Letter from Espargal: 12 July 2019

This has been the week of kitchen renovations. The pictures tell the story. The first job was to empty the kitchen cupboards and pack the contents in boxes on the back patio.



Saturday morning Slavic assisted us to push the lounge furniture together and cover it in plastic sheeting.



We strung sheeting across arches and around cupboards, taping the edges to the walls and the bottom to the floor.



Next the upper floor was curtained off. Jonesy, who was fearful of having dust everywhere, had wanted to unpack display cabinets. I persuaded her to leave things in place, promising to seal the cabinets completely - and kept my word.



The breakfast benches pictured above were originally constructed with hinged wooden seats. We stripped off the wood for future use.



The builders arrived promptly on Monday morning and  set about demolishing the tiled concrete bases.



Next they set to work to chip away the wall separating the kitchen from the living room. The mounting rubble heaps were collected in large buckets and dumped in the box of the tractor parked outside.



A welcome breeze blew much of the dust out of  the window.



Tuesday morning, as soon as the workers were settled, I took Jones to hospital for a check-up on a finger that she'd injured while gardening. It will take time to heal. With a rubber glove to keep the bandage dry, she continues to swim.



Both of our black cats have caused us concern. Braveheart appears to have been bitten by some creature and has lost a lot of weight. Squinty, seen above, went awol for several days - unusually, failing to respond to Barbara's come-home whistles. So it was with much relief that we welcomed him back one afternoon.



Wednesday morning the builders set about plastering the arch.



Next on the scene was the air conditioner technician, for whom we'd been waiting for weeks. We haven't been able to use the AC in the bedroom as it's been leaking water. The problem turned out to be a spider cocoon blocking the drain.



Thursday saw the team fine-plastering the arch and retiling sections of the floor. Hard on their heels came the electrician and his mate to wire up the new switches and lights.



Thursday evening Cathy flew in from Berlin to spend ten days with us. Jones is spending the weekend in Lisbon with Llewellyn and Lucia. I think she'll like what she sees on her return.

Letter from Espargal: 5 July 2019

The first half of the week has focused on our guests, Chris Jones and family. Chris and Jane occupied the guest room while the two boys slept in Casa Nada. The weather was ideal - warm days for outings and cool nights for sleeping.


JACK THE RIPPER
On Monday, before setting out for the shops, we carefully closed the outer door to the south patio to keep master Jack away from the dog beds and cushions. When we are out and he is bored, the dog likes nothing better than to rip a few cushions up. What we didn't notice was that one of the French windows, which stand a couple of feet above the ground, was still open.



Jack did notice and had not the least difficulty entering. His handiwork speaks for itself. Although we groan, we don't blame the dog. He was as pleased as ever to welcome us home and we to greet him. We simply need to take greater care. One consequence is that I've done a fair bit of sewing while lolling back in my recliner in recuperation mode.



So, for that matter, has Jones. Here, specifically for those readers with a keen sense of irony, is a picture of Jack taking his ease on a dog bed (that he had "altered" earlier in the day) while my wife does her best to sew it up again.



Our guests would leave mid-morning for a beach or water park and arrive back late afternoon for a swim and a meal under the patio lights. Barbara has continued to walk the dogs twice a day, occasionally with company - although not mine. I reckon that I still have a week to go to get up to speed. I'll discuss it during follow-up appointments at the hospital.



Tuesday evening we supped early at the Hamburgo, returning in time to watch the second half of the women's football semi-final between England and the US. It was hard fought and with just a bit of luck the English girls might have drawn or even won the game. But it was not to be. Tears of disappointment on one side were matched by tears of elation on the other.



Wednesday morning early Chris and family set out for the airport, bound first for London and then for home. Barbara and I headed for the hospital where I had another test scheduled ahead of consultations the following day. The waiting is the hardest part of such visits. Typically, one waits half an hour to be called, spends 15 minutes being examined and waits half an hour to pay.



That evening we began clearing the kitchen and dining area in preparation for the kitchen modifications that are due to start on Monday. Most of the stuff is being packed into large boxes. The builder reckons that the work will take two to three days. The kitchen furniture installers are due the following week. I have taken photos of all the pictures on the wall in order to be able to replace them in the same order.



Thursday morning the vet arrived early to inoculate the dogs - that's ours and those of two neighbours. There was no time to take pictures. This is an annual all-embracing circus that has to be seen to be appreciated. The challenge in the midst of the melee is to capture the orphans, Pally and Mello, who are keen on the bribes being offered to them but not on being caught. Between us, one way and another, we managed it.


