Letter from Espargal: 26 December 2014

This isn't really a blog. It isn't even a diary. It's just pictures accompanied by a few thoughts because life has been running away with us.

Saturday my Ukrainian workers pushed the wall another ten metres down the road. I reckon that we have two working days to completion.

The next job is to angle the entrance to the field. At the moment it's too steep to allow access to anything other than serious 4-wheel drive vehicles.

Sunday we brunched at JL's with the gang once again. We had half-planned to attend a Christmas concert in Quarteira but the timing - 16.00 - was so inconvenient for our animal schedule that we decided against it.

I regret to say that I can't recall attending any concerts given by the local orchestra this past year. That's partly because the audience is so ill-behaved, talking and consulting mobile-phones, and partly because of laziness.

Monday we took May to lunch and visited a door and window manufacturer to talk about a new front door (of which more one of these days).

We also spent a lot of time thinking about our stray pups. They hang around Idalecio's driveway for most of the day. Jones goes down to feed them in the mornings and I in the afternoons. I mix a small tin of meat in with their biscuits and they can't get their little noses into the trough fast enough.

They are much more relaxed and will run around my ankles although only the white job (partly obscured) will allow me to touch him.

We also bumped into our friend and former neighbour, David Davies. He and I both bought Honda CRVs in the year 2000. I replaced mine in 2009 and he has just followed suit. Very smart!

Black isn't an ideal colour in the Algarve but it was the only colour available with the automatic gearbox he wanted. He's not complaining. In fact he's very pleased with himself.

I love the CRV. The only complaint I have is that it's heavy on tyres. I can barely get 30,000kms out of a set.

Tuesday Natasha came to clean and Roslan to paint. He has now finished with the gates and the railings - a fine job. Next come the timber beams on the upper north patio.

While they were hard at it, Jones and I rescued my trailer from its parking spot under a carob tree at the Dutch ladies. We keep it there as there's no level ground available at Valapena, making it a real nuisance to hook up. It took me an hour to clean the trailer up before we ran it up to Benafim to check the tyre pressures. It could do with a lick of paint but it's otherwise as good as new.

Roslan helped me load it with a double bed and mattress.

MARISA AND HER SISTER, ANA

I had been storing these in Casa Nada for Natasha. But as the flat she's bought came furnished and she has her own furniture to boot, she didn't want them. Indeed she's getting rid of stuff rather than acquiring it.

Instead we ran the bed out on Wednesday to the house where Ana and Marisa stay on the far side of Sao Bras; they're the sisters who run the dog sanctuary in Goldra.

I took a route along back roads through the hills for fear of being closely inspected by the traffic police. I think my load was legal but I didn't really want to find out.

I had gathered from Marisa that Ana's bed had recently given up the ghost. She was very pleased to have our old one.

When we arrived the 11 (and counting) dogs that the women keep at home (because the sanctuary is full) set up a terrific barking. They had to be shooed into the back rooms in order to enable us to carry the bed inside.

Christmas Day dawned sunny and clear after a few dull or misty mornings. I stopped during our morning walk to take this picture of Jones with the hounds. Along with our lot she is entertaining Poppy, the little dog belonging to neighbours who are away over Christmas.

While we're on the road, I keep two of our big dogs on leads. For the rest they run free through the mato (bundu, bushveld).

On hunting days - Sundays, Thursdays and public holidays - we take extra care. The hunters were celebrating Christmas by potting away in the valley below us.

Late morning we drove over to May's house to share mince pies and a glass of port with her. She was in good form.

Although I am not into Christmas presents I was moved by the two excellent bottles of whisky that she presented me with.

(I discover more whisky from good neighbours too! Almost makes Christmas worth celebrating!)

After Christmas supper Jones opened the gifts that we have received from friends and neighbours. We were touched. Thank you to all concerned.

My wife loves the special touches that go with Christmas; I wish, if only for her sake, that I could raise a little enthusiasm.

I just hate the stress, commercialisation and excess that go with it. Baby Jesus and mother Mary would get bowled over in the rush for bargains. And the three kings would probably get their pockets picked.

THE WHITE JOB PUSHING PAST THE BARRIER INTENDED TO KEEP THE PUPS AWAY FROM OUR DOGS

We talked about our three little dogs and how best to get the brown job to a vet asap without absolutely traumatising her.

The three are really independent and seem quite content with their present way of life. But it can't continue.

Apart from any other considerations, some of Idalecio's guests bring dogs with them.

This is the picture that we took (after much trial and effort) to send to my German niece, Anita, who has just been awarded her doctorate (summa cum laude) in something very complicated.

