Some weeks run on greased wheels, others grind along on rusty cogs. This week has ground along. As usual, there's no obvious place to start. Maybe last Friday morning when we sought an upholsterer to fix the leather seat-cushion that Jack had refashioned. The first business we visited, on the outskirts of Almancil, declined. The boss wasn't interested in petty repairs. The second, on the far side of the town, was more accommodating, as long as we weren't in a hurry. They would call us when the cushion was ready.
We returned home to discover that during our absence, Jack had turned his attention to the leather sofa on which the cushion had sat. I don't know what got into him. One of the padded arm-rests was torn to shreds, its interior strewn around the patio. That was a bit of a bugger. The sofa dates from our early days in London. We got it from a second-hand shop who took it off someone who bought it from Harrods.
Saturday, after strimming, Slavic and I hauled the trailer out from its winter shelter under the trees. We swept out the leaves, pumped the tyres, checked the lights and oiled the hinges. Then we took the tractor to fetch the damaged sofa from the house and ferried it out to the trailer where we secured it, pending delivery to the upholsterers.
Sunday we went to Benafim to vote in the European elections. We had been tempted to vote for the Greens until we found them in alliance with the Communists, which would have been a vote too far. Instead we settled on a minor party with a declared interest in animal welfare. The ladies overseeing the entrance to the voting hall gave us a pleasant welcome but they couldn't find our names on the electoral lists. One led us around the corner to the parish office to investigate our vanishment - but in vain. So we thanked them and retreated to the adjacent snack bar for a cup of coffee instead.
Monday Jones found Jack rooting around in the garden beneath a terrace where I'd baited a rat trap and summoned me down. By the time I got there, only the remains of the trap were to be seen. Of its occupant there was no sign. But, shortly afterwards, we found the damp corpse of the captive deposited on the south patio, undoubtedly by Jack.
The dog is much given to expending his excess energy by grabbing his rope playthings and shaking them vigorously from side to side. Ratty probably got the same treatment and wouldn't have survived the first shake. That's Ratty 6 in our tally or, if you count the escapee, Ratty 7. While all this excitement was going on, Ratty 8 was spotted breakfasting on the other bird-feeder. The season clearly isn't yet over.
JACK
As we set out to deliver the sofa to the upholsterers, Russ and Jack started a brawl just inside the fence - or, more accurately, Russ started it. For some time he has been anxious to impress his top-dog rank on our guest who, I fear, would be the victor in any serious contest. In the event, I intervened promptly and noisily, with a great deal of theatrical hat-slapping on my thigh to emphasise my extreme displeasure. With any luck, that's the end of it.
RUSS
Monday afternoon I conducted my penultimate English lesson at the senior university. Next Monday brings the last one before the summer holidays. Given that the class already has to choose between sweltering with the windows shut or being drowned out by passing traffic, the end of term will be welcome.
On the way home we dropped in on the pool shop to purchase a(n AquaChek) meter that measures exactly the chlorine and pH levels of the pool. I've been finding the usual colour-coded device not particularly helpful. The evening walk brought my first tick bite of the season. I plucked the little bugger off my leg and crushed him with the handle of the dog lead. At least there seem to be fewer ticks around this year.
Tuesday: My new meter indicates that my chlorine level is far too high and the pH also needs reducing. Back to the pool shop for the necessary. I also went to the dentist to sort out a protesting tooth. However sensible it might be to have regular dental check-ups, I speak (not proudly) as one who puts appointments off until they're unavoidable. While I sat back in the dentist's chair, Jones got stuck into her garden. The barrow says it all.
Tuesday evening we found that an extensive area of bush-veld (beneath the electricity supply lines across the hill) had been cleared, presumably as a fire precaution. We wondered how it might have been done, certainly not with a conventional strimmer. Bushes with stems two inches in diameter had been lopped off, leaving jagged ends. Our path had all but vanished beneath the cuttings.
Barbara, who protests each time I break off a stem, was horrified at the extent of the devastation. I presume that it's in a good cause and that in due course the "mato" will spring up anew. Certainly the councils are taking great care to clear the road verges ahead of the fire season. Strimmer men are everywhere to be seen, too often without road signs to alert drivers to their presence just around the corner. Temperatures are already well into the 30s.
Wednesday morning we bumped into the clearing team who were busy with chain saws. They stared in amazement as we trooped past with the dogs in a line. Thursday the bedroom air conditioning unit started playing up - again, and so did my sciatica. I swam a lot and strimmed a little. Jonesy went off to visit one of her old ladies (which is how we think of them, even though they may be younger than we are). We have been sitting down of an evening over a baggy, lemon juice and coke. It's a mixture that brings tears to one's eyes but it's good. Thus has the week nearly passed and May with it.
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