RIPENING PLUMS
Thence back to hospital for consultations, first late morning with the neurosurgeon, who removed the stitches; the second with the GP who had treated my pulmonary embolism. While there, we presented the nurses in the internment section with a coffee machine, which delighted them. Although the day staff can pop downstairs to the cafeteria, the night staff have been reduced to drinking instant.


BARBARA IN HER NURSERY

Letter from Espargal: 30 June 2019

I've been tied up for a few weeks, one way and another. Come to think of it, more tied down than tied up. So forgive a medical theme and a belated blog. The neurosurgeon I've been consulting for years suggested that back surgery might alleviate a seriously unpleasant episode of sciatica. And I was at a stage when I was ready to try anything.



It turned out to be a much bigger operation than I anticipated but by the feel of things she did a good job.



I had barely been discharged when I went down with something else equally painful. It was diagnosed as a blood-clot on the lung, a common consequence of surgery. So back into hospital I went.



Two days' bed confinement proved to be tough going, to say nothing of being treated as a human pin cushion. Kindly family and neighbours brought Barbara to see me each day.



Once allowed up, I'd pace the corridor and watch the comings and goings from the windows at either end.



Now I'm home for a second time and I can't tell you how good it feels - albeit under strict orders to take it easy for a few weeks.



The dogs let me know how much they had missed me. (No, the photo lies!) They went berserk.



I was back on my feet in time to welcome Barbara's nephew and family from Cape Town, who were our hosts in Canada and are now staying with us for a few days.



They are good walkers and good fun.



In preparation for their arrival, Slavic pressure-washed the sunbeds. What a difference!



And we helped Barbara spruce up Casa Nada for the boys.



Our days are warm (but not torrid) and our evenings perfect for light meals and conversations around the patio table.



Where we've been watching the deepening romance between Bobby and Mello. It's ever so sweet.



Life's good again. A couple of spells in hospital serve to deepen one's appreciation of so much that is easily taken for granted.



Although Barbara reproaches me if I so much as lift a finger, I feel fine and am rapidly regaining my strength. One way and another, I'm a pretty lucky guy.

Letter from Espargal: 14 June 2019

I have only a modest miscellany of pictures, pastures and postures to offer this week in no particular order. The photo, for example, is of the "water rock" on our trail, which the dogs used to mount for a drink after rain. That was in the old days when the Algarve still had rain and the Algibre still had water.



This was the group that turned up at our gate one afternoon, asking if they could visit the old house on our property where the pair on the extremes of the picture said they had lived as children, before emigrating to Canada. So I showed them around Casa Nada. In the course of the tour it emerged that it was really (the old bakery) Sarah and David's house 200 metres away that they were seeking. So I dispatched them there instead. It was the first time they'd returned, they said, in 42 years.



Dearheart loves to sleep on the ironing board in the study in the morning sun. I liked the picture for the contrast of light and shade - a modern take on the Dutch masterpieces.



This is another artistic effort.  Jack has taken possession of the lesser sofa, which is fine as long as he confines himself just to resting on it. The upholsterers say they haven't yet got around to mending the damaged one. We reassured them that there was no hurry.



It's not that Jack lacks a certain artistic flair, it'ts just that he has expensive tastes.



I risk repeating myself by reporting on the long hours that Barbara spends in her garden. Here she removes mealybugs from the leaves of a rosemary. Twice, as she was working among her plants, large snakes slithered off elsewhere.



We were joined for drinks one evening by Lisa and Ben. Lisa is the daughter of commuting Irish neighbours. Ben is a friend. They are both airline pilots.



They said some nice things about Barbara's garden, as indeed they might. They can come back any time.



I've been doing my bit in the garden too. I might add, apropos of nothing, that while I am not much given to schadenfreude, I took a certain pleasure in the results of the first round of voting for the new Tory party leader. To be sure, I speak of two of those who fell out. We shudder at the prospective next leader.



My gardening efforts were closely monitored my Mini and Bobby.



I said goodbye to my English class, who presented me with a fine bottle of port.



We went along to the monthly mini street market in Benafim where the kiddies' band was preparing to entertain the crowds.



Today's Portuguese youths are reported to be several inches taller than their parents.



Morning and evening the beasts wait at the top gate to be set free.



And off across the veld we go.



With a treat midpoint to look forward to.



I've had to cut some walks short as I've been plagued by sciatica, which is like having a leg used as an electrical conduit. A spinal injection last week failed to alleviate the problem. Next step is surgery.



If you've got it, flaunt it.
Sufficient unto this week. I may not get around to blogging next week.