Once again I start writing this on a Monday as in my old age the days of the week seem to concertina into a quick blur.
“With old age, the last minute no longer exists. It is gone before you know it is here.” - Peter McSporran
We, Rozanne and I, have routines that we look forward to each day, such as eating lunch out most days as it is cheaper than eating at home with less waste. Dinner is then reduced to a bowl of soup or toast. It also allows us to interact with the local regulars of the establishment we visit, who, knowing us enough, acknowledge our presence while not necessarily friends although the waiters/waitresses in some cases are now friends, many being the owners or at least part of the ownership. This past couple of weeks I have had some extra socialising in that, the second youngest member of our ‘old farts’ group turned seventy and just this past Saturday we had our fairly regular lunch with some of our Portuguese peers. This lunch is always based around game meat although we do, on occasion, have bacalhau. This week, John Tidey, who also happened to be the birthday boy, provided two hares prepared by a retired restauranter living in the hills. Next time, it will be javali (wild pig) cooked by one of our Portuguese friends in the group who has, in the past, presented us with the perfect javali chanfana (wild pig stew). No shortage of wild boar here in Portugal, with an estimated population of three hundred thousand, much to the anguish of my neighbours. Root crops, maize and grapes are the favourite fare of these animals, while the thick forests surrounding us give them impenetrable cover, making it hard to control their numbers. I have found that while the younger generations of Portugal are very liberal, that is not so of my age group. Social etiquette and respect for others is essential in their world, where they only recognize two genders. In truth, it is no different for those of British and German descent, so we all get on very well.
“I suppose the copious amount of home-produced wine adds to the candour in the conversation at such events. Neither is language a issue. Common ground is easy to find, politics and religion is left to others.” - Peter McSporran
I quickly lose track, but what I meant to write is. I am writing this on Monday, and only expect to receive the results of my latest scans on Wednesday, or rather I have a window that is for a pre-scheduled call with the surgeon in the event of the need for immediate intervention. No call then, provided I understood him, we will not meet until the next round of tests to be completed, at best in June. I, therefore, will be adding that result after I have completed this blog. I wonder if it would have changed the tone or content. Despite what I say, I do reflect on what the result may be and what the consultation will bring. If good, I shall sigh with relief and wait for the next round of tests; if the news is bad, no doubt my surgeon and his team will need to consider the next steps. Whatever will be, will be. In the interim, my urologist will demand further tests and hopefully fix a date for the surgery to try and ease my incontinence. I try not to dwell on my medical challenges and mostly succeed. Luckily, much more mundane things, such as the content of each week's blog, keep me awake at night. More recently, not just the madness of events in Zimbabwe since 2000, but in truth, the madness that seems to have once again overtaken the world.
“As long as there are humans in this world, it will be a violent unlawful place ruled by self indulgent idiots unwilling to see or accept what is needed to create a wider good. Their focus is on their own parochial drivers, be it greed, power, religion, even fear or just their own evil nature.” - Peter McSporran
This past week was highly social, and we are so excited about a busy week ahead. We are heading to the Algarve, where all our children—sadly, no grandchildren as yet—Rozanne’s siblings, and some of our friends from around the world will gather to help celebrate her post-dated sixtieth birthday. There is much excitement. Preparations are extensive; unfortunately for me, it is no longer just throwing a couple of clean shirts, socks and underpants in the bag. We have been practicing staying away from home with short visits to Lisbon and the Algarve since the New Year, so we hope we forget nothing, planned for any eventuality, and I do not get too grumpy.
This past two weeks the weather in Portugal is what I would call 'unsettled' with two large storm fronts passing through and another on its way there has been rain, shine, snow on the mountains, hail in our area, thunder storms monster waves at Nazarre. The pictures I have posted this week reflect the weather over the past week.
