Letter from Espargal: 26 April 2019

ESPARGAL STANDING STONES
It would not come as a great surprise to anyone familiar with the household that animals have been at the forefront of our lives this past week. (For that matter, at the mid-front and the rear-front as well.)



For instance, there's Jack, who interrupted a phone conversation with my brother, to give chase to Squinty, who was approaching the house.  As I said to Barbara afterwards, Squinty's ok but he's a lucky cat. His survival may owe itself to the half-empty can of (alcohol-free) beer that I hurled at Jack, putting the dog off his stride. In the event, neither animal suffered any harm.



I should add that apart from his cat-fancying proclivities, Jack is proving to be a sweet-natured, unagressive soul who fits in easily with the rest of the gang. If only he were not quite so big, strong, vigorous and demanding. When the rest of us flop down after a walk through the hills, Jack makes it clear that he still wants to play. Barbara spends half an hour throwing things for him to fetch and I take him for a bespoke evening circuit of the block. But neither of us has yet succeeded in tiring him.



Jack is not the only visitor who's been demanding our attention. Ratty now makes flagrantly  impudent visits to the bird feeder as soon as breakfast arrives, lingering over his meal. He's obese, having doubled in size these past few weeks. (Jones says this is an exaggeration!) At first he would flee the scene when she clapped her hands at the patio door. These days he continues feeding until she's within spitting distance of the bird feeder. At that point he leaps down into the garden or merely ducks underneath the platform until she returns to the house.



Jones has tried her best, without success, to interest Pally in rat-hunting. The rest of the pack hardly look up when the rodent arrives. They seem to regard him as part of the household which, to all intents and purposes, he is. What he doesn't know is that his rotund figure may shortly present an easy target. (Although I refer to ratty as "he", he may well be a she; no offence is intended to gender-sensitive souls.)


STOCK PHOTO: MARITIME MUSEUM
Speaking of which, we hear that the Scottish Maritime Museum in Irvine is to stop referring to ships as "she" because its signs are being defaced.  In future, all the museum's ships will become gender-neutral "its" to overcome the objections of the overalls-clad militia who feel that the use of female pronouns for vessels objectifies women. Her Maj will be able to launch a fine ship with a bottle of champers, proclaiming I name it Elizabeth......  Sad!


YVES, CORRALLING HIS DOGS
Back to the beasts! Another diversion, loudly heralded by our dogs, was the arrival of this pair at our gate. The visitors were both young dogs that were recently adopted by Yves, a neighbour. He'd been out walking with them when they decided to go awol, a phenomenon that we know well. With plentiful inducements and a little assistance from us, Yves managed to entice the pair back into his van.


MINI (the) MOUTH
Still on beastly news, we got back one evening from the Hamburgo (where we had supped with Llewellyn and Lucia, staying with Idalecio over Easter) to find an Easter egg wrapping on the floor. Of its contents there was no sign. Although Mini, whom we'd foolishly left inside the house, didn't actually confess to the crime, she vomited up chocolate for much of the night - fortunately, because chocolate is poisonous to dogs. It's the second such incident. On the last occasion she consumed an entire box of chocolates. Mini's a food obsessive.



From the beasts to the birds. What you see is a nest that was created between the broom visible in the picture and the outside wall against which the broom rested. Of its existence we were completely unaware until I took the broom down to sweep the cobbles. The hole you see was blocked by the wall.



The entrance to/exit from the nest was from the side. We have no idea who occupied it or when but it must have been fairly recently as the broom is in regular use. (Around here, as you may have noticed, we anthropomorphise nature's companions without apology.) Jonesy suggested that I put the broom back on the rack against the wall but I don't doubt that its resident has flown.


NO MORE PICTURES!
Wednesday evening we sat down to shell fava beans, gifts from two Portuguese neighbours. I love fava beans, whether served hot or cold. And since we neglected to sow any ourselves, we're all the more grateful for those we've been given. (Yes, there are rather a lot of photos featuring my wife this week. Sometimes, that's just the way the cookie crumbles.)



Thursday morning: Jones and ratty arrived simultaneously at the bird feeder. It's hard to know who got the bigger surprise. Jones hurried back to the house, grabbed the unfortunate Squinty and thrust him under the bird feeder with instructions to do his duty. In fairness to the cat, he did have a sniff around before he declared himself a vegetarian pacifist and returned to his chair in the living room.