If you find these pictures rather overwhelmed with dogs, we are somewhat overwhelmed ourselves. So at least you are getting a true reflection of life at Valapena.

That's it until 2015.

Letter from Espargal: 19 December 2014

This blog opens last Saturday when the weather was too miz for us to work on the wall and Jones tossed a jug of water from the upstairs balcony on to the garden. As good Algarveans we try to direct waste water towards the flowers rather than the drains.

As it happens, the jug concerned was a milk frother that Cathy gave us on her recent visit. The interior base of the jug holds a small, dark tyre-shaped object that does the actual frothing. And as Jones tossed the water over the spreading carob tree below, she realised that her "frothing bit" was going along for the ride. I was alerted to her distress by the accompanying shriek.

So, dressed and walked, we set to searching.

The missing piece was perfectly camouflaged in the dark leaf-bed that lay beneath the green winter canopy. We did a lot of searching. Eventually we found it. That's to say I found it while my wife was working in the kitchen. I took it inside and laid it on the counter while I asked her to describe it. When she had done so, I pointed it out. She was overjoyed. For a few moments, she thought me one of the cleverest people in the world.

On Sunday we brunched at JL's, a snack-bar half way to Loule, as the Hamburgo is closed until January 12. JL's is named from the initials of the two brothers who run it, Joao and Lionel. Both do excellent toasted sandwiches. My only reservation concerns the pop music that screeches from its speakers.

Most of Monday was devoted to May; I have no classes until the New Year. May and I enjoyed identical turkey steaks at Campina's restaurant but having consumed mine as she was barely tucking into hers, I left the ladies to it and went off to draw cash. May loves her lunch out and a leisurely two hours to consume it.

Monday evening, when Jonesy went to feed her long-standing waifs, she found the newcomers trying to get food from a house with dogs of its own. The owners were not pleased. We resolved to put down food for them ourselves. We fear for their safety; strays are not welcome.

Tuesday, after setting Roslan to paint the gates (we have lots of gates), we went down to talk to Idalecio about the three little dogs. Idalecio was hard at work on a holiday cottage. He didn't know where the newcomers came from (somebody almost certainly dumped them) or where they might find a home.

His partner, Sonia, knew someone who would kennel them - if we can catch them - but that would cost us at least €300 a month. It was a depressingly expensive and likely long-term prospect. The chances of finding the dogs a permanent home are vanishingly small. Dog sanctuaries bulge with animals waiting for a home.

I erected a Heath-Robinson barrier on the pedestrian right of way past our fence to dissuade the strays from heading our way and upsetting our dogs. (They ignored it.)

Marie, who came to call, draped the sleeve of her new white, knitted sweater on Roslan's freshly painted gate and arrived at the door with a bright green smear to show for her efforts. Barbara brought her a jacket to put on while I took the offended garment and, Lady Macbeth-like, did my utmost to banish the stain.

Jones then washed it. One can hardly see the paint. I'd say we were 90% successful. (Marie agrees that it was a good job!)

NOTE THE TOES FAR RIGHT

All week we have been troubled by phone calls on the landline. Most of them come from a source identifying itself as "confidential". On principle, we don't take calls from anonymous sources as they are nearly always from cold callers. Also, we are aware that friends and family can reach us - or at least alert us - via our mobiles.

Eventually one night I answered the phone to hear a man say that he was from Meo, the Portuguese telecoms company (inevitably trying to sign me up for an additional package).

JONES MOONRISE

At that point I put the phone down and took out the batteries. Even so, it continued to ring until I ripped out the power plug. I think that Meo's computers simply ring around until someone answers.

If you do need to call us on the house phone, it's a good idea to sms us first. It's so useful, especially if we're in the midst of things and can arrange a call for a more convenient time.

BELOW: AT IDALECIO'S COTTAGES

Wednesday was a run-around. Idalecio agreed to allow us to set up a fenced enclosure for the strays between our lower fence and the wall of the ruin we sold him. While Jones was doing some Christmas shopping (a chore I do my damndest to avoid) I bought a plastic kennel to house them and a roll of fencing, along with sacks for bedding.

As we arrived back home, we saw the three strays rushing hither and thither in a great state of confusion. I've no idea what had upset them. The sooner we can secure them and then get a heavily pregnant bitch to the vet, the better. I took the kennel, the sacking and some food around on the tractor and Idalecio helped me set it up behind the ruin.

