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.
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