CELESTE CAEIRO
Today, Thursday April 25, is a public holiday, the most important of the year. It commemorates the 1974 Carnation Revolution that ended half a century of authoritarian rule in Portugal. It also heralded Portugal's withdrawal from its African colonies. The name derives from the carnations that a pacifist restaurant worker, Celeste Caeiro, handed out to soldiers lining the street. The peaceful revolution marked the (somewhat shaky) start of democratic government in the country. Every Portuguese city and town has a street named April 25.



Midday brought a welcome phone call from easyJet - in response to my letter to the CEO - confirming that the company will recompense Natasha for the cost of a hostel room for the night. A pleasant young man, having satisfied himself that my letter was genuine, asked me kindly to forward her bank details and promised to do the rest. Hats off to easyJet.



Thursday afternoon: The local painter arrived to take a look at a side wall of the house where the paint is blistering and bubbling. The wall also has several cracks that need attention. He reckons the problem arises from a rubber paint that was put on years ago before the wall was repainted with an emulsion. The solution - in due course - involves high pressure hosing, followed by a primer and a new coat.



I write at the end of a pleasantly damp week. It's not that we actually enjoy the rain or muddy walks, it's just that Portugal, especially the Algarve, is suffering a severe drought. Summer looms and with it the annual wildfire nightmare. Weeds are now sprouting from the stony bed of the Algibre and my oak trees are dying. We need rain, every drop we can get.



Sufficient unto the day.

Letter from Espargal: 19 April 2019

One way and another this has been an interesting week. On Tuesday, for instance, we visited our kitchen suppliers to finalise details of the planned kitchen alterations. To describe our kitchen as compact is being generous; we'll be glad with a bit more space and so, we suspect, may any future purchaser.



I should interrupt my narrative to say that the kitchen suppliers had arrived without warning at our gate early one morning last week, together with the builder, to inspect the premises. The first we knew of their visit was a call I took from them in the bathroom.


PEONIE BEE
Reverting to Tuesday, we spent half an hour discussing the options at the supplier's showrooms. They use software that instantly throws up pictures of alternative arrangements, doing the visualizing for one. The plan is for the builder to remove most of a wall separating the kitchen from the living room, to be replaced by units that will give us more cupboard space and an extended work surface. The work is scheduled for July.



Afterwards, continuing down the main road to a pet supplies store, we noticed queues of cars lining up outside the several service stations we passed. Most unusual! They clearly knew something that we didn't. That something turned out to be a national strike since the weekend by tanker drivers delivering hazardous substances. I wondered, with a tank half full, whether to join the queues.


DIESEL SOLD OUT
But considering the shopping we still had to do, plus a promised lift home to Portuguese neighbour whom we'd dropped off in Loule, I thought better of it. I might add that I keep a couple of jerrycans of diesel in the garage for the tractor as a reserve. (For what it's worth, such containers are also often referred to here in Portugal as "jerricans" although the derivation is lost on the locals.) Under pressure from the authorities the tanker drivers have agreed to keep essential services supplied, with the police supervising deliveries.


JUST FRIENDS
Most of Wednesday morning was devoted to a letter to the CEO of a budget airline - along with copies of relevant correspondence with the company and invoices. Although the sum is trivial, the company is refusing on a technicality to reimburse Natasha for the cost of overnight hostel accommodation following the cancellation of her flight - a flight that I had booked for her and a friend.


FRIDAY MORNING MOON-SET
Their customer services are insisting on a receipt in a different format from the one issued by the hostel - and the hostel, understandably, isn't interested in issuing one. Natasha checked the letter out for any errors.


POISONOUS WILDFLOWER - THAPSIA VILLOSA - "DEADLY CARROT"

We sent it off by registered post on Thursday when we visited Benafim for coffee and last-minute shopping at the local supermarket. At the parish office (cum post office) Barbara learned that the fuel delivery strike had been called off following a compromise struck between the drivers' union and the authorities. With Easter looming and the majority of service stations dry, this was welcome news. The holiday weekend chaos would otherwise have been unimaginable - a point hardly lost on the negotiators.



We were horrified by  the dreadful coach accident on Madeira, where the driver lost control of a tourist vehicle carrying a party of German visitors. The coach rolled down a hill, killing 29 passengers - at last count - and injuring as many again. The authorities suspect brake failure. As both the driver and the tour guide survived the crash, we should hear more shortly.


COMFORTING BARRI
The second half of the week has witnessed a number of showers - nothing like the rain that was promised but enough to soak the vegetation and muddy the paths. Thursday brought rumbles of thunder, a phenomenon that terrifies poor Barri. She trembles with fear and, given the chance, will flee in whatever direction. We keep her indoors and do our best to comfort and reassure her.


