By MARGARET BROWN
JUNE IS the month when money goes out and very little comes in. Cars must be taxed, and this is the first year it has been possible to do this on the internet. While the Boss had no difficulty, for some reason, my application for a password was rejected several times. In desperation, we paid a personal visit to our local Finanças office and, after much scratching of heads, the problem was sorted and we now wait to receive our secret identities through the post. Another password to add to the pickle, and sometimes I wonder if the internet is less my servant than a temperamental and irrational master.
Legalising our one remaining dog was a doddle by comparison, although it was saddening to visit the Junta de Freguesia to sign Bess off as deceased. When we brought our Border Collies over in 1986, I was fined by the department for failing to record their birth. Not speaking any Portuguese and being unable to make myself understood, I smiled and paid up. How things have changed… . It all costs much more, but once a vaccination against rabies has been given, the dog’s passport brought up-to-date and a licence application written and paid for, all one has to do is wait a week for the legal document.
For the last few years, the câmara vet has injected our animals; immunisation costing only a third of that charged by private practices. We called there last week, finding an assortment of mongrels and a few pedigree hounds waiting patiently for the doctor to arrive. In a wire compound, hidden from view, sad castaways and lost pets from the Lagos area barked and whimpered, hoping to be claimed. Euthanasia or rescue by a stranger would be their only way out from that place.
Meanwhile, as we sat side by side on wooden benches, the sole estrangeiros there, general conversation helped to pass the time. The obvious subject being dogs, I was told that the thick layer of black gum covering Fred’s ears was called gruda and came from Cistus bushes in the hills. While we talked, Fred had found common ground with my immediate neighbour’s Serra da Estrela bitch, a rescued animal of obvious quality. Her owner was not best pleased and proceeded to belt her over the head with his cloth cap.
Last month, a good friend from Wales offered to house-sit, which is a great relief as we have not taken a holiday in two years. We spent the next 10 days co-ordinating dates with various members of the family, and it seems that we shall be commuting to all four points of the compass by road and air in those two weeks.
With time running out, I suddenly saw my comfortable home through the fresh eyes of another, whose own house appears neat and tidy at all times. A busy week lay ahead and some changes had to be made. Having installed a new ceiling fan in the spare bedroom, there were clouds of dust motes dancing in the rays of morning sun, and I wondered if the hassle was worthwhile. With an oven to clean, equipment to defrost, enough dog food to be stored until our return and a general mucking out all through, the place could do with seven maids with seven mops working for half a year. On the plus side, I know that when we come home, everything will be even better than when we left; which gives me no alternative but to pull out all the stops and be equally thorough.
By popular demand, we shall be taking a large supply of sardine pâté to distribute among the family, after the style of adventurers in Victorian times, who took beads and baubles to establish friendly relationships with the natives, before annexing their birthright to the British Crown. Wales, having achieved devolution, is in no danger from that, but the English can still defeat them at rugby.
How long the English football team remains in the World Cup appears to depend on the skill of one man, if the media is to be believed – an onerous burden for him to carry at any time. It is to be hoped his metatarsus and personality remain undamaged by so much pressure.
Not being a fan of the beautiful game, I will watch very little television until it is over. Meanwhile, my car has the Portuguese flag flying at all times, to which will be added the English Cross of St. George as soon as I return from the UK, if our team is still in the fight.
With water levels in the nearby lakes continuing to fall, some of the local farmers had bailed and carried their hay early in June. Others left theirs lying for several weeks under a hot sun and then, after two days of rain in the middle of the month, the crop would be mouldy and full of dust by the time it was bailed. It was no different when we had the farm. The contractor never arrived on time, our heavy cut of oats and vetches lay too long in the sun, it rained and then the bailer turned up. Some things never change, but as farming is a dying industry in the Algarve, it is of little consequence for future generations in the area.
