Letter from Espargal: 28 February 2020

This week, for a change, there are lots of animals and flowers in the blog, along with the  humans.  (Yes, it's more of the same but some of the pictures are quite good.) As you may have noticed, the animals are gradually taking over. Power has gone to their heads.



Life is tolerable when they are prepared to share a seat. But it gets really complicated when Squinty cat (the barely visible black blob on my lap) makes it plain to Mini dog at my side that three is going to be a crowd. It's no easy matter keeping the critters apart while trying to follow the skulduggery in the House of Cards.



We left the animals behind last Saturday to catch up with Cathy and Rolf, with whom we spent a few hours between the end of their Spanish holiday and their flight home to Berlin. Here Rolf and I discuss the meaning of life while strolling at Quinta do Lago.



Thursday Slavic and I set about a bunch of tasks. By far the trickiest of these was replacing the cotton filter in the water filtration system. (That's the white bit just visible inside the glass bowl below the plastic cap.) The problem was the tiny spring-loaded black plastic pressure valve, peeping out above the digit 3 in the photo. It had snapped. We've stuck it in place for the moment but if it gives way, we'll have a fountain! The whole unit needs to be replaced asap.



Other tasks included strimming the areas close to the house. New fire regulations mean that mid-March is the official deadline for clearing the ground within 50 metres of one's abode. Although the date isn't strictly enforced, come summer the police hand out fines to any laggards. The ominous drought we're suffering means that it's a good idea anyhow.



The main job was to prepare a new grave, having buried Carachinho in the last one. Those are Barbara's flowers to his memory that you can see in the bowl to the left of Slavic. We have - praise be! - no faltering pets at the moment. But  if - when - we do lose another, things have to be ready.



The option is to leave the disposal of the remains to a cremation service that the vets use. The few occasions that we've had to resort to it have proved far harder on our emotions and our purses. Much better that our animals remain with us in death as in life. Barbara visits the graves each day.



It was she who spotted this beauty on one of our walks, the first sawfly orchid of the season. The Algarve is an orchid lover's paradise in March and April.



It was also Barbara who worked out the mystery surrounding the water bowl that sits just outside our gates. We put it there for the exterior cats and any other passing animals. What you can't see is that the area around the bowl is permanently wet. We couldn't figure it. The bowl wasn't leaking yet the surrounding concrete was going green with algae.  Then Jones had a flash of inspiration. The birds were bathing in it. As if on cue, a visiting blackbird proved her right.



So there you have it. Sufficient unto the week.

Letter from Espargal: 21 February 2020

Thursday evening: There's a bird singing his heart out on the telephone pole beside our fence. Barbara says he's a song thrush. I thought a blackbird. Not that it matters. His melody is what counts and it's glorious. It's been a busy day, with Slavic's assistance this morning and Natasha's this afternoon. But this blog really starts last weekend.



Saturday we went around early to the Sousas to see how Carachinho was faring. Although he had perked up slightly the previous day, we found him in poor shape once again, listless and uninterested in food. So we lifted him into the car and took him to the vet in Loule. There he was diagnosed with a burst tumour of the spleen, almost certainly malignant.

\

After a few tears and discussing the options with the vet and Joachim (his owner, centre above) we asked the vet to him put down. He wasn't a youngster. Then we brought him home and, with invaluable assistance from Fintan, we buried him in our field beside Ono and Prickles.



Finally we rasied a glass to his memory. Carachinho (Cara-sheen-yu) was a lovely dog. His death was untimely if kind. We miss him. A little of us dies with each departing dog.


TAKE THE TREAT GENTLY; DON'T BITE MY FINGER
Although we worry sometimes about the fate of any who might outlive us, there's no relief to be had in burying them.



Sunday and Monday passed as Sundays and Mondays do. As part of Monday's English lesson I had asked my pupils to write a note to the local authorities explaining why they should be let off parking fines. Two gave lengthy excuses. The third was short and to the point; she didn't have a car. You can't argue with that! There's no lesson next week as Loule succumbs to carnival.



Tuesday we planted up the pots in the jacuzzi sand circle.  It's a work in progress. The plant seen flowering behind Barbara is one of the waist-high Alexanders that have completely colonised parts of the garden.



If you think I'm exaggerating, look at the picture. The stuff is all but impenetrable. The plants are seasonal and,



like the asphodels that inhabit the middle park, will wither in the heat of summer before being strimmed and added to Barbara's compost heap.


