RADIO 3 INTERRUPTED BY WHISTLING ELECTRICIAN

Another communication failure - this is where the bathroom mirror goes.

The gardener at my school scowled at us and called we boys vermin. So we in turn called him Vermin. If you came too close, Vermin would smack you across the face. In hindsight it is credible that he wanted us away from his gang mower and certainly not eating his strawberry crop. It worked.

The servants staircase was towards the back of the Edwardian house which was my school. In contrast to the main mahogany stair which served the ground and first floors this back staircase went up to the second floor and down to the basement. The steps were quite small and had metal treads on grey linoleum. There were two flights to each storey and as I got older I found that I could fly down the steps faster missing out more treads. By the time I was eleven I could jump down a whole flight and descend the entire height of the building in a few seconds.

The basement was quite mysterious. Immediately opposite the bottom of the stair was a room housing two enormous oil fired boilers, constantly failing to heat the entire building. It was a bit frightening so best avoided. Moving on to the right was the boot room whose door was carved with every boys intials since the beginning. The next room was locked - Mr Drover taught woodwork there - no nickname for him as he had fought in Burma and would occasionally show us his Ghurkha knife. After this the corridor melted away into darkness and cobwebs.

Turning left at the bottom of the stair was a television room for the sixth formers, introduced to balance the new practice of displaying the first formers’ pictures on the classroom wall. After that was an area occupied by Mr Deans the caretaker. He was a tall but plain scotsman who wore a Churchillian boiler suit. One of his tasks was to clean 42 pairs of black leather shoes on a Wednesday. Mrs Deans was more than a match in facial presentation, having a large wart on her left cheek, and too much lipstick. She did the washing up for 84 boys and staff three times a day.

But Mr & Mrs Deans, of the basement, were the happiest people about - certainly happier than the headmaster who smoked himself to death on the first floor in between beatings and chapel services. The basement wasn’t frightening because, although dark damp and smelling of boiler fuel, the whistle of Mr Deans could always be heard resonating along the corridors - a whistle to summon the sirens from their whirlpools, and with a vibrato of operatic proportions.

I had not heard the like of it since, not until Barry came to do the wiring. I should ask him whether he attended the basement conservatory.

Its been brassy...

...but pretty when the sun comes out...

...and I have been busy inside...

...trying to work out where to put the bath.

The last few weeks have been stressy in the real world due to ...

1. an unexpected influx of surveying work resulting in no building progress last week
2. no 3 and his gep ya (jealousy) - next stop the moon
3. a car crash - suki now just about recovered.

But after a relaxing weekend in Goteberg (thanks Catharina and Kent) I am recharged.

The studs are up and wiring in - only three days work for Barry.

CEDAR NEW FRONTAGE

The roof covering is now finished. Happily, I am still alive. Had I fallen off it would have been the Durufle Requiem - out of choice. Having been to the top of Centre Point this week (thanks James) I have renewed respect for all high rise buildings!

Richard and Doug are putting on the cedar cladding for me. Hoping to get the exterior done by Christmas (2011).
 

REAR

Simon is wearing a vest, short sleeve cotton shirt, cashmere jumper (Johnstones of Elgin), second jumper (from Aviemore), English Arts Chorale fleece, brushed cotton jeans, knee protectors and Clarks shoes (holey reliable).

After a few hours walking on battons your arms get longer and swing like an orangutan.

Roofing in bad weather is tough. I am siding with Wat Tyler and should be at St Pauls protesting about credit default swaps on Greek Debt made in my name by my bank. The copper clouts and rivets have caused my lips to crack and its we haven't yet reached November - only about 800 tiles to go.

I am out of touch but is there anyone concerned about Jeffrey Archer handing back the the throne of England to the RC church. What's this bit of sea for? What's the Tower of London for?

As I watch the harvest moon rise over the sea I consider the soreness of my bum - only a weekend biking in the black mountains is comparable to tiling, notwithstanding the bath mat I have stuffed down my shorts.

"I was now heavier than the barrel, and half way down I met the barrel coming up, receiving a severe blow upon the shin". Fortunately this is a lightweight pulley made from the washing line - suitable for carrying lunch but not much more, though I did walk into it and saw stars for a day.

After the first week I have just over a quarter of the tiles on but am gradually getting faster.

WINDOWS AND DOORS

I know not why, but I'm more uncertain than when I started. The first anniversary of commencement has gone by, and the next task - the roof covering - is daunting. I rode a horse called Rocky yesterday and that was bad enough. Mounting and dismounting the worst, so I shall need good roof access arrangements. When you look into the horse's eye he appears to have the knowledge of the world, but when you hear the steady printing of his proud feet, you realize that riding is just the bi-product of one of natures great eating machines. The best thing I learned from Amanda is that you can ride a horse into another horse as easily as the milkman reversed into my car last week. Not sure whether I believe this and would prefer all milk to be delivered by horsepower.

Everything is buzzing down here - the timber merchants are so busy they need a new lorry. All I hear on the radio is gloomy. This shows that by the time all those statistics have been requested, collected, reviewed and published, they are at least a year out of date. If it's as bad as all those clever economists would have us believe, my mother's policy of growing vegetables to ward off the German invasion may yet bear fruit. However, I maintain that the better way to be a success in the capital markets is to pick your moment from a deckchair on Winchelsea Beach.

ROPES PULLEYS AND GEARING





After a sleepless night in the tent ...



I finally came up with a system of ropes ...





To haul the windows up to the first floor - fortunately Suki is very strong.