Author: Seb Palmer

As so often, I didn’t think to take any photos when I started this job. And consequently I have no record of the hardest and most time consuming parts of my labours. This whole sorry scenario has come about because I’m determined to add a utensil hanging rack to our kitchen ceiling, over the sink/window area.

In a bigger kitchen that might not be the place for it. But our kitchen is appallingly tiny, and, frankly, totally unworkable. And consequently that’s the only area it can go. By way of illustration of our situation, due to the lack of space we have our fridge and freezer in the lounge… fer chrissakes!

Anyway, I made a wooden hanging rack a few days back. And then I started in on attaching anchor points in the ceiling. The first two appeared to take fast. Although whether they’ll hold in the long term I don’t know. I’m not confident!

The second two were patently not holding at all. Just applying slight downward stress on the wall-plugs via the eye-hooks pulled them straight both out. So I had to investigate the sub-strata. Most of our home has hideously textured artex ceiling (and even walls… aaargh! ). In some such areas I’ve struggled to remove this execrable stuff with Ex-Tex. Never again!

The artex is on plasterboards. And in the kitchen, in turns out that beneath that – or rather above, in the reverse stratification of ceilings – is old fashioned (Victorian, perhaps, like the building itself?) lath and plaster.

To get sufficient purchase or anchorage in the intended spots, I needed to create a hole in the artex/plaster/lath large enough for me to reach two rafters, and to work in. And then I’d need to attach wooden boards or beams between said very old and very solid – at last something substantial – rafters. Once this was done – oh so much easier said than done (working in a confined space, and worse yet up a ladder in the ceiling space, wasn’t easy!) – I’d have to build back and re-plaster.

We’d love to get someone in to professionally skim all the artex surfaces. But I very much suspect that that’s well beyond our current fiscal reach. I’m trying to get a plasterer over to quote on the job. But it seems they’re so busy they don’t even feel the need to respond to our enquiries!

I initially tried scavenging some plasterboard at the so called local ‘recycling centre’, aka, the dump. But they wouldn’t let me have any. I only needed a tiny bit. But nope, no can do. Pathetic! So next I drove around town looking for skips, with bits of plasterboard in them. But no dice. So I just wound up screwing a piece of chipboard to the two lateral beams or batons that I’d screwed between the rafters.

And only at this point did I start taking a few photos. Aren’t they something. The excitement! The drama! The sheer aesthetic delights! Well, anyway, I added a bit of chicken wire to the chipboard, attaching that with a staple-gun. This would give the filler something to grab hold of in addition to the surface of the chipboard itself.

After a first thick slathering coat of said filler, I took a break. Intended to be a short lunch break, I wound up dozing off to the doings of Andrew Camarata, as he destroyed and removed a load of crap from a client’s property.

This longer than expected break was actually good, as it meant that I returned to the plaster several hours later, to add a second and hopefully final layer. Obviously, thanks to the thickness of the first coat, I needed to wait longer than normal before applying a second.

Also, thanks to the hideous artex, there’s no chance of a clean matching finish. And that’s where I find myself now, beer in hand, writing this.

I had a little bit more filler than I really needed, so I slathered it on, slightly exceeding the area required. I did this to see whether or not I could flatten out the artex surfaces myself. Maybe then we’d not need to hire a plasterer? Truth be told, there is such an enormous acreage of the evil material in our property that a professional is definitely indicated!

I’m now left waiting for the second coat of plaster to dry, before I can sand it flat. Then the anchors for the hanging rack will need to be fitted, and the filler probably ought to be painted.

Rather annoyingly I strongly suspect that I’ll have to repeat this entire rigmarole for the first two anchor points.

‘Mary shut the garden door’ Donald Fagen

Yesterday I built this little wooden garden gate. I didn’t really document the making. Other than this lone pic of the Z-frame elements.

But I’ve taken a few pics of it in situ’. I put it up today before heading out to teach. I actually took it apart and re-built it as well! I’d put the screws in from the wrong side, such that they didn’t reach far enough through and into the wood of the verticals.