After leaving the Commercial Farmers Union (CFU) for the first six months, I was fully involved in personal matters except for the Seed Co board, which had just gone public, and Blackfordby Agricultural College board, where I had been asked to take over as chairman on the retirement of the founder chairman, Vec Hurley. Vec had the dream about Blackfordby; it was his creation, and he nurtured it throughout his time there. I took it as a great honour to take his place. It was convenient for me as my Rydal farm was only about twenty kilometres from Klein Kopjes Farm, where Blackfordby College was situated. Therefore, I used to kill two birds with one stone and try to visit both Rydal and the college on the same trip, which was not always successful. There was no honorarium for being on the board, let alone the chair of Blackfordby. All of us who were involved with this establishment were proud to do so and were more than amply rewarded by its success. Peter Richards, the ex-Zimbabwe Tobacco Association President, who had helped facilitate the CFU’s involvement during my term there as President, was chairman of the Trustees. No better man for the job, and David Baxter was the Director. By this time, Peter, Dave and myself had become firm friends, all having a mutual respect, it should be said with diverse talents and views on how our world should be. Needless to say, every problem until the fateful land invasions was resolved affably. Funding issues, student discipline and staff matters were easily solved. There was no solution to the land issue and its impact on funding and student confidence in choosing farming as a career. Needless to say, we had a good four years together before that event. Dave, unfortunately, has passed, leaving his charming and talented wife Coral, who now resides at Borrowdale Trust in Marondera, while Peter is in Australia nursing his very ill wife, Pat. Thirty years ago, we were a team to be reckoned with in running a college. I am sure my tutors from Auchincruive would have heard of my role with scepticism, while my teachers from school would not have accepted it as truth.
I was now single, having divorced, with a major restructuring of land ownership, although my farming business continued as it was. I also had a huge tax burden; money taken out of a company, not for use in the business, for whatever reason, requires tax to be paid. Further, as I no longer had to spend most of my days at the CFU I would have more time to spend fishing and traveling. The fishing, yes, with me once again joining the annual Micky Tanner November Lake Kariba week-long fishing trip and a similar one on the Zambezi in October with Keith Holland, Neville Baker, Gravy Scott, Paul Leach and Nick Holman (sic). These were annual events and not to be missed, although, unfortunately, while at the CFU, I did. Bass fishing on Darwendale dam was now the thing. We had gone from rendelli bream to yellow bellies to bass all in ten years. Doug McClymount just wrote to me this week telling me how much my and my neighbour's, Des Bruk-Jackson's, pig effluent boosted bass numbers on the dam. That is with the bream feeding on the algae, which in turn became easy food for the bass. He now tells me the bass are not so prevalent now the pigs are gone, although I was lucky enough four years ago to catch while fishing with Choppy and Karen Steyn. I had a share in the Shenga, a steel mono-hull of some forty-five feet, on Kariba, and a River Ranger for local fishing. Rather than going on the larger Shenga, I thought it would also be a good idea to have a weekend Kariba boat, one allowing visits to Tiger Bay or Spurwing over weekends. Luckily enough, an advert came up for the ideal boat in the Farmer Magazine of all places, placed by one of the Connelys from Bulawayo, that being an eighteen foot Hawk at a very attractive price. I bought it and asked Jack Readings, who was my manager at Diandra at that time, to take my Land Rover and collect it for me, which he readily did. This boat would be kept permanently at Kariba and as it was extravagant for my use only, I offered a share to Kevin O’Brien, who by that time was now the owner-manager of Agrichange, with me having already exited from the business.
As for romance for the first year, women were not part of my plans; it was only later I would make a fool of myself. I did learn something, though.
“In the farming community, single men are acceptable dinner guests, while single women should be avoided if possible. The hostess ensures this rule is applied.” - Peter McSporran
This is the postscript paragraph. Well, the surgeon has not called, so I presume I can relax until the next round of tests. Waiting for that call that never came did distract me, as was proven by a couple of the stupid calls I made at our weekly bridge afternoon on Wednesday. But it is certainly a case of no call is better than a call.
Disclaimer: Copyright Peter McSporran. The content in this blog represents my personal views and does not reflect corporate entities.
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