Letter from Espargal: 24 January 2020

Here's the story of a man with lots of dogs who thought that a jacuzzi might ease his troublesome back.



So he bought a load of sand and concrete bricks and, with Slavic's assistance, had them laid out in a circle on a terrace below the house.



Where a couple of protruding rocks put up fierce resistance before giving way to Slavic's hammer blows.



We tractored the sand down in buckets to the terrace in front of the house.



I arranged the buckets on the upper terrace from which Slavic fetched them.



And spread their contents about the circle. It took about 40 to lay a decent floor.



It then had to be raked into shape.



Before being levelled exactly, all ready for the jacuzzi, which was due to arrive by 18.00 that afternoon.



The jacuzzi, the least expensive sensibly-sized model, arrived in a heavy box that evening, an hour after the promised delivery deadline and after I'd fired off a critical message to the suppliers. Still, it arrived the same day.



The instructions seemed to belong to a completely different unit.



Neighbour David, who is an accomplished handyman,  came to our assistance and pointed out where things went. The weather was cold and damp; we all wore our winter gear.



We put down the left-over rubber carpet tiles from the pool to keep the sand where it belonged. And we inflated the water cover before mixing a load of concrete for approach steps.



At that point Slavic said it would have made much more sense to put the jacuzzi on the upstairs patio of the house. (Jones had outlawed the lower patios.) Then we wouldn't have to stagger down those awkward steps into the garden in the freezing cold nor stagger back afterwards. It was a brainwave.



So we used the concrete mix we had prepared to extend a path instead.



Before deflating the jacuzzi and hauling it up to the house. It was seriously heavy. I didn't think that Slavic could manage it alone. He thought he could, and he was right.



We wrapped it up in sacks that we secured with my tow rope. Then we heaved it upstairs



on to the patio. I won't  pretend that it was easy. It wasn't.



Laying the jacuzzi on its base, we opened it out and inflated it once more.



It comes with small air and water pumps built into the side wall.



Job done. All that awaits is warm water - and someone to loll around in it.



As for the planned jacuzzi site in the garden, we'll think of something else to do with it.



Jones says that one could usefully delete a few pictures. I'm sorry. I want them to convey the enormity of the task. She hasn't been idle. She never is. Here she is with her latest batch of the most delicious marmalade.



And here are some hoop petticoat daffodils to finish with - and a triple dull orchid to boot. You lucky people!

Letter from Espargal: 17 January 2020

Last week now seems very far away while the week before it has vanished entirely into the mists of time - the approaching fate of the almond blossom, now clustered like stars in the Milky Way.



Under the circumstances, kindly forgive a blossomy blog. Jonesy captured something of their transient glory



as she made her way down the path to feed the anxiously waiting waifs



before gusting showers scattered the blossom around the far reaches of the garden.



To my great regret, I failed one morning to take a photo of Estevao, a kitted-out mountain biker whom we encountered on our path through the hills. He got a good barking from the surprised dogs before we greeted him apologetically and, after a pleasant chat, directed him on his way. Happily, we seldom share our paths with visitors other than nature's nocturnal denizens.



On Sunday our neighbour, Sven, a professional gardener, arrived to begin pruning the almonds and fruit trees.



Slavic collected the off-cuts and piled them in the tractor box.



And assisted me to put them through the mulcher, a more testing task than it might seem, given the juddering vibration from the spinning blades.



As usual, most of our evenings were given over to TV, both Netflix and the usual channels



while the beasts, like the lion and the lamb, settled down peacefully around the fire



in preparation for a good night's sleep.



or just a little love in.



Thursday Slavic and I hunted around the garden for the best spot for an inflatable jacuzzi (the most basic model available) that I have ordered from Leroy Merlin, the better to please my demanding back. Amidst the trees, flowers and rock tumble, it was no easy choice.



Then we worked on lining sections of the path through the park where soil was washing down, serving the dual purpose of removing the stones from the surrounding fields. Espargal gets its name from the wild thorny asparagus plants that are found everywhere. It might equally have been called Rockville or Stoneyhill.