I wound up re-assembling it and gluing it all, as well as screwing it all together. I’m glad I did. The result is much better and stronger. Getting it hung is very satisfying!

Next I need to add the latch. I also have a spring, designed to auto-close the gate. It’ll be interesting to see if I can install that and make it work satisfactorily. And then I’ll be painting it all to match the other gate pillars.

Ok, so the project at hand right now… so sayeth Andrew Camarata, prolific YouTuber and handyman extraordinaire, at the commencement of many of his strangely compelling videos. But more about him elsewhere and later!

One of my latest projects, which has been pending for ages now, got done rather quickly recently. Partly spurred into action, alas, by a small local crime-wave.

Last week I dug down about 40cm in two spots, measured and marked up, for two 4” x 4” fence posts. These were 120cm tall. so I was burying and fixing one third of their length in the ground. And these posts are pretty hefty. They need to be strong, as I’m hanging iron gates from them.

One of these holes was very hard work, as I was removing lots of concrete and aggregate. My Hitachi hammer-drill, with a large-ish hammer attachment, was essential to this work. The other hole was much easier, being mostly earth (or, as Yanks like Camarata call it, dirt).

Despite all my measuring and marking efforts, once rooted firmly in place, the two posts were about two inches too far apart. So I had to add two strips of timber, one for each side/post. None of the timber I had was appropriately dimensioned for this. So I had to cut down something suitable for this task.

It also transpired that the whole driveway slopes a little, so I had to add a bit of height to the lower of the two posts. Once all this lot was cut and installed, I could hang the gates. This was both fun and pretty easy. It was very gratifying seeing it all come together, and lining up pretty nicely.

My 2.4m 4” x 4” post yielded two 1.2m posts. And with 40cm buried, only 80cm remained above ground. The tops of these posts were thus well below the tops of the gates. I was constrained in this by my available lumber. But such constraints are sometimes fine. We bought end-caps and ball style finials, to top the posts off, weatherproof them, and give them the necessary height, and a bit of pizazz!

With the gates in pace, and the posts fully assembled, it was time to paint them. Teresa wanted a dark blue. I was less sure about this, favouring a pale sagey green. But in the end we found a dark-ish blue we could agree upon. And I think it’s turned oot reet grand!

Once the posts, the gates, and the decorative caps were all done, and painted, it was time to decide how to address the spaces on either side. The one at right – as you face our house (the left if looking out from the front door) – we decided should get a little brick wall. The larger one on the opposite side will get a bespoke little wooden gate.

Dimensioning the bricks for the wee wall was tricky. With a cold chisel and various hammers I eventually got the shapes and sizes I needed. But not without a fair amount of crumblage and wastage.

I used the remaining postcrete, with sand and water, as mortar. This seems to have worked ok.

Myeah… or perhaps I should say M’naah?

Pretty underwhelmed and disappointed with the Hockney thing at the Fitz. If the beautiful sunny day hadn’t put me in such a good mood I’d ordinarily have been pretty miffed at the £10 we splashed on parking in town.

We were a bit nonplussed some years back at a Fitz offering called Vermeer’s Women (or something similar), which, I/we felt, rather disingenuously, used the pull of Vermeer’s name to lure you into a show with only one or two paintings actually by the titular artist.

Likewise, the amount of Hockney we saw today would’ve only filled one of the normal temporary display areas visiting shows usually use. Rather notably one of these rooms was completely closed, whilst the other was mostly blocked off, the small open portion being bulked out with modern screen-media stuff.

I’ve now had it pretty thoroughly confirmed that I’m not a fan of Hockney’s forays into iPad land. It was notable how the largest crowds of spectators in the show were to be found worshipping at the several screens. Guess I must be some kind of artsy fuddy-duddy? Such stuff is of literally zero interest to me.

Strangely, for a somewhat maverick magpie type artist, it’s his most trad stuff, at least on this occasion, I get most from. Whether that’s his portraits – and I preferred some of the lower profile subjects to the more typical ‘great and good’ (or is that just celebs, in our era?) – or his landscapes (whether peopled or semi-abstract).

