4March1995

London: 4 March 1995
My dear folks,

When a helicopter comes whirring over your roof at spitting distance, with a pilot peering down through an open door, you know that something out of the usual is happening. From every window neighbours hung out as the craft dropped down on to the adjoining school field. Barbara remarked on the wailing police sirens that had shattered the morning and wondered if they and the helicopter were connected with the looming England-Scotland rugby final. But it was only later, after the helicopter had thundered up and over, that I gathered from a neighbour details of the drama of the week, played out on my very doorstep.

A thief had apparently nicked a whole bunch of tools from the back of a carpenter's van parked right outside our flat. The carpenter emerged to catch the thief in the act and leapt on to the rear of the thief's departing car. This rocketed 100 yards up the street before colliding with the traffic lights, crumpling the car, crippling the thief & bruising the carpenter. The thief had to be cut free and it was he, it seems, who was flown to hospital - a great waste of taxpayers' money if ever there was. I could see the corner area seething with blue lights & cops but I confess that I missed the drama. Good thing that I don't work in local news.

I was working away in my study at the time, catching up on dozens of items that required attention. Such is the penalty one pays for a two-week absence in Portugal. On the plus side, we found a stack of faxes & letters awaiting us. I can hardly tell you how much pleasure they brought. I do hope that you may feel the same away about the following account of our holiday which, as usual, is almost as much of a diary as a letter - possibly for the book I may write one day (on top of Benson's Bedside God-Book & How to Avoid Becoming a Celebrity). The letter comes in 2 parts, The Quinta and The Holiday. First to: The Quinta:

03/03. Friday: To Portugal. Jones was at the airport. It was overcast, pleasantly so after the blizzards across England. The Quintassential garden was green. The succulents, normally so restrained, were bursting with red & yellow flowers. Just love them. We joined the Geoff & John, the builders (aka the boys) for drinks around the new fireplace in the corner of MCP's kitchen. Although the windows & doors are still missing, the fire threw out a cheery warmth. Jones is thrilled. Staying warm is one of her great challenges in life. The kitchen is all but complete. G & J have picked out the ancient bread-oven in a brick surround that looks splendid. The sink is a stone bowl, one of those we found on site. MCP is delightful, a Hansel and Gretel product of circumstances that no architect could have designed. It ought to be habitable in April, although it will be May before the patio & workshop are completed.

Jones decided that a gathering of the European Community over snacks and drinks would be the best way to mark my arrival. John & Olive came from 7th Heaven; Gunther & Hildegard from Principio, & Bob (pronounced Burb) & Marie-Christine from the Lemon Quintet. We crowded into the Carob Quintet; the evenings are still sharp.

Whisky was the flavour of the hour, the 12-year old I had bought on the plane finding special favour. We were something between a convivial Tower of Babel & the European Parliament. Barbara was the translator, switching between her natural English, good French, inadvertent Portuguese & excruciating German until she tied her into a linguistic knot. Yet we all seemed to understand one another remarkably well & the occasion was pronounced a decided success.

Thence the English speakers proceeded down the dirt track to Paixanito where we joined the local Brits for their Friday dinner outing. I noted with some alarm the extent to which one of our company, who has Alzheimers, had deteriorated. Her husband, though elderly, is in good shape & excellent company. She has retreated into a world of her own, except that she remains very fond of her food and makes loud impatient demands for it, (especially for bananas of which the restaurant keeps a supply handy). Although the group has been meeting there for years & knows her well, her behaviour is beginning to mar the gathering.

04/03. Saturday: we walked down through the hills to Loule for toast & coffee & exercise. Jones was still wearing a thick red coat. I needed a jersey and jacket. Some of the tourists in town were determined that it should be summer, though, and paraded in shorts and t-shirts. The Saturday outdoor market was short of people. A beautiful gypsy girl, still in her teens, looked up from the large infant she was suckling to assure us that her items were very good, very cheap. We bought a knife to replace one we've mislaid, and then a peach tree. Later, I dug a hole for it & gave it lots of good soil. Some of our fruit trees have been slow to take.

05/03. Sunday: I slept late. After hard labour & then wine over dinner, I'm ready for early bed. But then I wake in the early hours, frustrated & unable to doze off again. The morning showed us to be misted in, with occasional glimpses of the outer world as a breeze ruffled the clouds' skirts. Then through the clouds, a ray of sunshine descended from heaven, lighting up the white beehive church on a neighbouring hill like the new Jerusalem.

We walked down to lunch at a restaurant in Loule, stopping every few minutes to admire this plant or that wall or to express our distaste for some monstrosity of a house. Curs hurled themselves against the length of their chains in a display of ferocity. Since raising the alarm is the sole purpose of their lives, I didn't hold it against them. But we felt we'd more than done our duty to the canines of the valley by the time we arrived. Lunch was cozido, a selection of meats and sausages with potato & boiled cabbage. Tastes better than it sounds.

We decided to return around the rim of the far hills, a four mile ramble with a long incline. We paused in a primitive bar, run - as it happens - by the family who sold us 7th Heaven. We sipped medronho (a local witblits) & coke, watched the locals playing cards & fired ourselves up for the rest of the walk. Part of it was along a sand road lined with huge stones cast in a lunar landscape of most wondrous shapes. Jones sighed to possess them.

The rich trader who owns the ground below ours (and much else besides) drove his family up in a minibus to survey his property. We exchanged cautious greetings, neither of us having forgotten a sharp exchange of words some years ago when he had opted to park on my property as by right. It's an awkward relationship as he owns a small piece of ground which gives us access to the Quinta.

He was, he confessed, thinking of building below us as the traffic was disturbing the tranquillity of his mansion. Jones was not pleased. She fears that he has more money than taste & that a monstrosity will sprout from the hillside below us.

