Letter from Espargal: 13 February 2015

The Algarve is displaying its winter plumage. The almond trees are bathed in auras of blossom, both pink (bitter almonds) and white. They're a joy to behold, a source of nourishment for the busily buzzing bees and for the soul. You will forgive me if I put a few blossom pics on the blog.

I have finished reading Hack Attack by the Guardian journalist, Nick Davies - no mean feat! It's an exhaustive account of his considerable part in exposing the criminal behaviour of the Murdoch media in the UK that led to the Leveson inquiry and numerous court cases.

What the book brings home is the extent to which the Murdoch press had top police in their pocket and political leaders doffing their caps while the journalists broke every rule in the book. It's the forensic, gritty detail of Davies's account that impresses - together with the salvos that he and his editor had to endure from hostile media along the way - reminiscent of the Washington Post's role in exposing Watergate.

On the movie front we have watched Boyhood. I noted the film's success at the Bafta Awards, a pointer towards the Oscars. But as much as one had to admire the 12-year endurance of the cast and the achievement of the producers, I was underwhelmed by the contents. Jones was more impressed.

I have indulged in a new pair of Ecco boots, a brand I came across years ago on a visit to my sister in Germany.

My favourites, Biom-Hikes are light, waterproof, hard-wearing, comfortable and supportive - and a bargain if one can find them on sale, which I endeavour to do, for they aren't cheap.

Possibly this paragraph is addressed primarily to my own conscience. I tell myself that they're my luxury. Jones would probably describe them as one of my luxuries.

I wore my outgoing pair (which are splitting on the side) for the last time on Saturday when the brothers turned up to construct a low wall down the western flank of the Leonilde field.

Slavic and I took six tractor rides down to Joachim Sousa's carob plantation to load up from his rock mountains while Roslan got on with clearing the edges of the field.

Slavic lays the base rocks and his brother adds the trim. Between fetching rocks and wheelbarrows of cement, I generally just watch them working.

By the end of the day we had reason to be well pleased with our efforts; indeed these have drawn the admiration of neighbours as well.

The three orphans, whom we had released from the confines of the pen, briefly inspected progress before taking themselves off to bark vociferously in a thicket (probably at one of our cats).

They have particularly high-pitched yips - squeals - which are both penetrating and unnerving.

We have made a practice of letting them out of the pen before breakfast and again before supper. Only thirst and hunger that coax them back inside, especially Paleface, who hovers on the sidelines. If we're at home, we try to let them out in-between times as well, a release for which they plead each time we pass.

It was while they were roaming on Sunday afternoon that I took our six into the park, - shock! horror! - to come face to face with the orphans who had either wormed their way in through a gap in the fence or launched themselves from an adjacent rock - as Jones spotted one doing. That was a scary moment.

Mercifully, I had made a practice of introducing them through the fence to the incumbents at every opportunity while strongly discouraging barking matches. Although our lot were as taken aback as I was and the big brothers (Raymond and Bobby) clearly resented the intrusion, I was able to entice them hackles-up back to the house. Truly, the orphans were taking their lives in their paws.

On Monday, after our return from a May lunch and English classes, the three little guys again shot out of their pen and made their way into the park. Anticipating a repeat encounter, I had closed the others inside the house. We Pied Pipered the orphans out again, loudly crinkling treat packets.

These confrontations are a real problem and it's very hard to know what to do about them other than confining the newcomers permanently to the pen - unthinkable! But there's no way to make several hundred metres of fencing orphan-proof.

Tuesday brought a second meeting with our accountants - with our income tax return in mind - to explain the inconsistencies in the registration numbers of plots that we had bought and sold. I showed Teresa, who deals with our account, the step by step record of the purchase, the division of the land (which had caused the confusion) and the subsequent sale of the remnant - and she pronounced herself satisfied. I hope the taxman feels the same way.

One has to take every precaution in preparing accounts because the Financas is the most organised, best-equipped and most ruthless department of government - with access to bank accounts across Europe. Hundreds - if not thousands - of residents have faced fines and had goods confiscated in lieu of outstanding tax. Arousing the inspectors' suspicions brings a comprehensive audit of one's financial affairs, which means a huge investment of time and effort in digging up old records.

Wednesday Jones had the stitches removed from her back, where the dermatologist had excised a small carcinoma last month.

CHILDREN'S CARNIVAL - FRIDAY MORNING

We stopped afterwards at Faro Beach with a light lunch in mind but found the scene depressingly dull and windy - at least I did - and went on to an eatery in Almancil instead.

Our last stop was nearby Loule railway station where, for the princely sum of €43, I obtained a first class return to Lisbon for myself and a single for Cathy, who will be flying in from Berlin on Monday to spend ten days with us. (No classes next Monday as Loule closes down for carnival weekend.)

The rail discounts available to pensioners are exceedingly generous. As mentioned, I'll drop the problematic printer off with agents based in the capital before going on to the airport.

We got home to find that Sparky had escaped the pen yet again in spite of my efforts to render it escape-proof - and we spent the rest of the afternoon reinforcing its already formidable defences.

Sparky is simply extraordinary - a real Houdini. Although she's the smallest of the three, she's the boss. She lays down the law to her companions.

Thursday we walked far into the hills while Natasha put in an extra morning cleaning upstairs. I spent an hour on our return re-introducing the resident dogs to the orphans. Barri and Russ are not fussed but the big brothers still need a lot of cajoling.

Friday morning: we are just back from the vet. Raymond has a lump under his rib cage that appears to be a lymphoma of some sort. The vets are examining the x-rays. The dog has to go back this afternoon for further examination.

PS: We are advised to take no further action at present but merely to keep Raymond under a watching brief.