But little or rather none of this stuff, er, sorry… art, is really very remarkable. The juxtapositions with the permanent collection items seemed both a bit lazy and often quite tenuous or slapdash. All told, a rather paltry effort. The only thing this was big on, for me, was disappointment.

The show was called Hockney’s Eye. And I suppose there was some kind of theme in there somewhere. But, just as I wasn’t remotely tempted to shell out the £39 for the accompanying book, nor was my interest piqued by the ideas the exhibition may or may not have been presenting.

I recently said somewhere else here on ye blogge that Hockney might be the closest contemporary British art comes to having a Vesuvian talent like Picasso. But on the evidence of this showing this is a volcano long since gone dormant.

In one word, disappointing.

I wanted to embed the Reith lecture by Bertie I listened to this evening. But it – whether it’s the link itself, or the WordPress app, I don’t know!? – won’t let me. Prob’/poss’ some BBC thing whereby they’re trying to constrain one to only listening via their own app?

https://www.bbc.co.uk/sounds/play/p00hgk3l

The Reith lecture is about that classic thorny ol’ issue, the freedoms of the individual vs the demands of society. And it’s a very interesting listen. Highly recommended.

But back to the matter quite literally in Hans these last few stays, Bertie’s opus/meisterwork, the HOWP. I find that every page, nay, every paragraph, almost, is filled with memorable and quote-worthy sentences.

I don’t always agree with (or, for example when he first cites a mathematical proof, follow/understand) everything he says. And a lot of it begs for further reading/exploration. But by gum, it’s a well written highly compelling read.

I’m still in the Classical world at the time of posting this, having just read Bertie’s enthused but still critical judgements on Pythagoras. Rather fortuitously we’re having some great sunny weather right now, which helps evoke a rather Hellenistic vibe!

One of the marks of truly great writing is that it stimulates further and wider reading. Great fiction may inspire you to read more by the same author, whereas great non-fiction will often inspire you to read further on the subject, or era. HOWP certainly meets this criteria!

I just put in an advance order for the book pictured above. Partly because I’m a trifle disappointed with this:

The above is, in some respects, a thing of great beauty and loveliness. The reason I’m a tad disappointed in it is the picture selections. I adore Tove Jansson’s art. And I was hoping there would be more of my favourite images in this book.

Designed to be removable, for framing, the card stock the images are printed on is appropriately heavy. And the image quality is terrific. It’s just the selections that cause my less than jubilant feelings.

I really hope the new pre-ordered book has a lot more of what I like best!? Of the 22 main or large images reproduced in this frame-able prints book, only one – pictured above – is from the choices I would’ve made.

Below are a few of the images I was disappointed not to find in this book:

The above cover image is from a fab Jansson book, in which there are numerous lovely illustrations. Sadly barely any of which are in the book.

There are, in addition to the full size colour ‘plates’ (as they used to call ‘em!), a number of delightful smaller black and white images. But again, the dejection is not as rich as I’d have liked.

We went for a little wander around Ely, taking in the Cathedral, and Topping Books. At the latter we bought a terrific book on William Morris (more on that in a separate post).

But the largest chunk of time was given over to strolling around the cathedral, soaking up the magnificence of the architecture and its adornments.

The building itself is breathtaking. And inside there are countless things to draw the eye. So much that it’s easy to overlook all sorts of oddments, such as this bell, sat on the floor by a wall. It’s a whopper! One wonders how it was made, and how and why it came to be sat, silently, where it currently rests.

Although it’s nearing mid-March, and is warming up outside, It’s still a wee bit nippy. Especially so inside this large cold stone edifice. One passes several of these enormous cast iron tubular radiators, as one circumnavigates the cathedral. And each time you can feel the heat emanating from them as you get closer.

As huge as these heaters are, they’re dwarfed by the space they’re situated in. And look at the size of the many-fluted columns. Extraordinary!