Last night's showers turned Friday morning's paths treacherous. I inched my way forward across glistening rocks, a steadying stick in either hand.



But see the magic spell cast over the narcissus blooms (Barbara's picture)



and the lichen in the olive trees.



OK, that's enough for today.

Letter from Espargal: 10 January 2020

I can break new ground this week by talking about movies rather than gardens or pets - for starters at least. We've watched several on the study TV these past few evenings, including (the excellent) Leave No Trace and the much-lauded Lady Bird (don't bother) and Roma (not for sissies).



As it happens, I have watched more movies than Jones has. That's partly because she dislikes violent themes and likes happy endings, which limits her range. But it's mainly because, unlike her, I'm a late to-bedder and I have just subscribed to Netflix.



So, when she retires ten-thirtyish, I sit back to watch a movie. I've ticked off The Two Popes (much enjoyed) and The Irishman (which took a bit of sitting through). Next on my list is The Crown, Series 3. The costs of the basic Netflix service are much the same as those of the DVDs that I've previously ordered from Amazon. Okay, that's enough movies!


ADEUSINHO
Monday I had an appointment with a cardiac consultant at Loule hospital for the arrhythmia that's been bothering me. After checking the results of the 24-hour monitor I wore recently, he put me on to medication (that seems to be working) and put me off alcohol (as I was about to sample a festive bottle). Some you win and some you lose!



During Barbara's New Year visit to Lisbon, I took her broken (much mended) specs into the optician in Loule and asked for the lenses to be fitted to new frames. Because the lenses were exceptionally small, there was no choice of frames. The ones above were the only ones that fitted. On her return, Jones was not impressed with the look. Although the glasses fit comfortably, she feels that the dark frames don't suit her. As a compromise, she has agreed to wear them when no-one is around.



On to the unavoidable beasts. The photo shows Mello preparing to catch a biscuit that I have tossed to her. She's still learning. Most of her companions are experienced catchers. Barri and Russ seldom miss. Neither does Mini, who is lightning fast in spite of her ample girth. Bobby tends to shut his jaws too soon, so that biscuits bounce off his clenched teeth and land on the ground, where he ignores them.


TREATS AT THE HALFWAY POINT OF THE WALK
Pally (in white) isn't a catcher. But he'll stand up for a treat or a back scratch. Missing a front leg, he walks in an awkward, hop-skip gait. But at speed he's both graceful and nimble, leaping with surprising agility from rock to rock.


ALOES ON FIRE
It's now several weeks since we had good rains. The Algibre is a dry, stony bed once more while the garden, still bulging with winter's fat succulents, has needed water once again. The tractor was required to help Slavic to move a solid ball of succulents from Barbara's garden to a spacious bed under the photo-voltaic panels in the field.



Encouraged by our gentle winter, the almond trees have burst into  early bridal blossom, their snowflake flowers crafted with intricate delicacy. I don't mean to go overboard but we know how lucky we are to have nature serving as our artist in residence - and she specialises in such masterpieces.



Wednesday we went looking for a carpenter to repair the pantry door, only to find the carpentry shop still closed. Neither could Leroy Merlin supply me with a suitable piece of wood to replace the section I'd had to cut out in order to open the door. Instead, Slavic and I spent an hour fashioning an acceptable interim repair. Doesn't look too bad, if I say so myself.



Thursday morning the electricity failed, just as we were about to take the dogs out. I contacted the EDP who said they'd send a team round asap. Which they did, about an hour later - impressive service! I met the driver at the school and guided him back to the house. A quick test of the circuits in the main box quickly established the problem, a blown fuse that they replaced. Bingo, the patio lights lit up in response.



Neighbours tell us that there are two lovable strays in the village, desperate for a home. Oh dear! No, we've done our bit. But they do tug at the heart strings. As for the animals that have perished in the Aussie fires, they don't bear thinking about.