Letter from Espargal: 28 October 2016

Monday: Visitors to Portugal might be forgiven for thinking that the Asian monsoon had somehow blundered into Iberia. For once the weather bureau's dire warnings rang true. The late afternoon rain pelted down like the Niagaran torrent, the thunderous heavens flashing with the rage of the gods. Two seconds beyond the protection of the patio roof was all it took for the deluge to dunk one.

The dogs didn't like it one little bit. Neither did we, crouching together for comfort that evening around the glowing wood-burning stove. Apart from the heavenly theatricals, we sat in silence. I'd ripped the plugs out to protect our electronics.

For better or worse, we'd agreed to dine at the Hamburgo with friends who were staying with Idalecio. They were to come with us. The question was how. They'd be inundated walking from their cottage to the car, brollies or not. In the end they took their car to our gates but got soaked anyhow as they scrambled across to us. The rain roared like an angry beast as it poured down. We could hardly credit its force. We've had four inches in as many days. In the Atlantic the tempest pounded the Portuguese islands with waves of up to 15 metres. Seems we got out of Madeira just in time. Summer is well and truly over.

Tuesday: The day dawned damp and grey. For once the dogs showed no inclination to move. We had a rare late morning, listening to the second Reith lecture. I was fascinated by the first a week ago and found the second just as interesting.

The speaker is Kwame Anthony Appiah, a philosopher and academic of multi-national extraction; his theme is "Mistaken Identities" - what makes us who we are. He's excellent. For any who might be interested, the first two lectures are now available on the BBC iPlayer or on BBC Radio4 podcasts.

JONES DAWN
The sun showed its face middayish, long enough for us to take the dogs on a refreshing (somewhat muddy) hike through the hills while Natasha set about the house. Then the rain returned, more gently this time.


1935 - DATE ABOVE THE DOORWAY OF CASA NADA
In the afternoon I spent an hour with our lawyers discussing ways to register Casa Nada, the old house on our property. A previous attempt to legitimise it with (incompetent) agency assistance resulted only in its registration with the finance department, who were delighted to start taxing it. We're under no pressure to pull the house down. The problem is that without the necessary papers, we will never be able to sell it - and it's an integral part of the estate.


PROJECTED THIRD RUNWAY - UPPER LEFT
The UK government's dubious plan to build a third runway at Heathrow airport (in the face of stiff political resistance) is all the news. I'll believe it when I see it - if I grow that old.


BLOOD LILIES
Wednesday:  Wednesday afternoon I spent in a dentist's chair undergoing root canal treatment. It wasn't fun although it wasn't particularly painful either - after the fifth injection. Jones, who endured several long sessions last year, offered me her sympathy when I emerged. She hadn't much enjoyed the experience either, she confided as we walked the dogs back to the car. I reflected that we were among the lucky few per cent with access to such treatment and should be grateful rather than rueful.

I administered anti-parasitic pills to the three orphans. Although two of the three will now allow us to fondle them, they instinctively pull away at any attempt to restrain them or to dose them with protective drops. The two girls have long since rid themselves of the collars that were attached while they were being spayed. It was Anne (our house sitter) who brought Bravecto pills to our attention. They claim to keep dogs free of fleas and ticks for up to three months. As the orphans share baskets with the rest of the (collar-wearing) gang, I thought it worthwhile - although I did gasp at the price, €27 a time.

ARCHIVE PICTURE
Thursday: I spent a couple of hours with a neighbour chain-sawing our mountain of summer-dried boughs into useful lengths of firewood before delivering them to his yard.

On our walk we came across flying ants emerging from nests and setting about whatever adventures await them. The ground was peppered with holes like a culender. How, I wondered, did the little creatures prepare the exits beforehand. We had walked down the paths concerned scores of times without seeing any hint of the bustling life beneath it. Speaking of which, nature's annual green miracle is underway. A billion dormant seeds have sprung to life, thrusting twin-leaves up to the light.

A visiting dog has been upsetting our lot. He's medium-sized, well-built and confident - and he wears a collar. Fortunately, there's a fence between him and us although we could easily bump into him while out walking. At first we thought he might be a stray but his manner belies this. Jones has been phoning around in a bid to discover his owner. No luck thus far.

Thursday night:
We returned from supper with the gang at the Hamburgo to a rousing welcome from the dogs - who had kept themselves amused in our absence. My poor Jones groaned at the demise of yet another cushion!