Let me start with the mundane stuff. We are back home from our travels. It is hot. I have shorn the three hairiest dogs as best I can, no easy matter when one is dealing with a sheep like Russ or his distrustful sister, who makes a beeline for the hills when she sees me approaching with that come-here look in my eye.
The garden shows the benefits of all the watering that our house-sitters, Margaret and Terry, did on our behalf but the green hills we left in May have turned a dry beige colour and the ticks are biting.
While we were on our cruise, he had fallen ill. He had woken in the early hours covered in blood and feeling terrible. His brother-in-law, Barry, had hurried up the road to neighbours, Marie and Olly, to summon help. They called an ambulance and Terry was rushed to Faro hospital. (I’m skipping over the bit about 3 ambulance-men and 4 dogs in Terry and Margaret’s bedroom in the middle of the night.)
After a disturbing spell in the A&E section (which is always bedlam), he was admitted to a ward where he was to spend the next six days. Multiple tests followed.
According to the doctor who treated him, he had suffered a torn oesophagus, possibly as a result of medication that he was taking. In his absence, Margaret exchanged the estate hire-car for a smaller model as she didn’t feel comfortable driving the former.
She spent as much time each day as she could with Terry, with the neighbours (bless them) in a much-appreciated supporting role. To confirm the diagnosis, Terry said he had booked an appointment with his GP in the UK. We have yet to hear the outcome.
ARCTIC SUNSHINE ON BOARD SHIP
It also emerged that while we had enjoyed bikini weather for most of our travels, the Portuguese weather had been frequently dull and cool – not the sort that our sunbirds appreciate. I should add that they had barely departed when temperatures soared.
Their departure is another story. They had the misfortune to book a return flight for the same day as the malcontented French air-traffic controllers (curses be upon them) went on strike.
As a result the 22.00 flight was delayed by several hours and dawn was breaking by the time M&T arrived back in Gatwick with a 90-minute drive to Portsmouth still ahead of them. So, all in all, it wasn’t the easiest of stays.
I had previously told M&T that it wasn’t worth contacting us while we were away to convey bad news unless we had to return early. I couldn’t see the point of ruining a holiday by hearing of some disaster that I could do nothing about. Barbara, who has felt uneasy about this, preferred to stay in SMS contact. They, however, chose not to say anything about Terry’s episode until our return.
At least, we were led to understand, the dogs had behaved themselves. Well, mostly they had behaved themselves, that is. Little Prickles, growing restless one night, had dug a hole under the fence and taken himself several hundred metres down the road to Marie and Olly’s place, where he whimpered for admittance outside their bedroom window at 02.00. That set off their dog, Poppy, who woke Marie. She arose to let in Prickles, who promptly settled himself in Poppy’s basket for the night. (Prickles does like to be comfortable.)
He performed the same trick again on the night that we returned home. To discourage further such Pricklesian quests for nocturnal asylum, we have lined the base of the fence with thorn branches.
We have paid a first visit to the Coral, which has emerged under its new owner, Joao, as the Pont de Encontro (Meeting Point). He seems very pleasant and has obviously invested a good deal of money in the smart new furniture and awning. Of the previous owner, Celso, we’ve seen no sign.
He may still be in France where he went to sound out the prospects for employment.
We have been joined for a fortnight by Ermie, the dog belonging to our Dutch neighbours, Nicoline and Anneke, who have gone away. Ermie is so quiet that she’s almost a shadow of herself. After getting a somewhat biffing welcome from the usually placid Russ, she’s settled in well enough.
I was fascinated while in London to see a demo outside the SA high commission. (Only people familiar with the 24-hour a day demo outside the building under apartheid will appreciate the irony!) The demonstrators were calling noisily on Zuma to do something about rape and xenophobia - some hope!
Behind us in London we left our hosts, Llewellyn and Lucia
as well as their two dogs, Edgar and Hazel, and two cats, Tigger (who joined us in bed at night) and Charles Brown. Charles Brown is as shy as Tigger is sociable.
There are a couple of parks close to the house, as well as a pub that welcomes dogs where Edgar, who’s huge, inevitably arouses a great deal of interest. Fortunately he is the most amenable of animals.
Llewellyn was clever enough to unlock my old HTC smartphone, downloading the necessary software from the internet and following the instructions that he found on “youtube”.
It’s a service offered by lots of phone outlets – for a price. I was both impressed and grateful. Equally impressive and enviable is his high-speed wifi, a Grand Prix performer compared to my sedate system.
His final service was to drive us to Victoria station to catch the train to Gatwick, much appreciated as my back was playing silly buggers and, anyhow, the District Line was closed for Sunday repairs.
We got an uproarious welcome from our dogs, who are delighted to get back to their daily hill-walks, even though they return parched and panting. They are also pleased to get back to their old sleeping arrangements. There you have it.
No comments:
Post a Comment