Anticipating the rain, I had spent a couple of hours on the tractor turning over the soil in our fields, knee-high in wild flowers and weeds. I should add that the fields are really orchards rather than pastures and that there are still masses of flowers - especially borage - all over the garden and the rest of the property for the bees to exploit.


MY BLACKBIRD
The best part of the ploughing was the company of the blackbird who pecked a living in the upturned soil. He wasn't in the least disturbed by the tractor. Every so often he would hop up into a branch to survey the scene. On previous occasions I have enjoyed the company of robins and egrets. The birds follow along behind the tractor, obviously aware that the plough is turning up meals for them. Their company brings one a sense of elation that's hard to describe - nature's high.


BARBARA (BARRI ON LEAD) & JOHAN
On Thursday afternoon Lennert and Johan joined us for conversation and a beer. Johan wanted to catch up with Jack before returning to Sweden for the summer. The dog, who was delighted to see his master, gamboled around the front patio as we chatted. We kept  an eye on the black clouds wafting overhead, waiting for a sunny gap.



Then we took a slow walk around the hills, brushing off wet branches and occasional light showers while exercising extra care on the slippery rocks. Johan was delighted to see his dog eagerly exploring the countryside as we progressed. I think he's persuaded that Jack will be fine pending his return from Sweden later in the year. The task of integrating the dog with the rest of the gang continues slowly.


A DOG'S LIFE

Letter from Espargal: 12 April 2019

WILDFLOWERS ON THE THE LOWER FIELD
This has been an unusually busy and demanding week although I don't have much to show for it. There are times when effort stays invisible and small tasks demand the greatest endeavour. You will know the feeling. On the picture front you will have to be satisfied with the flora and fauna that occupy much of our lives.



First and foremost, I should report a wonderfully wet weekend. Some two inches of rain relieved a desperately dry spell, sufficient to perk up the wild flowers and the straggle of fava beans in the park if not to revive the Algibre, which lies still stark and stony in the sun.



As much as the rain refreshed the garden, it did us no favours on our walks. And lots of long walks on skiddy paths we took, largely because Jack needed to run free in order to expend his pent-up energy. We let him off the leash as soon as we are out of the gate and on the path. In his hurry to be off, he tends to go through or over any creatures in his way, prompting a chorus of protesting squeals.



Jack's a quick learner. Although he roves widely in the veld, he comes back when (or not long after) he's called. He spends most of the day in his enclosure, although not of his own choosing. We're still working on integrating him with the rest of the pack. Happy as they are to share their walks with Jack, they're not yet ready to share the house with him. And he's still learning that cats are not on the menu. We're taking one day at a time.



While we're on the subject of the beasts, consider for a moment this photo of Dearheart, seated in deepest feline contemplation. What it doesn't make clear is that she is sitting purposefully at the foot of the front-garden bird-feeder. Her unusual stance caught my attention and prompted me to peer through the bars to see what had aroused her interest.


RAT-ARSED?
It didn't take long although I had to look carefully to be sure. Peering down at kitty from the bird-feeder was ratty, evidently wondering about his next move. More to the point, ratty has evidently decided to breakfast in the front garden now that we had rat-proofed the back-garden bird-feeder. I might add that he made a clean get-away. None of our cats have yet earned their ratter badges.


BORAGE
The garden remains knee-deep in winter growth. It's the season when borage occupies whatever spaces it can find, starting out as an innocuous shoot and then exploding like a slow-motion bomb to overshadow all around it. The garden hums with the activity of the bees that love it. In a few weeks, when summer arrives, the borage will die off and the annual vegetation cull will begin. The immediate job is to clear the overgrown paths in the park. I've bought new harnesses for our twin strimmers.



Meanwhile, the pool lies idle. We've yet to sort out the problems with the pump that is straining to circulate water. A plumber spent an hour checking it out one evening. After speaking at some length to two of his mates on the phone, he concluded that issue lies with the filtration sand but he didn't have time to resolve it. The problem awaits Slavic's arrival on Saturday.



More bothersome has been the business of obtaining official documents we need from South Africa. Last week I made the required cash transfer (via Transferwise) to the account in Pretoria, carefully following the embassy's instructions. A day or two later I learned that the amount would be insufficient because of the deduction of bank charges in South Africa.


