Spring time…

Well, knock me down with a feather! This morning, I woke up to blue skies and sun. Well, that makes a nice change, doesn’t it?

We’ve had weeks, if not months, of grey clouds and rain: fifteen storms rolling in from the Atlantic one after the other, apparently. What happened to the three hundred sunny days a year that I was promised when I moved here?

Yes, I was told that earthquakes were a possibility, and that a subsequent tsunami would then be the likely outcome, but nobody mentioned the possibility of fifteen storms on the trot, and definitely, no one mentioned the possibility of tornadoes. Yes, Albufeira suffered a tornado back in November, leaving one person dead and dozens injured. Bloody hell, it’s been a strange few months, I can tell you. And as has been confirmed by many of my friends, they’ve never seen anything like it in the years they’ve been here. They came for sun, not rain, they assure me.

And yes, the amount of rain has caused problems: flooding has occurred, properties and businesses have been ruined, roads destroyed.

On a personal note, my roof terrace has sprung a leak. Bollocks.

When I first moved here, I noticed a similar problem, re-grouted the roof tiles and covered them with grey, plastico paint. It did the trick, no more leaks until… yes, until the thirteenth storm rolled in this year. Unlucky for some, and for me in particular. Now I have a hole in my top-floor ceiling, where the water has penetrated, and it’s surrounded by black mould. Bloody hell… and there’s little I can do about it until I can be sure that the rain is over and that things have dried out.

Today is a start, I suppose – blue skies and sun. Well, who would have believed it?

So, for the first time in a while, I made the decision to go for a walk. It allowed me to enjoy the warmth of the sun on my skin. It allowed me to appreciate the swathes of yellow flowers before me (Bermuda Buttercups apparently, an invasive species from South Africa, but beautiful). It allowed me to squint at flamingos wading through glistening salinas. It allowed me to watch snails making slow progress across the gravel path in front of me. Why they do that, I have no idea, since it can’t be comfortable, but yes, Spring has certainly been sprung.

After my walk, once home, I changed into my swimming gear and headed down to the beach for the first time in a while. The water was a bit murky after all the recent rain, and rather bracing to say the least, but it was so good to plunge in once again, to enjoy its cool embrace, to let it clear my head, to help me forget about literally everything, even the leak in my roof terrace.

Afterwards, after removing the sand from my feet and drying myself off, I wandered homeward, peering up the side streets as I went, noticing that the Jockey bar seemed to be buzzing once more. For the last few weeks, the local fishermen have had to down their much-deserved beers inside, but today, they were back outside once again, having returned from their overnight fishing trips. Having found themselves safely back on land, they were celebrating this fact, as they have always done, from early morning onwards. The wonders of Spring time.

I knew someone once who asked who she could complain to about the noise the fishermen make when standing outside and drinking at seven in the morning. Myself and a friend told her that she should probably wind her neck in a bit. After all, this is their town, and this is something that they’ve always done and more than likely always will do. What she didn’t understand was that we are no more than guests here, and should either accept the ways of the locals or move on. She moved on.

So, on returning home, I was in a good mood, a great mood, in fact. Spring is here, the sun is back, the fishermen are happy, and nature is waking up once more.

Then I walked in through my front door and heard a great clunking sound. Bloody hell… I’d put a wash on before going for a walk and now my washing machine didn’t sound very healthy. To make matters worse, if I need to replace it, how the hell do I get it out from where it sits, stuck in the downstairs toilet under the stairs? When renovating the place, I asked the plumber to ensure that he positioned the toilet so that I could remove the washing machine if necessary – but I’m not sure he did. Measuring the gap between the toilet and the wall just now, I think that it may be a couple of millimetres short of what is required. Bloody hell.

Spring is a time of renewal, of new life, of new ways. For me it looks like that means a trip to the launderette once in a while. Bummer.