Letter from Espargal: 31 July 2015

It is with relief each summer that we box up July and put it away for another year. July is the hardest month to bear, the hottest, driest, sweatiest, most demanding month. The garden, still strewn with winter's detritus, pleads endlessly for water. For us and our beasts, staying cool is so much harder than staying warm.

If one has to be about in July, the best time is dawn and dusk. I leave dawn to Jones and her beasts. Dusk we enjoy together on the north patio over a baggy, generally dogs underfoot, with the orphans quartered, the garden watered and the day nearly sorted. Most evenings there's a breeze sufficient to discourage the mosquitoes, not that there've been many about.

AO LUAR

Last Friday evening was an exception to our usual programme. Along with most of the village we went along to the grounds of the former primary school to watch a performance by travelling players who call themselves Ao Luar - "moonlit" or "in the moonlight".

We travelled down on the tractor, Barbara riding side-saddle (where she hangs on with seeming nonchalance), to avoid the usual negotiations with the dogs over use of the car.

The Ao Luar troupe tours the villages with council support. They erect a mini-stage and wings, set out a dozen benches and set up a small control desk for lights and music.

Their repertoire consists of Moliere-inspired farces, intended to provide sufficient wit for the adults and comedy for the kids. The audience, of 40 or 50, loved it.

The six actors have to play multiple roles. Interruptions - to hush talkers among the audience - are par for the course. While finer points of the dialogue were lost on us, the drift was clear and we enjoyed the performance as much as any.

Saturday morning Andrei and Slavic returned. The tasks I had in mind for them were set aside in favour of more urgent needs. I had been up twice in the early hours to hush the squealing orphans. In spite of my attempts to render the pen escape-proof, Sparky had got out - she's an Alpine-level climber - much to her noisy delight and Mello's squalling distress.

So the boys spent most of the morning raising the height of the fence around the pen, those sections that we hadn't reinforced already, from one metre to two. They also used up our remaining cobbles to create a path between large rocky outcrops, leading to a section of Barbara's garden.

In spite of the heat, Barbara has spent a couple of hours each day cutting back, ripping out the remnants of last season's growth and repairing the depredations of her pets.

In these endeavours I confess that I have not joined her. I am happy to attend to sitting or standing tasks - including ironing and mending - but bending over is not my thing. (If I sat down like this, it would be for the last time!)

Monday went somewhere. Unless we do something special or I make a note, the days simply vanish into oblivion. Little wonder that old people lose track of them.

Tuesday we dropped in on Fatima for haircuts. Then, after feeding Ginger and visiting May - no change to report - we stopped at JL's for a glass of wine and a tuna sandwich. I particularly enjoyed the former as I had resolved to confine myself for a time (undefined) to non-alcoholic drinks at home as part of an intermittent self-improvement drive.

SEATED AT JL's

While we were sitting down a most beautiful butterfly landed on Barbara's t-shirt and stayed there. My wife observed that it might be Raymond come to visit. Whatever the case, the butterfly was a welcome visitor and appeared perfectly happy where he sat.

Barbara eventually moved across to a nearby bush in order to transfer the little creature to a safer perch while she lunched.

We have been following two stories in the media closely. One is the court judgment in the UK over-ruling the will of a woman who wanted all her estate divided among animal charities and none to go to her estranged daughter. Although the will was sound, the judges decided that the daughter deserved a hefty chunk of it.

More interesting has been the fate of the Minnesota dentist whose idea of sport is to shoot arrows into unthreatening, inedible wild animals; in short, the story of Cecil the Zimbabwean lion. It is with a great deal of schadenfreude that we have heard the man hounded - temporarily at least - out of Facebook, house and practice.

HOW IT USED TO LOOK

If you live in these parts, you get used to a lot of hunters doing a great deal of hunting. But at least they eat what they hunt rather than nailing the remains to the living room wall.

Wednesday, while massaging my back, Jodi informed me that the village of Alte, where she has her rooms, is up in arms. The cause celebre is the drying up of the "vicarage waterfall" that cascades down from the road to the stream in the valley below.

