Letter from Espargal: 15 May 2015

Whenever and where-ever this past week got underway, it got off to a bad start. Take Sunday afternoon, just as Jones was setting out on her waifs and strays run. "Do you have your mobile phone with you?" I asked her. This is a question I put to her each time she leaves the house because I want to be able to communicate with her if anything should arise - as anything occasionally does.

As is often the case, she didn't. The trouble is that she doesn't have an obvious place to carry her phone while out and about. While mine resides habitually in my breast pocket, hers generally remains in her bag or on the nearest table; on a walk it sits in a pocket.

(She now takes all six dogs with her in the mornings - occasionally eight if the female pups join in. I await their return with treats in the park.)

So I started phoning her number. After some minutes we traced the phone to the orphans' pen. It must have slipped out of a pocket while she was feeding them. Although the phone still rang, it did nothing else. The tooth marks told the story. The touch screen was frozen and the keys served no further purpose.

The discovery upset Jones, who hates waste and deplores the throw-away culture. Moreover, it was not the first of her phones to have undergone such canine (dentine?) modification. I reassured her that it was not an expensive model (true!) and that I would be pleased to get her another. She was not consoled.

What upset her more was the loss of photos of a spectacular butterfly that she had come across in the field the previous day and taken great pains to capture. I hoped that these might have been recorded on the undamaged SD card or Sim but, as it turned out, they hadn't.

Monday we resumed our May duties - something that Jones was determined to do either with my assistance or that of neighbours and taxis.

While she was attending to May's shopping, I popped in on the senior university to catch up.

I hoped to be back the following week, I told them - to be confirmed after a mid-week consultation with the surgeon.

I have been absent for the best part of two months - far too long.

Before fetching May for lunch, I bought my wife a new phone, similar to the old one. She hates learning new routines.

We found May in reasonable form, somewhat forgetful and frail but pleased to be going out for a meal. It was a compromise meal. Instead of sitting her down for the usual two hour lunch, we ordered her a take-away and satisfied ourselves with starters and a glass of wine.

I stood beside the table; sitting is still not my thing if I can avoid it. At the computer I'm spending more time on my knees than I did in church in a previous life

LUNCH TIME

That evening, as I was preparing the dogs' supper, there came sounds of a brief violent canine altercation on the back patio.

I rushed through with my walking stick, threatening the culprits with blue murder. The usual suspects are Bobby and Russ who compete for rank. They generally confine themselves to an exchange of growls but food and attention tend to bring out the worst in them.

RUSS

Russ looked his usual tranquil self. Of Bobby there was no sign. A brief search revealed the dog licking a bitten paw and bleeding copiously from a torn ear.

The damage had Russ's signature all over it.

As sweet-natured as the dog usually is, he has his red lines (as the UK politicians like to say).

Bobby retired to the kennel to nurse his wounds and his pride.

He declined our attempts to clean him up. He is not a good patient at the best of times.

Tuesday began with Bobby throwing up on the couch.

It seems that this was caused by eating grass rather than any damage from the set-to with Russ. For this, at least, we were grateful. We've had our share of vets' bills this month.

With the day came temperatures in the low 30s and my usual afternoon physio session with Jodi in Alte.

Wednesday dawned unpleasantly hot and got steadily and oppressively hotter under a cruel leaden sky. (Weather bureau says hottest temps recorded in month of May.) I had a mid-morning toe-nail cutting and filing session with Mary in Benafim as my toes are now beyond my grasp. I declined the offer of a full pedicure.

Mary was keen that I taught her some English to enable her to communicate with her expat clients. I said I'd draw up a list of useful words and expressions that we could practise together on the next occasion.

The afternoon brought the weekly shop, a toasted sandwich lunch at Faro Beach and another consultation with Dr Alexandra at the hospital nearby. She pulled up my scans on the computer to address my remaining queries about spinal discs and nerve roots. Bottom line is that I'm more mobile after the injection into the spine last week than I was previously - a welcome improvement - but still far from cured. At some point I will need further surgery and the only question is the timing.

Thursday was just as hot although the wind seemed to blow much of the heat away, a reverse chill factor effect. The weather bureau is sending warnings of strong winds on Friday too.

I spent an hour assisting a friend to set up a blog site. That at least was the idea. But the configuration of the blogger software I use has changed so much since I began my own blog that I spent more time learning how to use it than assisting him.

My workers have taken the coming weekend off. They were going to spend it fishing at the Alqueva Dam in central Portugal they informed me. I wished them bountiful catches.

They deserve time off. They both have regular weekday jobs as well as spending many of their Saturdays assisting me.

We concentrated on trees that Jones wanted trimmed. As much as she loves greenery, she loves her views even more.

The operation called for an impressive gymnastic top-rung display by Andrei while Slavic secured the ladder below. In the course of the day Andrei disclosed that he was in his early forties and already a grandfather.

Like Slavic he hails from Ukraine. In the old days they found work in Russia; these days Ukrainian workers migrate west rather than east.

Each evening for some years Barbara has been putting a handful of cat biscuits into a plate that sits in a tree in the garden. These are for the benefit of a beast that we have never actually seen but refer to as "the tree cat". Certainly the biscuits are gone by morning.

A closer study casts doubt on the feline nature of the consumer. For shortly after the biscuits arrive, so do a handful of azure-winged magpies that whack gleefully into the offering. They are shy birds and hard to approach; even so the (blurry) picture speaks for itself.

LIFE IS TOUGH