The mid-30s temps that I left behind in the UK at the end of last month have arrived in Iberia with a vengeance. But hot or not, there was work to be done. I girded my loins.
Saturday: The first task was to attend to the leak in the water supply pipe. It was Slavic who did most of the fixing. As we suspected, the T-joint had developed a hairline crack. You won't believe how much water can escape through a hairline crack. Jones was delighted to have water flowing from the taps again, rather than having to fetch it from the cisterna, a bucket at a time.
Sunday evening we joined the Masseys at Sao Bras fair - always a favourite of ours. The tractors in the background are Kubotas. They have an excellent reputation. Although my tractor is a Kioti, it has a Kubota engine, something I point out to aficionados. Oh, yes, that's Fintan and Pauline with winsome granddaughter, Chloe, down from Dublin. Chloe and I discussed the best chat-up lines for pensioners (to avoid such responses as: "Piss off grandpa; I'm not into OAPs). Jones needs no introduction.
Monday we ran around. Vodafone explained why they had been charging me a lot of money; Leroy Merlin exchanged the tap-fittings that hadn't fitted and provided us with a branch-lopper to replace the one that fell off the tractor when I went to Benafim to fetch the strimmer; the vet sold us some more muti for Russ's infected ears - and so on. Jones has been treating Russ twice a day (while I encourage him to sit still, awaiting a treat); Russ is a particularly earie dog.
Also on Monday the UK authorities sent me a police certificate saying I hadn't done anything wrong (or, at least, I hadn't been convicted). They're quibbling over Jones's because her pension slip, proving she lives in Portugal, lacks the street address. We've tried to explain that until recently the house didn't have a street address. (The streets were named and houses numbered just a few years back.) Meanwhile we've entered for the Portuguese language exams later in the year. The Brexit news is particularly depressing.
On Tuesday we picked lots of plums. That's Jones up a plum tree, partially obscured by the tractor roll-bar and partially by the branches. As I was coming back home from a delivery run on the tractor, a small military armoured car approached from the opposite direction. A female soldier was standing in the turret. I saluted her. She saluted back. Once I did military service too; it's not a period that I remember with affection.
Wednesday I was grateful for an appointment with Jodi. If I am reincarnated, I am going to re-emerge in a species without a backbone - not that the options are attractive. It was too hot to leave Prickles in the car. He came with me into Jodi's rooms. The car thermometer registered C40*. Central Portugal and parts of Spain are expected to peak closer to C50* today and tomorrow.
Wednesday evening we gathered at Armenio's art gallery and museum for a convivial hour. Afterwards Armenio demonstrated some of the liquors that had sustained members of his generation after a hard day's work. Chloe spluttered over a thimble of baggy, expressing doubts that anyone would drink the stuff on purpose. Jonesy assured her that with practice it came quite easily. She should know.
The star attraction was the antique rodent trap, a box whose heavy lid could be raised in order to descend guillotine-like on the head of its unfortunate victim. Several demonstrations of its efficacy were required to satisfy the general curiosity.
Later that evening Armenio came round with a box full of aubergines, a favourite Jones delicacy. We've been eating aubergines steadily for two nights. So, I suspect, have several of our neighbours.
MORNING WALK VISTAThursday we topped up our baggy supplies, renewed our animal larder and lunched at the Hamburgo while Natasha set about the house. Then we hurried home to seek air-conditioned siesta relief.
IN THE PARK
We are still walking the hills in the morning but in the evenings we merely meander around the park. It's just too hot! Roll on autumn!
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