The water, which rises from two springs a kilometre back up in the hills, runs down through a channel that becomes village swimming pool in the summer months before spreading itself into a pond for geese and ducks.

The local authorities have stated that the drying up is the natural consequence of the low rainfall last winter.

However, and this is the nub of the matter, many people attribute it more to the vast acreage of young citrus trees that stretches up the hillsides beyond the village.

These have been planted by the village's richest man, whose boreholes are believed to be bleeding the water-table dry.

Petitions and social media pressure groups are being got up - to what effect remains to be seen.

BENAFIM, ON THE FAR SIDE OF THE VALLEY

On the way home we stopped off in Benafim to deliver some items to the community centre for this weekend's festival and again to allow Mary the hairdresser to trim my toe nails.

She and I practise useful English phrases as she works away. She's anxious to learn enough to communicate with unilingual expats.

Thursday: Although you may not see much difference, the rest of this blog comes to you courtesy of Windows 10.

Microsoft notified me last night - much to my surprise; I had expected to wait a while - that I could now upgrade from Windows 7 and, with a rollback option if I didn't like it, I thought "why not?".

In truth I've also been doing a good deal of reading about the latest version of Windows and it's been well reviewed. The appearance is very different but the layout is user-friendly and it's a case of so far, so good. We'll see how we go.

Letter from Espargal: 24 July 2015

Thursday morning: It's not clear to me yet where this week is heading. I shall have a better idea when the taxman lets me know why my tax return has proved unsatisfactory - which is all that I've learned from an unwelcome email thus far. It's as though the tax department likes to put taxpayers on edge by informing them that they have reason to be concerned before telling them what that reason might be.

I had a suspicion that we might come under scrutiny after our buyings and sellings of property last year.

What we have accomplished, after much aahing and umming and discussion, is to book a vacation for October when our house sitters will be down from the UK. We plan to spend a week in Madeira (just under two hours' flight from Lisbon) and a second week relaxing at venues on the Portuguese mainland.

Our choices were heavily influenced by our commuting neighbours, David and Sarah, who had prepared a PowerPoint presentation for us of their own recent visit to the Alentejo. They were delighted with their choice of accommodation, sometimes in former convents. We watched it over supper under the stars at the Hamburgo one evening.

Meanwhile it's noses to the grindstone. The Valapena grindstone turns on animals and plants - ironic because the two do not go well together. The three orphans, who have now settled into their new quarters, like to make themselves comfortable by digging out a nest in one of Barbara's succulent beds. My wife sighs each time she collects the scattered succulent remains with a view to finding a new home for them.

At least as serious as the damage to the garden has been the recent damage to our personal property. The guilty party is Mello who is as skilful a thief as she is destructive of her booty. Like the parents of small children, we have to consider everything that we put down outside, even for a few moments.

THE THIEF!

After returning from our walk on Sunday morning, I placed my phone on the patio table while I went around to the washing line to exchange my damp vest and shirt for dry ones. In those few seconds the phone went awol.

Jonesy rang the number to reveal the phone's whereabouts - in the carport. Fortunately, the phone itself proved to be undamaged but the sleeve had been ripped to shreds.

Another day the orphans got into the house and stole one of Barbara's heavy leather sandals. Mello had chewed out a chunk of the main strap by the time we found it. It took me the best part of a morning to repair the sandal - how effectively remains to be seen.

Another victim of her redesign exercises was my cap, which she remodelled pretty much out of existence. Small as she is, she defends her stolen interests vigorously, snarling unwisely at the big dogs to warn them to keep their distance.

MY CAP ISN'T WHAT IT USED TO BE

Aware of the danger, we now carefully close the sliding doors to the house and the patio when the pups are around morning and evening.

Mello goes hunting around the house, standing up on her back legs to peer over the top of tables and sills. Anything within her reach is whipped off to a quiet spot for a good chew.