Thursday we set out to build a secure enclosure for the three strays. En route I recruited Idalecio, his son, Eduardo, and his dad to our task. Together we erected a fence at one end of the enclosure, keenly watched by the three dogs just beyond it. As we worked at the other end, the dogs burrowed under the fence and entered the enclosure of their own accord. Much reinforcing of the fencing followed.

This proved to little avail. No sooner had we turned our backs than the dogs worked their way out again. So we set to work once more, closing all the gaps and working thorny asparagus into the wires. It was mid-afternoon before we were done.

When I went back later, all three dogs were back in the enclosure. Idalecio said he'd bribed them in with food. We certainly did a lot of bribing ourselves during the day. They must be the best-fed strays in Portugal.

One of the three, the white male, will allow us to scratch his head. The other two, pregnant bitches, are slowly growing in confidence. They will approach closely to take meat from a spoon but they will not yet allow us to touch them.

Friday morning: the babes are out again. Eduardo says they simply wormed their way through the fence. Evidently they are not much impressed with our efforts. But they are happy to follow me back in for their breakfast - and much later in the day for their supper.

For the moment we have left the gate open. If we can establish the enclosure as their feeding spot, maybe they will settle down enough for us to catch the girls and get them to the vet. Maybe!

One day I might write a book about the illusions of retiring to the countryside for a quiet life.

Letter from Espargal: 12 December 2014

This was one of those weeks that make me wonder how we ever found time to earn a living. It started last weekend with a pleasing day's work on the wall, of which you have heard a great deal this past month or two.

Showers at the end of the day - the kind one takes in a bathroom - were not as pleasing. For some time the hot water has been just hot enough for me and not hot enough for my wife. I phoned Octavio, the technician who services our solar (water-heating) panels, and asked him to drop by.

THE CONRAD ENTRANCE - CARS TO ADVERTISE THE FAIR

Sunday we visited two Christmas fairs. These are held through-out December, generally on a Saturday. Because I'd been caught up with wall-building, we'd missed a couple that Jones would gladly have attended. Now was our chance; one had been organised by the Rotary at Almancil and another at the luxurious Conrad hotel.

The first produced little of interest. I took an instant dislike to the beat-music that boomed out from speakers. Most of the stalls displayed unappealing Christmassy nick-knacks of the made-at-home variety.

We came across the German woman who runs the St Francis dog sanctuary nearby (not the one up in the heights of Goldra) and made our annual donation to her cause. Her husband was in Faro hospital recovering from a stroke, she revealed, and she was exhausted.

The fair at the Conrad hotel was more upmarket and more commercial. A small youth choir provided infinitely preferable music. The stalls were all set up in small alcoves that made it difficult to inspect the goods on display without risking a marketing blurb from the vendors.

I was interested in small cordless bedside lamps until I heard the salesman tell a Portuguese couple that there were selling, that day only, for a reduced price of €100 each.

Monday was a public holiday in honour of the Immaculate Conception (which most people seem to think applies to Jesus). We had agreed to take May to lunch at the Apolonia supermarket snack-bar in Almancil before assisting her with her Christmas shopping. The Apolonia is cream of Algarvian supermarkets, much patronised by expats.

After lunch I left Barbara to conduct May around the shop while I walked the dogs and then snoozed in the car. May proceeds at a snail's pace, clutching the trolley for support. I can but admire Barbara's patience. An hour and a bit later, the pair of them emerged from the shop behind a load of drinks, chocolates and other goodies, most of them intended by May as gifts.

GENTS' LOO AT THE CONRAD

Monday evening, at Llewellyn's suggestion, I downloaded all the latest Canon printer drivers to see whether they could revive my ailing printer. Then I hooked up the printer for a diagnostic session. It was all to no avail. Finally I googled striking Canon printers. They were legion. It seems that both the print-heads and the purge units are the main cause of the trouble.

Tuesday we went to the bank to ask our account manager to attest to our living condition, a requirement for the continued payment of our UK state pensions. Thence to the Goldra dog sanctuary to get a replacement tax invoice from the girls (who'd made an error in the first one) before joining David and Dagmar for lunch. They were newly returned from a five-week visit to Australia.

We liked what they had to tell us. They'd dropped in on the former Marist novitiate at Mittagong - now a retreat centre and winery - where I'd spent 18 months as a novice. (Few novices these days!)

In the afternoon I ploughed our fields, which were covered in a green carpet. To my astonishment, as I was turning over the earth, three small dogs came trotting down the field and disappeared into the road. The next moment, they came haring along the road with a local dog in fierce pursuit. They disappeared down into the village somewhere. At the time of writing, they have not reappeared.