SUCCULENTS IN FLOWER
Wednesday I ran a neighbour into Loule hospital for a check-up. To kill a couple of hours, I took myself to nearby Mar Shopping Centre to learn more about the Samsung S20 phones that are due out next month. Impressive! Thence to the local car wash to hose down and vacuum the Honda. Jones, who is fussy about the state of her house, likes me to be equally particular about my car.



Thursday Slavic and I tractored down to the valley to look for some attractive rocks for the sand circle. I think we should call it the Circle of Contemplation, if only to give it a reason to be - maybe even set down a bench nearby. We found some ideal standing stones, a couple of them spectacular brutes that took a lot of heaving down the steps into the garden.



Afterwards we completed the path from the house to the circle, first raking out the wet concrete between the rock borders,



and then smoothing it and cutting non-slip grooves into it. There's just one more section to complete at the bottom of the garden and we'll be done with paving. It looks most attractive, if I say so myself - and it's very practical.



Thursday evening I received an email from our lawyer with the registration document for Casa Nada attached. It doesn't look like much but it represents a great deal - the end of a 20 year saga. What a frustrating and expensive odyssey it's been! Legal at last!



Now it's after midnight and time that I followed their example.


I heard a bird sing
In the dark of December.
A magical thing
And sweet to remember.



|

Letter from Espargal: 14 February 2020

Now is a cool, sunny Thursday afternoon towards the end of a cool, sunny week. I have just woken from a pleasant siesta in my recliner. Jones has brought me a cuppa and a rice biscuit smeared with a generous spoonful of Sarah's excellent lemon curd.



Sarah, pictured burning off her cuttings before returning to the UK, has spoiled us with a selection of her home-made condiments in return for favours, especially lifts from and to the airport. There, the scene is set.



Slavic spent a useful morning assisting me with the continuing development of the sand circle. Note the five clay pots that we obtained from Leroy Merlin earlier in the week. In each pot we laid a stone and gravel base before three-quarter filling it with a mixture of mature mulch and potting soil. The pots now await the arrival of suitable Jones succulents.



After topping up the sand in the circle, we went hunting for rocks down in the valley in order to create a new border alongside the half-completed path leading to the house. Another load of mulch back-filled the rocks. Like the pots, this border awaits a delivery of Jones plants. Jones, I might add, has a whole nursery of seedlings and other leafy green life squatting on the cobbles to the side of the house.



Another task was to empty, clean and then refill the jacuzzi - the first time we've done this. A small fitting connects the tub's outlet valve to a length of hosepipe. The process went without a hitch unless one regards overfilling the tub as a hitch. Even though we had the tap only half open, it filled much more rapidly that we expected. When I went upstairs after lunch to check, the water was just about to overflow the brim. Fortunately, it was a case of no harm done and soon mended.



Pictured above are two of Barbara's part-time waifs, Iris (pronounced E-rees - left) and Carachinho (Smiley), who belong to neighbours. Iris is visiting. Carachinho is the father of at least two of our dogs. He's lovely. Barbara takes him and Maggie (out of shot) a bone each evening, as well as a treat to Iris when she's there.



The pair of them usually coming running up the moment they spot Barbara (or me) for the expected treat. Unusually, Carachinho was off colour today (Thursday) and not interested in his bone - very worrying.



We talked to his owners, Joachim and Maria, about taking him to the vet but, after spending some time with the dog, thought it better to wait till the morning to decide. Friday morning he was a lot better, especially after consuming Jones's delicious chunky chicken broth. Big sigh of relief. (Oh, and by the way, Ratty 3 this week was dropped off at the side of the road, half way to Loule.)



Apropos of nothing, we popped into a ceramics shop a few days ago to find a tile required by Barbara's nephew, Chris, in Cape Town as a birthday gift for his wife. It's to complement house-number tiles they already possess - tiles they acquired here last year. The shopkeeper had exactly what Chris was looking for and was happy to pose for a picture.



A quick trip to DHL in Loule - and whizzbang the tile arrived in Cape Town to a delighted Jane. Sending common tiles by courier may be considered a bit excessive but, as South Africans are all too aware, putting anything in conventional post to the country is just an expensive way of getting rid of it.



For some years we have occupied half an hour most evenings while preparing the dogs' meals by keeping half an eye on a train travel TV series presented by a former Tory MP and minister, Michael Portillo. Alas, this past week Jones discovered that the man was a rabid Brexiteer. Horrors! Without further ado, out of the back door went Portillo and his trains. Although Jones is made of hardy stuff and doesn't blanche before four-letter words, the six letter B-word is banned from the house.