SPARKY, AS SMART AS THEY COME

My workers were back last weekend to complete the concrete base to the exterior fencing. So far the orphans have shown little inclination to test it although Sparky is still escaping from the pen whenever she chooses.

Dogs aside, the week has followed its usual patterns. Day temperatures have remained in the mid-30s. I tell myself that it's now a full month since the solstice and they must start dropping soon.

Monday we fed Ginger (who had a torn ear, poor fellow; the cat world is a tough one) before going on to visit May in the nursing home at Monte Palhagueira. She is still unable to get about without assistance and her short-term memory has become extremely patchy.

While in Loule we bought a small submersible pump and a length of hose in order to give the succulent beds along Banco's Broadwalk - the public footpath at the bottom of the property - the benefit of the fossa's contents.

PICTURE FOR BARBARA'S ETCHING

The hard bit was trying to fit the hose to the pump. Serious plumbers do it by heating the hose with a blowtorch until it becomes elastic and then forcing it over the pump nozzle. The emphasis is on "forcing". In the gale that was blowing I was not keen.

Instead I acquired a couple of fittings that reduced the diameter of the nozzle. Even so, we still required 1" diameter hose and struggled to move it around. The plants, at least, were grateful for our efforts.

During a second visit to the Loule fair I invested in another €20 disabled painting while Jonesy ordered an etching from a neighbour who, like many folk around here, is looking to handicraft to pass the time and top up the piggy bank.

Next weekend brings Benafim's festa; it's one we always support and enjoy along with other expats.

Funds, much-needed, go to the parish retirement home. As we enter our eighth decade, the importance of such institutions is borne in on us.

PS. I spent half of Thursday afternoon with our accountants and the rest delving through old files. I was not aware that the Financas now requires knowledge of any fund, bond and share sales in the previous financial year, along with details of their purchase.

In short, tax payers are required to complement information supplied to the tax department by the banks. This is hard work because I never had reason to record these details, cent and dime investors that we are.

Letter from Espargal: 17 July 2015

JONES COOLS ONO WITH A GLASS OF COLD WATER

Every July, as temperatures creep up towards C40*, I dream of commuting to some cooler clime with all the animals until autumn brings relief. The principal obstacle to this dream is an appropriate win on the Euromillions; this week's prize of €4.13 doesn't do the trick.

Heat does not agree with me. It promotes trickling perspiration and itchy midriffian bumps, leaving me irritated and aggrieved. Such relief as is available can be found only in the bedroom - site of our sole air conditioner - or in front of the fan in the study.

MELLO TAKES A DIP AFTER A WALK

The car thermometer was still registering C34* on Wednesday night as we returned from Loule's summer fair on the large cobbled square below the courthouse. These fairs have a certain sameness about them. One can dine at benches laid out around the restaurant kiosks, inspect the hopeful (often hopeless) handicraft, entertain the kids at the playground, listen to the amplified and agonised fado singer on the centre stage or simply watch the people watching people. The whole family comes - parents, children and babes - and often with dogs, which ours delight in meeting.

THAT FEELS MUCH BETTER

Several kiosks are run by needy associations that assist the council's disabled residents. We are familiar with the good work done by some of these on shoe-string budgets.

To support them we seek out a purchasable item or two at their stalls, inevitably something crafted by their wards.

This can be a challenge as the standard is not always very high.

On Wednesday we came across a painting that we liked at the UNIR stall.

It was on offer at €15.

The artist, a sufferer from epilepsy, was not present.

We were impressed by his efforts and happy to pay €20 for his work.

It joins several other disabled works of art on our walls, acquired at previous fairs and not easily distinguishable from the abled ones.

While waiting for Barbara I sowed confusion at the raffle stall by splurging on "rifas", 20 cents each or 6 for a euro. Rifas, google-translated as raffle tickets, are rolled up bits of paper, some of which are stamped with a number entitling the purchaser to a corresponding item on the stall.

I had two girls and their mother busy unwrapping rifas for the best part of 10 minutes as they tried to associate the numbers with the prizes.

Most of my winnings I donated back to the stall, keeping only a decorated bottle and wrist-strap.

