By PAUL MCKAY features@algarveresident.com
Teacher, Paul McKay, left London to live a self-sufficient existence in the Monchique hills with his partner Martyn. He keeps an assortment of animals and grows a variety of crops in an eco-friendly way – all on a limited income.
Thursday 27th May
How can it be the end of May already? The strange weather that we endure nowadays seems to ricochet us from winter rain and cold straight into the middle of summer, forgetting all about spring.
Unless one has supernatural meteorological skills, the time for sowing and planting passes one by. I seem to be in a constant state of noticing that I should have sowed something or transplanted something about a fortnight ago.
The same cannot be said of my new neighbours. They are obviously agricultural experts and their little horta at the top of the hill is a leafy, verdant, pest-free, weed-free paradise. The 20 year plan of ours to become self sufficient is still in its infancy (20 years on). They, however, seem to have achieved it in 20 minutes. It is a little like having an edible version of the Chelsea Flower Show on our doorstep, taunting me for horticultural inadequacy.
Each day I drive past, some new flourishing veg bed seems to have sprung up overnight, raspberrying me for lack of prowess in the spring bedding department – the shame of it all.
This evening, while passing the Flower Show, I almost drove into a ditch, such was the distraction caused by the ranks of sweet corn swaying in the breeze.
As I rounded the bend home, trying to ignore the barren veg patch, I was confronted by Eggs (family pig) in the middle of the lettuces chomping away merrily.
It took two of us two hours to get her back where she belonged and the lettuces, the only success story this year, looked limply on.
I spent the rest of the evening trying not to be irritated by the tap-tap-tap of the keyboard as Martyn trawled the internet in search of a name for his many ailments.
He has come up with a number of possibilities that match his multi-faceted symptoms. So far, likely conditions afflicting him are Gilbert’s syndrome, chronic fatigue syndrome, the menopause and a brain tumour. My suggestion that he might find it quicker to put in the symptoms he does not have was received rather ungraciously.
Friday 28th May
We arrived in Madrid at four o’clock in holiday mood, despite having sat on the runway at Faro for longer than the time it took to fly here.
Martyn’s flight nerves were not helped by a rowdy bunch of students who were seat hopping around the plane and videoing themselves doing Mexican waves.
I was pleased to see the overpriced snacks and drinks were avoided by almost everyone on board and took great delight in waving around my own tunafish sandwich I had smuggled past check-in.
My new holiday resolution not to dominate map-reading lasted 10 minutes as I noticed Martyn had us on a train heading out of the city instead of in.
The next hiccup was finding the hotel. On our last visit, there was a little confusion due to my wonderful memory letting me down, so this time I had all the details on my phone.
We walked the length of Calle Hortaleza in both directions and were convinced we had been the victims of internet fraud (similar to last time) when Martyn joyously noticed the hotel sign.
Not so joyous after all. The most positive word I can use to describe this hotel is SQUALID. The room was not big enough to swing a rat in and the bathroom … well, room is a generous word.
No door, merely a flimsy screen separating it from the bed, some manky white tiles and a dubious looking stained loo – sin seat.
The receptionist had left us at the door and scuttled off with our money – little wonder. Twenty minutes later, clutching our money, we headed off vowing to never again use an internet site with the word budget in it.
Saturday 29th May
Madrid is in the middle of a heatwave. Martyn did his ‘oldest swinger in town’ trick last night, clubbing it to all hours while I went to bed with a novel.
Today I have marched him around parks and shops as the sun beats down and the temperature topples 36 degrees. If I were to live in a city, it would have to be Madrid.
The people love the city and really use it. People of all ages congregate in Retiro Park, kids on bikes, huge family picnics and elderly couples arm in arm.
One old lady sat at a picnic bench with her feet on the table was oblivious to the multitudes passing by as her husband skilfully clipped her toenails – true love.
Sunday 30th May.
Home. Martyn headed off to Wales and me back here. The car refused to start. It appears the driver (let me not be the one to cast the first stone – you work out for yourselves who the driver was) left the parking light on. The self same driver who is always telling me not to leave the parking light on. Caught a taxi home – a snip at 90 euros.
Monday 31st May.
Not a wink of sleep all night. Mice seem to have moved in during my three days’ absence and are forming a steel band under the cooker.
I am trying hard not to scream. Oh – and there’s no hot water either.
Tuesday 1st June.
Cold water has packed up now, the mina is dry. Someone left a hose filling up a pond before we went to Madrid. I locked all four cats in last night and removed all bits blocking access to behind the cooker.
Locked myself in the bedroom, turned the air con on and tried not to hear the screeching and crunching downstairs. Never be without a cat!
