Quick update: It is with much satisfaction and no little sense of relief that I announce that I have now received, in my credit card account, a full refund of our original payment for car rental. The final chapter has now been written in the entyre, tyring, tyre story.

When we bought the house in Portugal, Bernice and I originally had plans to convert the third bedroom into a bathroom, and reduce the downstairs bathroom to a toilet and washbasin. I even sketched out a plan to steal the rest of the fairly long, narrow bathroom to make a dining alcove extension to the kitchen. We actually contacted the firm of contractors we had called in to survey the house before we bought it and asked them to offer an estimate for this work.

Once we had bought, and the kids had moved in, we decided that we would not rush to carry out any major conversions, but would, instead, give them, and us, a chance to live with the house as-is and then make a decision. It is true that living, for a month, with five people sharing one bathroom that includes the toilet occasionally presents its challenges, we have found that it is doable. I now view going up and down the stairs to the toilet three times a night as valuable cardio-vascular exercise, rather than a right pain. (Truth to tell, I view it as both.)

More important than all this is that, over the two years (Two years! Where did they go? Oh yes, I remember: they were, for the most part, flushed down the toilet by Covid) over the two years, as I say, that the kids have been living in the house, they have colonised the third bedroom, turning it into an office/recording studio/storage room. When we first arrived for this trip, I could not negotiate all the accumulated ‘stuff’ in this room to get to the wine rack (disaster!) and the printer (less critical, but still awkward) that were against the far wall of the room.

A few days after we arrived, Tslil took command. She asked us to amuse Tao (she didn’t have to ask twice, of course) while she and Micha’el disappeared into the ‘stuff’, paying out a ball of string behind them so that they would be able to find their way out. A mere hour or so later, they invited us up to admire their industry. We opened the door onto a room that was a vision of order. Musical instruments now hung neatly on the walls. The computer desk was absolutely ready for business. The floorspace could have accommodated a ballroom dancing exhibition. We were amazed and delighted and, of course, this finally persuaded us that the dream of an upstairs bathroom was unrealistic, and would be very unfair to the kids.

What this meant, of course, was that we now needed to consider renovating the downstairs bathroom. This featured a toilet that more than occasionally leaked; a cracked, but working, bidet in a garish purply-chestnut-brown and white; a bath that leaked, with a plug that failed to keep the water in and water pressure that found climbing to the top of the shower head an all-but-insurmountable challenge; and a sink where the water pressure was so poor that it failed to trigger the gas water heater, so that you could only wash in cold water. All of this was set off by shocking pink wall tiles that, for some reason, Bernice found unattractive, ornate, dull bronze towel rails and a free-standing toilet-roll and toilet-brush holder that had seen many, many better days.

A friend of the kids was able to provide the name of a pair of professionals – a plumber and a tiler – who worked together. She had not actually used them herself, but she knew several people who had, and who recommended their work. So we asked them to come round, assess the job, and give an estimate.

I’m not sure what we were expecting, but what we got was a couple of chirpy Cockneys: Mark, dapper, spruce, diminutive, and Eric, rather more rotund and balding. They took a quick look at the bathroom, as we explained that we wanted a fairly low-budget job, replacing all the fixtures and fittings, replacing the wall tiles, adding a glass shower door, repainting the walls, but not touching the floor tiles, which, as they are throughout the house, are a warm terracotta in fairly good condition.

We have our more high-end bathroom in Israel, and we weren’t looking to rival that. As far as Bernice was concerned, white, leak-free fittings and everything clean and bright was the name of the game. As for me, I also wanted to know that they could resolve the water pressure issue. That was, of course, something they couldn’t guarantee, but they seemed fairly optimistic.

Eric measured up to price tiles. I was a little unimpressed that he asked to borrow a tape measure (he had left his in the car and it was raining heavily), but, other than that, they certainly seemed to be able to talk the talk. They quoted a price for bath, toilet and bidet that seemed ludicrously low. (One of the advantages of living in Israel is that so many goods and services seem very reasonable in Portugal.) Then, pausing only to pocket the tape measure, they left.

They contacted us a couple of days later with a total quote for the job that we were quite ready to accept. We agreed that they would buy all of the white goods and taps, while we would look for towel rails, toilet roll holders and so on. However, a few days later, they called to suggest that we meet them to buy all of the goods. This actually suited us, and we arranged to meet them a couple of days later, outside a large DIY store 40 minutes’ drive away.

In the course of an hour or so, we bought everything we needed. Their estimate for materials had not been far off the mark. Going round the store, we learnt something of their back stories. They had met in Portugal through a common friend, and teamed up. They both have homes in England, and are in the process of buying, and building homes on, quintas (estates) near Penamacor. They both plan to shift their centre of activity from the UK to Portugal, although I am sure they will both continue to return to the UK for short-term lucrative one-off contracts.

There are (or, at least used to be) a number of American medical professionals who came on aliya, worked year-round in the Health Service here, and went back to America for a month a year to earn enough to enable them to live the rest of the year here in the style they were accustomed to. Clearly, the same can be true for skilled artisans coming from the UK to Portugal.

I’m reminded of the story of a homeowner who calls a plumber for an emergency job. The plumber completes the work in a few minutes and presents a hefty bill. The home-owner says: ‘Good grief! That’s more than I earn, and I’m a brain surgeon”, to which the plumber replies: “It’s more than I used to earn when I was a brain surgeon.”

I think it’s fair to say that Eric and Mark have not yet fully integrated into Portuguese life. From what little I heard, I think my command of the Portuguese language is at least as good as theirs (and I don’t speak or understand at all). Going round the store, I heard them discussing prices and comparing them to UK prices.

I noted that they were quoting prices in sterling: ‘Blimey! That’s only 2 quid a piece!’ I was very impressed to see that they were able to convert effortlessly from euros to pounds. Then I noticed that the item they were referring to cost 2 euros. They weren’t converting; they were simply using the words ‘pound’ (or ‘quid’) instead of ‘euro’. Such is the extent of their lack of integration.

At the end of the shopping expedition, Mark loaded everything onto his van (which was actually his motorised caravan, in which he is currently living on his land), and, later that day, they brought all of the materials round to the house, to be stored until the following week, when they were going to carry out the work. It is fair to say that theirs is a low-overhead business! Unfortunately, Eric forgot to bring back the tape measure.

They started work the Tuesday after we left Portugal, and managed to finish in five days. They also managed to resolve all the problems, and Eric finally remembered to bring back the taper measure. I think it was my telling him that I would deduct it from the final bill that did the trick.

So we now have what is (or at least looks in the photos to be) a much more respectable bathroom.