Letter from Espargal: 7 of 2013

This week mainly we have been trying to avoid our new neighbours, not very successfully. Their names are Ian and Kate, they are staying in one of Idalecio’s cottages and they are walking all over our hillside. More to the point, so are their two dogs. For several years now we have had the hillside pretty much to ourselves and we feel the way Robinson Crusoe did when he found he had to share his island.

ESPARGAL HILL
Jonesy, who went to say hello, tells me that the dogs are lovable and playful spaniels. Lovable or not, they are the object of considerable curiosity to our lot, who have come to regard the hillside as their private domain. So in the interests of good neighbourly relations Jones goes ahead to spy out the path while I follow with the dogs. We’ve had to do lots of u-turning and deviating to avoid bumping into the visitors.

The couple run a cycling holiday outfit, “A Quick Release”, which we read all about at the website advertised on the side of their car: aquickrelease.com – should you be interested.


We understand that the first of their cycling groups is due here shortly. The weather has been mixed. Snow has fallen over much of northern Portugal and it’s pretty chilly here in the south, especially when the sun goes down and the rain comes down or the wind comes up. The thermometer has barely moved into double figures. As so often, we are grateful for the fire that warms the house and settles the dogs. They are so peaceful stretched out on their cushions.

ALL MY OWN WORK
Just before the latest showers I spent several hours on the tractor ploughing in the knee-high greenery that covers our fields (and neighbouring Leonilde’s, which I do at the same time). This is more demanding than it sounds because the slope is steep and the low extended branches of the numerous trees claw maliciously at both tractor and driver.

DISTANT EGRET
I feel somehow that I don’t get enough credit for these labours although I’m not sure from whom I should be seeking it. At one point an egret flew in to look for newly uncovered grubs, pleasing me enormously. Forgive the hazy picture. Egrets are such graceful birds and are usually seen only with the shepherd’s flocks.

After ploughing, I set about strimming the jungle of weeds around the trunks of the trees that manage to evade the plough. Although the strimmer head takes eight heavy plastic cords, these are reduced to shreds within the hour. Anyhow, the end result was most satisfying, however temporary, the more so as the rain started falling minutes after I’d cleared up and put things away.

WEED PILE
Jones has been back in the garden, pulling out the masses of weeds that take over the place at this time of year. There are two prolific invaders, both of which spring up in every conceivable nook and can have footprints of well over a metre in diameter.

WILD FENNEL
One (wild fennel) puts up a tall cane, the other (alexanders - Jones calls them triffids) fans out with huge leaves. I don’t think that either is harmful but they are overpowering and unwelcome – unlike the borage that the bees simply adore. Between them, they simply drown the earth in greenery. You can’t see where you’re walking and are liable to trip over a rock or stumble into one of Mary’s holes.

A SEA OF GREEN
Rather more exciting has been the appearance of the first orchids and wild tulips of the season and the discovery of a couple of fritillaries growing along the almond shell track.

FRITILLARY
Never mind that I wouldn’t have known a fritillary from a flotillery, which is what I thought Jones called them. She continues to educate me in matters botanical while I continue to assist her with electronic communications – in which she makes pleasing progress.

Speaking of which - my computer is making intermittent ominous noises, the sound that an insect makes when it grills itself against an electric grid. One suspects a short circuit although the device continues to function well enough. I’ve removed the side to take a closer look at the innards, without learning anything useful.


The noise appears to be coming from one of the fans. There’s a HIGH VOLTAGE – DON’T TOUCH warning on the fan casing and I won’t. A visit to Inforomba is called for.

More annoying, the downstairs wireless receiver is no longer talking to the satellite transmitter, which means that we can’t watch our favourite programmes over supper. The problem cropped up suspiciously soon after our maid had cleaned the area – not for the first time. There’s an identical receiver in the bedroom, which works well enough upstairs but also won’t function downstairs. I can’t figure it out. We’ll see if the local technician can, hopefully on Monday morning before May-day and English classes.

GINGER LOOKS ON AS BJ ESCORTS MAY TO THE CAR
Later: we are back from Loule, where I have handed the computer over to Inforomba. Silverio suspects that the power supply needs replacing. (He was right!) The TV is full of pictures of Benedict 16 flying off to Castel Gandolfo and the SA police dragging a taxi driver down the road behind their police van. Unreal! That should really do something for the tourist industry.

I confess that I am fascinated to see who emerges from the coming Vatican conclave as the new leader of the Catholic Church – although I enter such sacred precincts these days to admire the artwork or attend a concert. Perhaps it’s the medieval trappings of the business that add to the fascination. I’d be seriously interested – as opposed to idly curious – if the new man showed any signs of living in the real world but I suspect that it’s too much to hope for.