Letter from Espargal: 20 September 2018

Here follows a tale somewhat convoluted in parts, one from which you may opt out at any point and will probably want to.



Some time ago Barbara broke a tiny ceramic candle holder that she was using to hold saline solution used to clean Russ's ears. It was a memento of a long-ago trip to Austria, an object that had grown in nostalgic value over the years. She was upset. With some contact glue, paste and a deal of fiddling I was able to do a dubious Humpty Dumpty patch.



I then set about trying to find an identical replacement. The first task - with the assistance of a magnifying glass and camera - was to make out the minute inscription on the back -  Funny Design. Lengthy internet searches revealed only one seller - in the USA - offering identical models, a package of five that I bought on eBay for some $12. Postage, customs etc rather upped the price but not beyond the cost of a modest meal for two.



eBay, to its credit, sent me regular emails over the next few weeks detailing the progress of the parcel as it crept across the US, navigated the Atlantic, cleared customs and made it way to Spain. The Spanish couriers emailed me to say the item would be delivered by the Portuguese post office. It wasn't.



So I chased it up - in vain! The tracking service didn't track. The help-line didn't answer. The call-back service didn't call back. After some days I gave up the struggle. It was just too emotionally exhausting.



Then out of the blue the post office called to say the parcel could be collected at its centre in Loule,  at which I duly presented myself. Jones has struck out my description of the zombie-like post office scene - limbo of the living dead - as too long. In short, I eventually got my package.



Back home I introduced a replacement to Russ's ear cleaning equipment and set up the others with their accompanying candles on the bookshelf over Jones's desk. Jones is pleased although I am forbidden to repeat the exercise.



It turns out that the post office courier couldn't find the house although directions could have been obtained from any neighbour. Sigh!



If you're still there, you should know that this mini-drama has not occupied the entire week. Among our accomplishments, Slavic and I removed the old curtaining from the sides of the carport and painted the structure.



The task required us to work around numerous creepers and shrubs. Jones is much happier with the open aspect. Decorations aside, we have spent long hours caring for and coping with Prickles who grows more persnickety by the day.



We have gone for our annual check ups. We have gathered numerous sweaty tubs of carobs. We have picked and consumed a great many plums and figs. I have tightened my belt by a (w)hole notch and seen the last of Ono's memorial bottle of Talisker whisky. (I am tempted to make an early investment in a bottle of Prickles memorial whisky, more to survive him than to remember him!)



On a visit the hardware shop in Benafim I was astonished to see (attached to a board behind the counter) the pair of expensive loppers that I had lost some months earlier. They had toppled off the back of the tractor when I hit a bump, unbeknown to me - a cause of much subsequent distress. It seems that the shop owner had come across them on the road and taken them home in the hope that the owner might well recognise them - as indeed the owner did. It quite made my day.



One evening we joined the Cusacks at the Hamburgo for a meal distinguished by the arrival at the table of a hunk of beef known as a tomahawk, sufficient to feed the five thousand. That's Daniela, the waitress, preparing to carve it. Diners at adjacent tables were as impressed as we were. (OK, that's enough accomplishments for one week!)


BRIAN & NANCY: APRIL 2018 VISIT
This coming Monday evening Nancy and Brian, Barbara's former NBC colleagues, are due down here for ten days to take care of the ranch. We'll spend a couple of days going through the ropes with them before handing over the reins and heading to Madeira for a week.



Also on the road are Llewellyn and Lucia who have sold their London home and are relocating - dogs and all - to Lisbon.



Lucia, whose job entails frequent travels, will continue to work for her employer, just from a different base. The couple are Portugal enthusiasts and frequent visitors to the country.



So there, my time is up. Under the circumstances there will be no blog this coming week. Back in October.

FIM

Letter from Espargal: 15 September 2018

HOUSE OF YESTERYEAR
Although it's only on rare occasions that this blog assumes to offer advice to its readers, today is one such. As you may well imagine, the following modest suggestions are based on well-researched real life experiences.



The first of these is to ensure, when alighting from a vehicle, that all your digits are safely out of the way before closing the door. The penalty for a careless exit can be severe. Should the door close prematurely, observers may notice - as you wave your hand about - that the air is turning as blue as the offended digit.



The second hint concerns supermarket shopping. Should you become aware that the yogurt pots in your trolley are of an unusual brand and size, it's likely that you have absent-mindedly walked off with another shopper's trolley. In this event, hasten to find the irritated shopper and return the trolley with abject apologies. (Jonesy says the woman concerned was not in the least amused.)



My final hint is not to accept a hot cup of tea from your spouse as you are settling back on the couch with a dog on your lap after a good dinner. You may well find, as you drift off in front of the TV, that the cup in your hand tips to one side, scalding the dog. The beast will leap off your lap, spilling the the rest of the tea over your crotch.



We note the advice from the health authorities in the UK that middle-aged people, who are most likely to consume excessive amounts of alcohol, should observe at least two alcohol-free days a week. In our view this is good advice and we heartily recommend our middle-aged acquaintance to follow it. As I pointed out to Jones over a sundowner baggy, the authorities had nothing to say about pensioners. Just a small top-up, thank you.



