’s new driving licence legislation.

This requires drivers of light vehicles to renew their licences at ages 30, 40, 50 and 60. From age 60, medical check-ups are required as part of the renewal process and the interval decreases from ten years to five. At age 70, a milepost that I can already see looming faintly in the distance, it shrinks again to two years.

Jones and I were pulled over last week at a random police check on vehicle contents and papers. Fortunately our papers are in order. Four sets of up-to-date plastic/paper are required: licence, ID, car ownership and insurance. Equally fortunately, the back windows are darkened and the two dogs on the bag seat (which are supposed to be secured) went unnoticed.

Discovering one afternoon while visiting a neighbour that he had a pile of stone dust, I thought it was time to complete work on the cobbles that the builder had failed to do last year. He insisted that he had to wait for dry weather and I made the mistake of paying him in full.

Having borrowed a small load of the dust, I mixed in half a bag of cement to produce the weak mixture that used to seal the cobbles in place once the stones have been laid and then levelled in a bed of stone dust (which, unlike sand, compacts). We began work under semi-blue skies that rapidly turned grey and damp, finishing the job just in time.

A succession of dull and damp days this week has kept us largely indoors, apart from our morning and afternoon slithers around the hillside. I have to take great care descending the steep muddy paths. At times I have tried to persuade the dogs that conditions really didn’t warrant an outing but they would have none of it.