Letter from Espargal: 27 February 2015

This has been a windy week, a restless, tree-bending, leaf-tossing, window-wailing kind of week. Nonetheless, a good deal got done one way and another.

The work began last Friday when we hitched up the trailer and trekked to Gilde's hardware store to look for two more stiff, wire panels to reinforce the pen. In spite of all our previous efforts, we would return from where-ever to discover Sparky gambling around outside the pen while sidekick, Mello, bellowed in frustration within.

Happily, Gilde stocked the panels I wanted (2.5m x 60cms) and these we promptly affixed to the top of the pen along the western flank where, we suspected, Sparky was somehow making her way out. She is an extraordinary athlete, scaling a one-metre high fence topped, like a Guantanamo cage, with half-a-metre of horizontal fencing wire.

By the time we were done we thought the pen as secure as Devil's Island. The orphans run around the village much of the day. But there are times when we want them securely inside the pen.

On Saturday we made our monthly food delivery to the dog sanctuary in Goldra, where Ana still lacks the support of her sister, Marisa, who nearly died of blood poisoning after being clawed by a cat she was saving from some dogs.

Thence we carried on to Sao Bras to top up our baggy supply. Bagaceira - distilled from grape must - is Barbara's regular tipple, taken with an equal shot of lemon juice and topped up with coke; in summer, add a couple of blocks of ice.

My preference is for a peaty malt whisky although I don't complain if I'm served cognac.

Sunday, we continued from the expat brunch at the Hamburgo to the picturesque village of Querenca for the monthly morning market. The supply - mainly food products and nick-knacks - far exceeded the demand from the thin crowd.

I stopped at a stall to buy some dried figs from an equally dried old man but backed off when he grasped a handful in earthy fingers and thrust them into an old plate as a measure.

Monday was a red letter day. Just after nine Marco and Nuno turned up in their lorry with our new front door (shortly before Cathy and Jonesy went off in the car to look after May).

The first job was to remove the heavy old iron, double front door. It came off fairly easily, as did the metal frame supporting it, although they struggled to carry it. I had promised it to Idalecio, who arrived well-pleased to take it away.

Thereafter the two workmen set about installing the new door. This had been delivered from the factory in Spain in sections - the frame, the door itself, numerous lengths of trim, the handles and the reinforced glass panes.

The problem they faced was getting the frame vertical in an off-the-vertical concrete door-frame, albeit by just a couple of degrees.

To compensate for this, Marco had to trim the edge of the frame before wedging it into place, guided by an instrument giving off a vertical lazer light.

He and Nuno pushed, pulled, trimmed, drilled and screwed until they were satisfied. I was most impressed with their workmanship and style. One held the vacuum cleaner while the other drilled. They were perfectionists.

Finally they hung the door and fixed the heavy double-glazed security panes into place before sealing the edges of the frame.

It wasn't silicone, Marco pointed out, because silicone didn't last and his compound would. Although it was white, it could be painted any colour once it was dry.

I love the door. It's bright, strong and well insulated. No more draughts, no more dingy, dark hallway. All that remains is to teach the cats to use the cat-flap.

In-between times I phoned Canon to seek news of my printer. It would cost over €200 to repair, a technician informed me, as all the electronics had to be renewed. When I told him that I'd already installed an (expensive) new print-head, he said it had to be replaced again - and explained why.

In short, as soon as the printer gives warning of a low ink cartridge, that cartridge should be replaced.

Otherwise, there isn't enough ink remaining to regulate the print-head temperature and it burns out. I wish I'd known these things a few hundred euros ago.

Anyhow, I declined Canon's offer to repair the printer - I can buy a new one for the same money - and asked them to recycle it.

The multi-function Brother I subsequently acquired is adequate although it doesn't woo me the way the Canon did.

Tuesday we drove east along the coast to the town of Olhao, where we dined on toasted sandwiches on the promenade that runs along the estuary.

Lots of beady-eyed seagulls watched us from rigging of boats anchored offshore. Service was slow but the sandwiches were worth waiting for.

I was surprised at the number of tourists/ expats in the area.

That night we supped at the Hamburgo with the usual gang, along with David (son of Irish neighbours, Fintan and Pauline) and his American wife, Nicole.

David is a drummer with the band, The Commitments. Between gigs, like Nicole, he tour manages other bands. Nicole has been looking after Rod Stewart and Coldplay; he after an American group called Linkin Park.

As interested as I was in the stories they had to tell, I had to admit that I wasn't into bands.

NEW DRIVER

On the way home, I got a dashboard warning of an engine problem.

Wednesday, after dropping into Honda, I had a post-surgical check-up at the hospital. The doctor and his nurse peered at their handiwork. "Looks satisfactory," he said. "Don't hesitate to make an appointment if there are any problems." I assured him that I wouldn't.

We came home via Loule station in order to book tickets for Barbara and Cathy, who planned to spend Thursday in Lisbon before Cath returns home to Berlin that evening.

Jones wasn't carrying an ID, which meant we couldn't get the discount due to "seniors", so we came home and did the booking online instead.

The site is a bit ponderous and one has to log in twice, first to book the return journey and then the single. But for 50% off first-class, it's worth the trouble.

Thursday morning the pair of them caught the 7.11 express from Loule to the capital where they are nosing around the Gulbenkian or similar as I write. I took the car to Honda who tested everything and weren't sure whether there was a real problem (with a valve) or not. I'm to keep an eye on things. I arrived home to find that Sparky had escaped the pen again in spite of all our efforts. She's unreal!

Friday morning: Cathy is back home in Berlin. Jonesy is doing the washing downstairs. I have had a massage session with Jodi. Natasha is cleaning Casa Nada. End of story

THE WAY IT USED TO LOOK

AND THE WAY IT LOOKS NOW