On Tuesday evening we joined neighbours at the Adiafa restaurant just outside Boliqueime to celebrate a couple of birthdays - Barbara's included.

The restaurant provides good food inexpensively and manages just the right kind of "I'll be with you in a second" atmosphere.

The venue is popular with both locals and visitors, the latter especially in the evenings. The two waitresses dash about trying to keep everybody happy. It's not an easy job.

One can dine inside or out. We dined in. It was too hot out.

ONE OF LLEWELLYN'S FLOWERS

Barbara was pleased with the gifts that she received to celebrate the occasion. For my part, I gave her a nearly-birthday flower book about a month ago, a very nice one.

Her gifts included a set of greeting cards that had been prepared on the computer from photos that Llewellyn and Lucia took in the garden during their recent visit.

The photos really compliment the garden and the cards are superb.

Monday, as is now our routine, we fed Ginger the cat at May's house before visiting May herself at the nursing home.

She has a lovely spacious room with a view over the countryside. But she was unhappy at what she perceives as her exile and wanted to return home.

She didn't seem to understand why she was currently incapable of independent living. Barbara tried to explain as best she could.

I made two stops en route, the first at the computer store to seek Silverio's assistance to reconfigure an "intermittent" email account on my iPad. The account worked at times of its own choosing, even though I'd configured it just the same way as I'd done successfully on similar devices. Even Silverio had to scratch his head. But he found a solution - he nearly always does.

My other stop was at the nearby arms shop to get a new supply of catapult elastics.. The assistant helpfully ripped the old snapped elastic from the catapult frame and siliconed a new one into place, advising me to allow the silicone to dry.

In truth, I have been making little use of the catapult of late (to fire midnight almond nuts in the direction of the barking orphans). The little dogs have more or less settled down in their new (much larger) pen (known as the rocky pen) above Casa Nada. We occasionally used to confine the dogs there when we had visitors.

In spite of our extensive efforts to make the area escape-proof Sparky has been reappearing at the house, ever so pleased with herself, moments after being confined, leaving her frustrated companions to bemoan their abandonment. Until, that is, I raised the fencing at the most likely escape points.

So far so good. But I wouldn't put it past Sparky to find a new way out. She's a proper Houdini.

My Ukrainian workers were back last weekend to continue cementing the base of the exterior fence that encircles the park. I hope they'll conclude the job on Saturday. The orphans now spend nearly all their time within the property, except when they join us and the official dogs on morning and evening walks in the "mato".

(Evening walks have been cancelled this month in view of the heat. We have a pee and poo stroll to the upper gate and back instead.)

RAYMOND'S LAMP

Thank you to the many correspondents who wrote to express their sympathy at our loss of Raymond. We miss him so.

We have set up a solar lamp, one of Barbara's birthday gifts, in Mary's garden for his soul to inhabit. When we watch it flickering at night, we somehow feel his presence still at our feet.

He occupied a lot of space in our lives. Like Mary he will live on in our hearts.

WEARING A SCARF FROM ANN AND A NECKLACE MADE BY CAROL

We are giving some thought to October when our house-sitters are due down to look after the zoo. I quite fancy a cruise. Jones wants a quiet inexpensive holiday (i.e. no flights or cruises).

She likes the idea of a car tour around the Portuguese winelands and/or a visit to Barcelona. I'd like to go to Barcelona too. Google is working overtime. Maybe we can find a cheap wineland cruise that ends up in Barcelona.

Letter from Espargal: 10 July 2015

BIRDS BATHING IN MARY'S GARDEN

This hasn't been a great week, where-ever or whenever it started. It was somewhere in South Africa where I had travelled to visit my brother, Brendan, and family.

I arrived to hear that Brendan's son and the latter's partner, Julene, had been struck down by flu - a particularly pernicious variety that had laid them both low. Additionally, Julene was suffering from a kidney stone, a condition that required minor surgery. Within a day my brother also fell prey to the lurgy. He was racked with coughing fits as he lay back in his recliner in the lounge, hardly able to move.