06/03. Monday: Drizzle. We drove down to The Gates of Heaven for coffee & almond croissants. Utterly delicious! The hire-car was a baby Citroen, the first I had driven and more cramped than the usual Ford Fiestas and Renault Clios. The roof was uncomfortably low & the car's single wiper failed to clear the upper part of the windscreen, forcing me to hunch down to see. It wouldn't do, not for the trip we planned to the Alentejo. We explained the problem at the depot. They were sympathetic but had nothing ready, other than a larger, uncleaned, newly-returned Citroen. Would that do? Sheer luxury! We departed in haste.

We braaied for lunch, sausages I'd hefted down from London. There were the boys, Geoff's other half - Lynne, the pair of us & John & Olive. I tended the braai while they sat around in MCP's kitchen, admiring the boys' handiwork. Noite nosed through the greenery, the sausages sizzled on the braai & the sun came & went. This is the life!

In the afternoon, I extended the semi-circular steps leading up to Barbara's Bower (a sort of throne that J & O have built at the top of a bank. Jones gardened - as usual. She found traces of the numerous slugs I had slain earlier. The mist had brought them out in their dozens, oozing down the paths, guzzling her plants. I spent 15 ruthless minutes zapping them with a trowel, tossing corpses left & right. The birds and ants must have feasted.

13/03. Monday: We went down with Geoff to a building supplier to select tiles & other items for MCP'S bathroom. It took an hour but was well worth it. The car was so heavily loaded that the back wheels scrubbed against the arches. We had to transfer tiles and paint to the front seat before squeezing Geoff in, & to drop Jones off in Loule. Managed to get up the hill, but had to reverse up the drive. I painted the interior of MCP all afternoon & then rushed to supper with John & Olive. She's a great cook but they follow their old English habit of eating at 6 and then retiring to bed by 9. We generally like to work until sunset around 8 and found the interruption to our labours rude. But the meal more than made up for it

14/03. Tuesday. Spent an hour painting in MCP. Then went with Jones to look for a table & mattress for MCP. Planned to visit the seaside town of Olhao which has huge furniture stores, but found a reasonable mattress in Loule. Noite has taken to sleeping on our bed; Jones tends to turn a blind eye. Not me. I warned Noite that she was looking for trouble. The second time, I threw a jersey at her. She leapt of the bed and tried to flee the bedroom, but merely skidded madly on the tiles. We saw hardly anything of her after that. She has moved in with the French with whom she was spending most of her time anyhow. Purrs in French, as Jones puts it.

I sprayed grammox on the weeds and grasses trying to take over the driveway. It went against my inclinations. Is vicious stuff. We also put up Gunther's second Quintassential sign, on the tree at the base of the driveway. Looks splendid. He took immense trouble with it. Neighbours from the valley joined us for drinks with J & O. When they left, I braaied sausages & kebabs on our patio under the stars. Drank too much wine.

15/03 Wednesday. Woke with aching head. To compound it, J & O complained that they had no water. Was unable to sort it out. G & J away for the day. Disaster! The Germans also high & dry. Pumps are working. God knows what the problem is. Still, it was a gorgeous day - following the first mozzie attack of the season the previous night. I recemented the stone path below Principio to hide the water-pipe extension to the lower cisterna. Then added a final row of stones to Barbara's Bower. Looks good. Jones brushed off the cement with a sponge. Finally painted MCP before rushing to an outdoors-supper for all with Germans. Hildegard read a carefully prepared brief speech in English. She had prepared delicious potato salad and meatballs plus own mustard. European Community again - was remarkably convivial. Admired all Hildegard's family photos & drank lots of beers. Then we walked down to Paixanitos for drinks & coffee under a bright full moon.

16/03 Thursday: Was hard. There were a hundred things I still wanted to do and no chance of doing half of them. The end of the holiday loomed. I had no inclination to return to London. We drove to Olhao to look for a table for MCP. I liked a long, stained pine table; Jones preferred a short one. We bought the short one. On the way back, we encountered three gypsy carts coming the wrong way down the fast lane of the motorway. God knows how they got on or if they got off again. I told Jones I wanted to be well out of the area before they reach the nearby junction where they would find themselves caught in the middle of a 4-lane highway. Scary!

In the afternoon, I mended the irrigation system. I discovered why Penny Mason's bush had become a giant; the nozzle had come off the drip feed and it had been getting a stream of water instead. It obviously liked it. Walked down to Casa Paixanito for supper with John & Olive. A superb meal; the starters were great. We strolled home (I confess I staggered here & there in spite of the brightly-lit road. What a moon!).

17/03 Friday: It was the loveliest day. Could see all the way down to the coast to Albufeira. We agreed terms with one of our tenants, John Vincent, for any painting/handiwork he did on our behalf in our absence. He's a treasure. We went down to town to fetch the loo/cistern which had been ordered for the bathroom and to draw 450,000 escudos from the bank, to pay for MCP's windows & doors and to pay the boys until the end of the month. Nearly £2,000. But Sterling has been falling so fast that it's hard to know what it’s worth any more. Hurts me.

We did a last tour of garden. The grammox I had sprayed on the drive was doing horrible things to the grass & weeds which had been growing there. Jones doubts that we should use it again. It's certainly effective. We discussed putting in small wood-burning stoves in the apartments, with exterior barbecues sharing the same chimneys. Jones said we should not proceed unless we were committed to stay at the Quinta for another ten years & until we were sure that the dreaded "rich man" would not ruin our view with a monstrous house.

Finally the farewells - the boys, Maria, the Germans, the French & the English. We presented the car-hire people with a box of chocolates to thank them for the upgraded car. What a pleasure it made our holiday. Jones was smiling. She was coming to London for a holiday. One day I'll do that too. Not yet!