PHLOMIS AND LAVENDER
On Monday we couriered the documents to Barbara's brother, Robbie, with a   plea to deliver them in person and pay the difference. As Robbie was doing so, Transferwise emailed me to say the fees had been returned to them because of a cock up on the far side. It was hair-pulling-out time! The whole thing has now been dumped in Robbie's lap. How people manage who cannot call upon local help it's impossible to know.


INDEPENDENCE DAY
As for the endless contortions of Brexit, it's like the slow drip drip of Chinese water torture on our heads. It's ridiculous that a drama that's being played out at such a distance should have such an impact. But the issues burn soul-deep. We curse the Brexiteers and cheer the remainers as though they were on stage. Which, in a way, given the immediacy of the media, they are.



Turning to domestic trivia - on the study front, we have been tripping over my handy tripod keyboard support which doesn't store easily. And Jones has drawn my attention to the awkward positioning of the adjacent table with mail trays that blocks access to the patio doors. The table and trays have long provided a useful dumping ground for "later attention" material. But aware of the importance of spousal contentment, I've been doing a lot of sorting and filing prior to rearranging matters.



For her part, Jones, a former librarian, likes to be surrounded by lots of paper. Books come with a certain comfort value, like fluffy jerseys and cuddly toys. The cyber world holds few attractions for her. She is content to dabble on the email and Whatsapp fringes while devoting her efforts to important things like the garden. Fair enough! It's whatever makes you happy. And the garden is a joy, albeit a demanding one.



Thursday lunchtime: Guess who's back. Hmmm!


VIEW, VILLAGE AND VALLEY

Letter from Espargal: 5 April 2019

STRAY TOYS
This week doesn't really have a starting point and I'm not sure where or when it will finish. So I'll pick up last Saturday when Slavic emptied the sand from the pool filter drum and then moved the unit across to the new base we had prepared for it. After re-assembling it, we plugged in the pump and it worked just fine. That's apart from a couple of leaking joints. After tightening the jubilee clips around the joints we again plugged the pump in to find that the pressure needle was now deep in the red band. Very puzzling and still to be resolved.



Sunday we went to a neighbour's house to meet a friend with a dog desperately seeking a home. The dog, Jack, proved to be much bigger than we had anticipated. Hoo boy! Were we wise to agree to accept him later in the week? We also waited for rain that didn't come. For 24 hours Weather Underground moved the arrival hour forward three hours at a time until it gave up completely. On Monday a shower that had got lost barely dampened the cobbles. Also on Monday I taught my last English lesson of the term. Easter looms.



On Tuesday I took the 06.00 flight from Faro to Lisbon in order to present myself at the South African consulate promptly at 08.30 as recommended. I needed to collect birth certificates (with apostille) and to apply for a new passport. The process involved pages of accompanying documentation and required, among other things, the submission of fingerprints and three photos of the applicant minus spectacles. I was deeply grateful for the guidance of a sympathetic official in answering opaque questions. It was over two hours before I got away again. The late afternoon flight brought me back to Faro.



Wednesday Jack arrived. He's two years old, about the same size as Bobby and Russ and very strong. We started out by walking all three twice around the block to give them a chance to get used to each other. Fortunately, Jack is very easy-going. He ignored the hullabaloo from the rest of the gang and hardly noticed when Mello flew in to nip his bottom, her favourite trick. Mello is very fussy about our visitors of whatever species.



For the moment we are keeping Jack in a large enclosure beside Casa Nada. We walk him on a leash with the others in the countryside twice a day. He is a natural hunter and pulls with enormous force when excited. Unfortunately, he seems to regard cats as prime targets. Until such time as we can persuade him otherwise, we can't let him into the house or garden. The idea is that Jack will return to his master when the latter comes back to Portugal in the autumn. Stay tuned!



Thursday Natasha reappeared after a fairly disappointing holiday in Madeira.  Her evening flight from Lisbon to Funchal was cancelled, leaving her and friend to seek overnight accommodation in a hostel. There was all kinds of confusion about the replacement flight the following morning; nor was the weather in Madeira kind when she and a friend arrived there. I spent an hour at the computer assisting her to seek redress from the airline.



Friday: We had wonderful, welcome showers overnight, showers that look set to continue intermittently for the next few days. A quick glance at the forecast shows that the rest of the country is getting a dousing. How badly it is needed! We have had less than half of our typical winter rainfall this season, with barely a month to go. Come on rain. Fall on our heads, soak our pastures, refresh our flowers, fill our rivers. At least cover the stony bed of the Algibre that has lain bare in the sun this past year.