I stayed with him three days. But finding that there was little I could do for him and in danger of joining him, I fled his house before I too fell into flu's embrace. The bug was not one whose effects I wanted to suffer myself - especially while travelling - nor to share with anyone else.

After an earlier than planned overnight stay with Barbara's brother, Robbie, and wife Carol, I brought my flight forward a day to Sunday and came home.

ROBBIE AND CAROL JONES AND FAMILY

My one achievement was to find the owner of a mobile phone that had been left in a plastic box at security. When a security officer asked me if it were mine, I held it in the air and yelled "MOBILE PHONE" very loudly, drawing the attention of the whole security hall. I am blessed with an unnecessarily loud voice (as Barbara often reminds me). In this instance, it reached the owner who came hurrying back to reclaim her phone.

Portuguese Railways - on my return to Portugal - exchanged my Tuesday ticket to Loule for one on Monday afternoon. Fintan fetched me from Loule station that evening. The sun beat off the platform with a fierce and unwelcome intensity, my first real encounter with the sizzling northern summer since emerging from air-conditioned cocoons.

Jonesy and the dogs were very pleased to see me. In fact they were overjoyed; one of the good things about dogs is that they don't hide their feelings. You know when you're missed. For her part, Jones had had a busy time in my absence, trying to tend both beasts and garden in the heat. She did a great job.

In my absence Vitor, the village mechanic, had seen to the annual service of my car. Additionally, he had run the car down to the nearby panel-beaters to remove two mini-dings that had been put into the car's rear wings by malicious poles, the sort that leap up at the last moment. So I found the car in its delivery glory, looking like a restored virgin, with no trace of carnal experience. I was happy to pay the bill.

Tuesday's a bit of a blur. I know I went for a physio session with Jonesy at midday. I was able to report that my back had stood up well to the travel in both directions - a huge blessing.

We lunched on the patio of the snackbar at Funchais, halfway home from Loule. The dogs panted at our feet. Temps have been in the upper 30s for much of the week. Lunch at Funchais is always a glass of wine along with a tomato and ham sandwich, garnished with oreganum and spread with olive oil. There are no better sandwiches, even if one has to discourage the flies and the occasional bee.

Wednesday we went to visit May, who is now resident in the Monte da Palhagueira nursing home 15 minutes north of Loule. We stopped at her house en route to feed her cat, Ginger, and to collect a couple of items for her.

At the nursing home, I left Barbara to chat to her while I asked the nursing staff how she was getting on. She is suffering from a degree of dementia and is still unable to walk unaided.

Thursday we took Raymond back to the vet. Before I travelled south he had developed a swelling beneath his eye, a condition for which the vet had given us anti-biotic pills. But, as was apparent on my return, the pills did nothing to reduce the swelling.

Close examination indicated a cancerous tumour in his upper jaw - although the dog had shown no other signs of discomfort or ill health. The vet put the likelihood of malignancy at 90 per cent. Given the choice of waiting for analysis of the tumour or putting the dog down immediately - he had already been tranquilised - I chose the latter.

I hope I did right. I hope that someone may one day be as merciful to me if I am in the same position.

The dogs are our family to all intents and purposes.

I tell Jones that it's better we mourn them than they mourn us.

My big dog will never know how many tears we shed for him.

RIP Raymond, where-ever big dogs go when they die.

Friday: the birds are having a party around the bird-feeder and at both the upper and lower bird baths.

As you may see we have placed clay bowls on top of the tree trunk supports, either side of the path. We started out simply putting bird seed directly on to the feeder that our neighbour, Michael, made for us.

But the ants soon found it and cleaned out every single scrap.

Now - to frustrate the ants - the bowl holding the seed sits inside another bowl filled with water.

We plan to go for a drive somewhere. Tomorrow is Jones's birthday.

Unlike me, she enjoys her birthdays. She says age is just a number.

I guess that's one way of looking at it.

But I suspect it's a bit like golf.

Too high a score and you're in danger of missing the cut.