Saturday, 6 November 2010

16July1997

16 July 97
My dear folks,

Faro airport! Can’t believe where the ten days have gone. As always, there was just time do all that had to be done – and there was a lot to be done. The focus of the holiday turned out to be the electrics in the original cottage & adjacent apartments. The mains switch for these was tripping out without warning & without obvious cause, leaving Andries in the end apartment powerless & sometimes in darkness. So I asked an electrician, Jose Soares, highly recommended by a friend, to look for the problem & to cast an eye over the electrical wiring generally. Mr Soares didn’t like what he saw; he let me know that the wiring to the apartments was not up to standard, nor was the fuse box in the cottage. In a number of cases, there was more than one wire connected to a single fuse – an arrangement which, as he explained, made it near impossible for him to trace the fault.

We talked things over in (my) halting Portuguese – he doesn’t speak any English - & agreed to upgrade the whole system, something I would have to do anyhow if I ever go the official route & notify the Portuguese authorities of the Quintassential’s existence. It would also serve to give me more peace of mind. (The two horrors one has in the back of one’s mind are the electrocution of guests & running out of water!) The first step was to bash a hole in Casa 3’s wall & install a larger fuse box; the second to link it up to the wiring & the third to try to find the problem. This turned out – after hours of testing - to be the socket behind the oven. While two of Mr Soares’s worthies were busy with the above, two more were occupied installing new cables from the cottage to the laundry & apartments, as well as meters to record the electricity usage in the various units. The job involved lots of drilling holes in walls, something Jones always dreads given the accompanying clouds of dust. She sensibly stayed away from the scene while I emphasised to the workmen that we had clients – a full house - arriving early on Thursday a.m.

Jones, as well as dreading the inevitable last-minute clean-up, was dreading the bill. I had asked Mr Soares for an estimate before he started the job but he shrugged his shoulders & indicated that this was impossible because he didn’t know what the problem was. He assured me that he would charge me a fair price & mentioned the name of the friend who recommended him. With this I had to be content. When I came to pay him, shortly before I left, he was as good as his word. For 4 days’ work involving up to 4 men & the new equipment, I’d anticipated a bill of anything up to £2,000. In fact, it was less than half of that, much to my relief. As so often in these cases, one has the option of asking for an invoice & paying 17% in tax for the privilege – or merely settling the bill.

Jones admitted afterwards that she had anticipated costs running into thousands. Little wonder she had been so on tenterhooks. I’d wanted at the same time to replace her gas boiler in MCP (it always runs out of gas halfway through a shower) with a cylinder & immersion heater. But she wouldn’t hear of it. Jones is terrified that I will die young(ish) & leave her to the vicissitudes of a penurious old age. I point out to her that she might well pop off first but this brings her no consolation. She was also worried that she & Maria would not be able to get the place ready for the horde due to pour in at the crack of dawn on Thursday.

Jones is a worrier, as I often tell her, but she insists that she worries in a good cause. She also likes things to look just right when people arrive & to be sparkling, as her own little MCP always is. I went upstairs in MCP one day & damn near broke my neck after stepping in a plastic pan which Jones had left on the bedroom floor. When I raised the subject of leaving pans in dangerous places, Jones demanded only to know what had happened to the dust that had been in the pan at the time. Thus do we perceive the world differently. I suppose it’s fair to add that I’d clearly come to no harm.

We took part of Tuesday off while the electricians were tearing away at the Quintassential’s innards. Jones was keen to try a grilled sardine lunch at a small restaurant situated on a back road on the outskirts of the airport. It’s a place she passes when she walks from the bus stop on the main road to the airport to meet me, via a route used only by pedestrians. Although the restaurant looks like nothing to write about, it’s well known to airport staff, who patronise it in reassuring numbers. “Dad” does the grilling in a tiny lean-to outside, ringing a bell to inform (presumably) his daughters when the fish is ready to be served. There are tables placed inside & out – on both sides of the road. We chose to sit across the road beside small runs containing various exotic fowl. Chickens clucked & pecked a living around the tables as we lunched. Smiling daughters brought us supplies of wine, salads, bread & as many sardines as we could manage. It was a delightful occasion.

Maria arrived early on Wednesday for the big clean up in the 2 casas as the electricians concentrated on installing the wiring in the laundry & apartments. I had a list of last minute jobs that grew as Jones came across things requiring urgent attention. In the end I fell out of my painting clothes & into my parting clothes, with time just for a farewell snack & conversation with Jones in Loule. And so back to London where I’m completing this letter. I supped last night with my neighbours, Herman & Stef, two of whose family members are staying in the flat while I’m away. Mavis is being spoiled to death & the flowers on the patio are looking marvellous. So I’m free to grab my bags & head back to the airport in a few hours for a flight to Canada where I’m to spend the next ten days.

Blessings
T

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