Last weekend my phone dropped out of my breast pocket as I bent over to put down Mini's dinner. Although the plastic case took some of the impact, the shock upset the phone's innards and damaged the screen protector. I was severely displeased with myself. I have expensive tastes in mobile phones (not that I run to the iPhone 11) and I am very fond of the one I have. For two days the phone refused to start up. But on day three it limped back into life. I got it a new rubberised case and a new screen protector to reward it. So far, so good. Fingers crossed.



In-between times I have been doing a lot of reading about PHEVs, BEVs and HEVs. If you don't know what they are, you are not into electric vehicles. The ecological me says that I could make a contribution to global cooling by trading in my diesel Honda for a non-polluting vehicle. However, and it's a big HOWEVER, my diesel Honda is a darling of a car. And to acquire anything ending in EV that's remotely as nice would cost an arm and a leg. Neither I am much inclined to trade down. In the meanwhile I'll continue reading.



Friday morning, as we set out to do the shopping, we met the postman at the boxes and had to sign for a couple of very official-looking letters from the taxman, one to each of us. I opened them over coffee at our favourite snack bar to discover four-figure demands for a tax we'd never come across. Thence to the Financas offices where a helpful man explained that it was a kind of inheritance tax that one had to pay for registering an old building on one's property - a final step towards the legalisation of Casa Nada. We left shortly afterwards considerably poorer than we'd arrived although not dispirited. The saga is nearly over.



It's a good life for some.

Letter from Espargal: 8 February 2020

Saturday we went hunting for pavers to arrange in the redundant jacuzzi sand ring. We had just turned off the highway near Guia when we came across this car (a BMW) burning fiercely. I stopped, leapt out, grabbed the fire extinguisher from the boot and hastened to assist.



Although the extinguisher damped the flames (and me), the fire was under the bonnet and it flared up again moments later. The occupants, who were standing safely some distance away, thanked my for my efforts - fruitless though they were. The car was a gonner. I was surprised (and somewhat disappointed) that the powder blast from the extinguisher was over in a matter of a few seconds - time enough to assist someone out of a vehicle but hardly substantial.



On to a fancy garden centre nearby that boasted a range of fine marble statues, any of which might make a proud centrepiece for our sand ring. These - the small ones - were about waist high, priced at a thousand plus. As attractive as they were, I thought we might stick with Jonesy's sun-dial.



Next to Leroy Merlin where we found a range of pavers in stock of various sizes and colours. We liked this one best - although we're still considering.



Sunday Sven came to finish pruning the trees. Slavic assisted me to collect and mulch the branches. When I checked the rat traps in the shed and Casa Nada, I found two captives (set free en route to Loule the following day).



Monday, when the sun returned, we noticed how Russ was panting and pausing on our walks. To be sure it was hot. Midwinter counts for little in these parts. We're already finding it hard to justify a fire at night and we often need the air-con in the car.



Over three days, I set about trimming Russ. He's the hairiest dog I have ever come across. The clippers struggle to make headway. He is looking rather tufty at present but he's a lot cooler and there's time enough to smarten him up.



Tuesday I tried to make an appointment with the Portuguese "foreign department" in order to renew our residence permits, which expire in August. We were advised to act soon as there's a long wait for appointments. First I attempted online - in vain. When I eventually got through on the phone, I was informed that there were no more interview slots available that day for future appointments - except in Madeira. No thank you! "Try again in the morning" was the advice.


"BARBARA'S ADOPTED CATS" FEEDING UNDER THE BIN (AWAY FROM THE DOGS)
Wednesday morning I tried again as advised. This time I was successful, obtaining appointments in Faro at the end of July. Later, while Natasha busied herself around the house, we visited Leroy Merlin to purchase the pavers. I also dropped in at the fire extinguisher outlet to acquire a more substantial model for the car.



Slavic laid the pavers on the sand circle the following day, having first levelled the sand and set up an old tree stump in the centre. The stump sits in a concrete base, all carefully levelled in order to take Jones's sun dial.


SAINT SLAVIC, WITH A SAGGING TV DISH HALO
You may notice that we are two pavers short - to be obtained on our next visit to town. In the meanwhile, we are considering what pot plants to add to our creation and how best to arrange them. The dogs continue to regard the accessible sand sections as intended for their particular benefit.



Friday morning. There's no rain in sight. Jones is watering her garden again. The aeoniums (pictured) and the rest of the numerous succulents are fine but the more delicate plants are drooping.


ALOES IN FLOWER
Enough unto the week!