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.