In my experience some days come around more frequently than others. Whereas once Mondays were frequent visitors, now it's Fridays that pop up unexpectedly with a little "we're back" smirk. You might think that we would welcome a few extra Fridays in our lives. However, as shift workers we were hardly aware of the day of the week. And, naturally, once one retires, one waves goodbye to weekends, sick-leave and all the other perks that workers enjoy. Now Friday means I have to think of something to say.
There is a popular notion amongst the ignorant that retirement brings a chance to sit back and put your feet up. It's a fallacy. Retirement means simply that all sorts of things you never imagined land on your plate and you are expected to do them all for free.
Yesterday, for example, we had to get up at sparrows to walk the dogs before I shot into Loule to lead Paulo the plumber to Natasha's apartment. I've been chasing him for months to do something about her leaking loo cisterns. His reply is always to the effect that he's busy this week, maybe next week. At least it was until last week. The trouble is that he prefers the occasional big jobs he gets on building projects to piece work for neighbours - understandably so.
VALERIAN
After replacing the old plastic loo cisterns and servicing the gas heater at the apartment, he came around here to fix a leaking bathroom joint in Casa Nada, for all of which we were grateful. In the evening Natasha phoned to say that there was a problem with the gas heater. So Paulo was back there again this morning. He assures me that it's now sorted.
Most of my Thursday and much of my week has gone into strimming the army of weeds that have set up camp on our fields. I was making satisfactory progress until the screwcap on the strimming head took itself off somewhere in mid-strim, along with the flailing nylon cords.
Finding no trace of it, I took the strimmer into town on the tractor to seek a new head and some advice on attaching a metal disc (better suited to taking out the 2-metre high rear guard of daisies). Helio's machine-repair shop was still closed, with a dubious "back later" note permanently riveted to his metal door. Fortunately, Jose Faisca at the hardware shop was pleased to assist.
Jones has had a gardening week, that's to say "another gardening week" with an eye to Robbie and Carol's impending visit. For my part, I've been trying to leave the best of the daisies, poppies and vinka clumps unstrimmed for our benefit and that of passers by, a challenging task given the jungle of entwined pricklies, triffids and weedy asylum seekers among the flowers.
In-between times we have entertained and been entertained by our visiting friends, Mike and Lyn. He proved a dab hand at the villa bbq one evening, albeit with his wife's saucy assistance. A cat that was keeping an eye on proceedings turned out to be the mother of four tiny kittens deposited in a bush in the garden. Jones has taken down cat nibbles to sustain the beast.
Another evening we dined - for only the second time in years - at the Alte Hotel, a hostelry situated on the hill overlooking the town, with a magnificent view from the patio across the Algarve plain to the sea. On the previous occasion, we waited an hour for our food, a duration that I considered excessive and said so. The waitress replied that all their food was fresh and took time to prepare - too much time altogether; we voted with our feet.
On this second occasion, a cold wind was blowing and the sepia view was uninspiring so we decided to dine inside rather than out. Diners were few. The wine was excellent and the food both tasty and prompt. Maybe we'll go back.
I wish that we could report the same degree of satisfaction with our favourite news and discussion programmes, all of which have been infected by Brexit fever - worse than the plague. It's nigh on impossible to tune into UK channels without being afflicted by a ranting visionary for leaving the EU or a missionary for staying. A public crying out for facts is having its ears stuffed with lurid fantasies as both sides do their utmost to woo voters.
CONVULVULUS
Most annoying is a particular pundit, a man who closes his mouth as seldom as he opens his mind, a fellow who drives me to profanity. I tend to sit with the zapper in one hand - finger poised on the mute button - and my iPad in the other, generally playing Freecell. To my credit I have completed the first 2,500 games (only twice having to seek assistance online). It has been said that the game helps to defer the onset of dementia, a view with which Jones might well take issue.
WILD PEONIES
Mike - returning to our visitors - has left me with his mobile Uniden radio-traffic scanner to tune in to conversations between aircraft and Faro tower. He has a bigger unit at his home on the Isle of Wight. The exchanges are so heavily-accented short and sharp that they take some listening to. I'm getting the hang of it.
THE WHITE STRAY THAT WE FEED AT THE ALTO FICA CORNER
Like me, Mike loves planes. It runs in my family and Barbara's. Her brother was a pilot in the RAF. My brother, Kevin, once ran an airline. His son became a pilot. I tried but the air force (perhaps fortunately) didn't recognise my talents. My best mate in the air force gymnasium flew his Harvard trainer into the ground when the engine failed a few weeks into his course. The plane had a reputation for gliding like a brick.
That's enough reminiscing for one week. May is nearly upon us. The mozzies are back, along with the occasional tick. I've been looking for any water lurking in pots and buckets and tipping the larvae into the garden with a "try that" exclamation. I'm for "live" and "let live" but only up to a point.
ERIGERON
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