MAY - ARCHIVE

Late afternoon Octavio appeared to service the solar panels. We explained the problem with the water. He went up and tested the system. Everything seemed to be in order, he reported. He had to empty and refill the tank. We promised to let him know if the water heated up. It didn't!

Wednesday morning May called. Her electricity had failed ...... yet again! We phoned Fernando, her electrician cum Man Friday. He went around. Her fuse box had tripped, he reported. May hadn't figured out how to reset it in spite of being shown any number of times.

He reset the clock for the pool pump in case that was the cause of the problem.

Natasha came to clean and Roslan to paint the ironwork. He paints well, both carefully and fast, with never a drip on the tiles. If only we could communicate. We have to call on Natasha to talk to him.

His native language is Ukrainian. But like most Ukrainians he speaks Russian too. So Natasha speaks to him in Russian and then to me in Portuguese and I to Barbara in English. Seems to work.

Next a villager, Armenio, came to trim half a dozen of our wild almond trees.

When these sprout in a month or two, he will return to graft all kinds of fruit on to the suckers.

We could graft several different fruits on to one tree, he told, or separate fruits on to different trees, as we preferred.

We give our carob crop to Armenio and he returns the favour several times over.

Roslan and I spent most of the afternoon clearing up the resulting jungle of branches and cutting up the firewood.

I put a new chain on the chainsaw; it raised a cloud of angry smoke but didn't cut.

Roslan pointed out (literally) that I'd put it on back to front (which isn't difficult).

So I had to take it off and put it on a second time. Then it worked just fine.

PICKING UP THE FIREWOOD ON FRIDAY AFTERNOON

Finally, Paulo, the local plumber, arrived to establish why we had no hot water. I followed him up the ladder on to the roof. He checked the system out. Everything seemed to be in order. He concluded that the valve in the mixer he'd installed had jammed.

So he gave it a dozen good whacks with a spanner before asking us to test the water. Jones said it seemed to be heating up. After taking the dogs for a walk, we tried it. Brilliant! We had our first really hot showers in ages. What a pleasure!

Thursday Natasha and Roslan returned. She cleaned. He painted. I ploughed.

THE ASH MARKS THE LINES OF BARBARA'S FAVA BEANS

Jones planted fava beans in the rows the scarifier had left, and then sprinkled ash across them as a marker.

Finally I cut up the remaining branches. It took an age. When you cut down wild almond trees, you get a lot of foliage.

Friday: We went shopping, looking for discounted dog-biscuits and lots of other stuff. We kept on bumping into Marie and Olly.

When we got home we went to collect the firewood that Roslan and I had cut up. The forecast is for showers on Saturday, threatening both my wall building and access to the field.

We found that our TV encryption had been changed yet again. Happily Joao came through late afternoon with the new code.

ONE OF THE THREE DOGS AT IDALECIO'S PLACE

Idalecio called to say that three small dogs had arrived at his place and had been camping outside one of his cottages for several days. The were evidently the same three that I'd seen earlier.

Jones took them the chips and other left-over scraps from our meal with neighbours last night at the chicken shack in Salir.

She says the little animals fell upon them.

Anybody want three little dogs?

Letter from Espargal: 5 December 2014

This week the rain went away and temperatures fell.

Although we don't get frost up here on the hill (as opposed to down in the valley) it feels icy when the wind howls down from Siberia. As so often, we bless the fire.

The evening schedule, once we've walked the dogs, is to turn on the radio news, pour drinks, feed the beasts, light the fire and then settle down near it to reflect on the day and see what's on TV.

It's a rare night when there's nothing worthwhile to watch.

At times, after a particularly demanding day, I have been known to nod off in front of the fire.

This unflattering picture of me (most pictures of me are unflattering) was taken by Jones as Bobby and I enjoyed a brief mutual evening doze on the couch. (You can just see the top of his head on my lap.)

Jones says she took it to illustrate that even when asleep, I carefully grasp my glass. So I should, for it contained an outstanding whisky given to me by our neighbours, the Cusacks.

Saturday the "boys" returned as usual to add another ten metres to the wall (that now encompasses the Leonilde field).

The wall brings me a glow of satisfaction each time I pass it. It is a most beautiful wall.

In fact, as I remarked to Jones, it is the most beautiful thing I have ever built, "I" being used in the sense that the queen uses "we".

It has another 40 metres or so to run along the base of the adjoining Graca field.

At that point I believe the wall will become Espargal's second attraction after the Roman well at the bottom of the village.

Sunday passed into oblivion. I have reached the stage when I can generally recall what we did today, struggle to remember yesterday's events and haven't the foggiest what happened the day before.