Our old electronic bathroom scales, which we never really figured out, have given up the ghost. The manual strongly advises users not to fiddle with the electronics but to seek the services of a qualified technician - faint chance! The new scales are also electronic but rather simpler to use. (They come with an audio function that I have muted.) However, they can't decide whether I am approximately 92 or 94 kilograms.  I am going with the lesser reading.



As you will notice in the photo, holes have been chewed in the pockets of (at least) two of my "walking" shirts. These break-ins take place when we are out and a sweaty post-walk shirt is drying over the back of a chair on the south patio. The guilty party is undoubtedly Mini, who is intent on the treat that remains in the pocket. As to the moral of the story; thank you but I have worked it out for myself.



Which brings us on to Prickles - who went back to the vet for further evaluation. After studying the x-ray that was taken by his partner last month, Carlos concluded that what appeared to be a tumour might just be an intestine. He thinks that Prickles's symptoms are really just typical of his advanced age. Our little dog continues on cortisone, as curmudgeonly and full of canine contumely as ever. In spite of this, Jones treats him with saintly patience, patê and chicken slices.



One evening I had a magical few minutes in the park as I took the dogs for their evening leg-lifters. A flock of swallows (?) was swooping around us, ducking and diving in effortless wing-dipping elegance. I assume that they were catching insects invisible to my eye. Their aerial display was both serene and surreal. I briefly experienced a powerful sense of being blessed - until nudged by the dogs, whose interest was in treats, not avian antics.


JONES AND CATS AT THE TALEFE
When she gets the chance of an evening, Jones heads up to the talefe (hilltop trig point) 100 metres away for a few minutes of quiet reflection. She is often followed by our black cats, Squinty and Braveheart, who seem to enjoy the occasion as much as she does.



On Wednesday, as we were lunching outside at the Hamburgo, a woman approached our table. Apologising for the intrusion, she inquired in an American accent whether we lived in Espargal. Indeed, we did. "Are you perchance the blogger?" she inquired further. When I pleaded guilty, she confessed that her daughter back in Pennsylvania was a great fan of the blog and never missed a chapter. Daughter, I should add, was said to be in her 30s and a mother herself. So we took a picture while I savoured the heady onset of literary fame. (PS: Prickles was on the far end of the dog lead.)


FIM

Letter from Espargal: 8 September 2018

Our week has been occupied largely by walking dogs, shopping, picking carobs, caring for Prickles and attending to water leaks. Given that there's only so much that can usefully be said on these topics, and it's all been said at length several times, I struggle for blog inspiration.


ON THE CORK WALK WITH PRICKLES
Our little dog shows no imminent signs of expiring (although I've been tempted to help him along the way). He emits ear-shattering barks mid-morning for a ride in the car and at any other time for reasons known only to himself. He's as curmudgeonly as always and fussier than ever about his food (which he often throws up).  Jones is infinitely patient with him. He has no idea how lucky he is.



On Wednesday we helped Natasha prepare a notice advertising the six kittens that her cat has produced. She will ask the vet to display it when she takes the cat to be neutered. She doesn't expect an overwhelming response. Advertising kittens in this part of the world is a bit like marketing haggis to vegetarians. One can but hope.



On Thursday a man arrived from the council to check our water meter. I've no doubt that he was dispatched because of our sky-high bills these past two months. "You've got a leak," he told me, pointing to the meter. "I've already had it fixed," I told him. "Then you've got another one," he responded; "better attend to it". "Sign here" - and off he went.



It was true. We did have another leak. By opening and closing various valves, we ascertained that it was in a section of tubing leading to Casa Nada. I closed it off. Jones started removing a creeper that had been colonising stone paving above the water course. I had no doubt that the leak was in that vicinity.



The dogs watched in fascination, coming over every so often to sniff around the exposed area. The crazy things that humans get up to!



On Saturday Slavic set to work, removing the stones over the suspect elbow. That also meant removing the tree-trunk sculpture (infested by angry ants) and a number of Jones's succulents. When we eventually uncovered the elbow (an hour later) there was no sign of a leak.



So back the soil, the stone paving, the trunk and the succulents went. Our labour was for nothing. (What's more we had to find a new home for the large rock that refused to go back, as well as another willing to replace it.)



Further investigation on the far side of the paving revealed the problem, yet another fractured T-joint. It had been hidden behind plants and the water had been running down through the protective sheath, underneath the paving, to irrigate the area on the far side.



So now the leak is fixed. Jones has meanwhile donated a carpet of her green creeper to a (hopefully appreciative) neighbour. We went down on the tractor. I took the opportunity to point out the faults with the artistic carport that was under construction. Nothing like spoiling somebody's day! (How to win friends and influence people!)



In the course of the week I acquired a Samsung headset for my use (I like to listen to the radio on our walks) and a pair of Apple air buds for Barbara's (she tunes in during her dawn reflections). The air buds (Apple's description) are as good as the reviews suggest. I could not get my headset to work. It paired with my phone but remained silent. I took it back and exchanged it for another. I can't get that to work either.



We have been eating a lot of plums and figs. There are many more ripening on our trees. I start to wonder if we were wise to plant and graft so many. There's a limit to the amount of fruit that one can safely consume or find grateful takers for.



At least there's baggy time to look forward to, and a lick of Prickles' paté to go around.


YUCCA IN FLOWER