There is so little to distinguish one day from another!

Monday we received a "please help" message from Marisa at the dog sanctuary. They were virtually out of food. After dropping Jones in town to do May's shopping, I took an emergency supply up to the kennels. Marisa was very grateful.

I scolded her for leaving her appeal to the last minute. She had planned to go shopping herself that morning, she explained, but had to take a sick dog to the vet instead.

It was May's 84th birthday. She was in excellent form over lunch, consuming her fried shrimps appreciatively and conversing with zest.

My English class was the last of the year. We talked about corruption and the fate of José Sócrates, who remains in preventive detention while his lawyers do their best to get him out.

Tuesday was a big day. We met at the notary at 3.30 to conclude the purchase of an apartment. After a long wait, eight of us crowded into the notary's office: Jones, Natasha, our lawyer, 3 estate agents, the (absent) vendors' lawyer and myself - plus, of course, the notary.

Proceedings were laborious. The notary throws the draft deed on a big screen and goes through it line

by line, checking names, marital states, dates and places of birth, documents, taxes paid and a great deal more. Whenever she has a doubt she questions one of the lawyers. She is very particular. Everything has to match up or the transaction falls through.

Dusk was falling as we all finally signed the contract. So Natasha is now the owner of a three-bedroom apartment. Or, put another way, she is now the owner of a mortgage and the occupant of the apartment.

Wednesday Natasha brought Roslan along with her. I set him to painting the gates. We have a lot of gates and iron railings. Roslan made good progress. If only I could communicate with him verbally, we could accomplish a lot more together.

Next we ran a car-load of dog-food out to the dog sanctuary before I attended an end-of-year lunch with my class. It was held in one of Loule's several large, canteen-like restaurants. My grilled turkey seemed to come from a pretty tough old bird.

IGNACIO

Ignacio, one of my pupils, is a keen hunter. Last Sunday, he said, he was with a party of 37 hunters who went to shoot wild boar in the Alentejo. Scores of dogs accompanied them. The hunters took up positions around a thicket while the clamouring dogs went in to chase the pigs out.

In the ensuing chaos, Ignacio told me, the party shot 19 boar. Six dogs were gored and had to be taken to the vet. The dead pigs were distributed among the grateful locals and the hunters' fridges.

Barbara was horrified to hear about it and expressed the hope that I had remonstrated with Ignacio. I hadn't.

I put to her his arguments that boar had to be kept in check because they damaged crops as well as increasing in number by 50% a year.

She was dubious and wanted proof. I didn't have any. I do know that the United States has a huge problem with feral pigs.

To be honest, I felt more for dogs than the pigs.

Also Wednesday the EDP called to raise May's electricity potential once again. We hoped fervently that this would put an end to the old lady's tripping electrics. But it seems that they tripped again later in the day and were restored by visiting friends.

Thursday we visited May ourselves. Her electrics were working but her TV wasn't. As the TV is May's constant companion, she wasn't pleased. Once again I turned on as many appliances as possible to see if they were tripping the system. They weren't but, after much fiddling around, we discovered that her two heaters were overloading the circuit they were on, causing it to crash from time to time.

May's Man Friday put in temporary repairs and promised to do a proper job later. He also got May's TV up and running again.

From there we continued to the dog sanctuary charity shop in Sao Bras, where I had business. Jones bought a fleece for €1.50 and a polar neck sweater for €2.00

Friday we came across a stray dog in the hills during our morning walk. We think it's a hunting dog that lost contact with its master. We let one of the local hunters know.

After haircuts in Loule, we drove to Faro so that I could obtain a second extension to my old driving licence - pending the arrival of my new licence - for which I applied in May. The system can be painfully slow.

Friday afternoon I inserted the newly received (second) printhead into my ailing Canon multi-function machine. Same problem. It wouldn't print black and white.

Evidently, the printhead is not the issue. What to do next! The nearest approved dealer is in Lisbon.

This evening we snapped pictures of the rising moon. Jones is really into her skies and particularly into the moon.

When she went to feed her waifs and strays, she came across the dog we'd spotted that morning.

It wouldn't come near her. She's put down water and some food. Oh dear!

Then we drove down the hill, fetched Michael Brown from the square and headed to Benafim for a final night dinner at the Hamburgo.

To our distress, the restaurant is closing for five weeks.

In the corner of the room, a large party of Portuguese sang folk songs before standing to toast each other.

It felt almost as though Christmas had arrived early, the kind of Christmas I could identify with. In my heart I was singing with them.