We are having an amazingly bright and sunny few days here in the South West. It's perfect for what I have to do today, which is treat some fragile stone with a sealant (something I normally hate to do) whilst it is still dry.
Since my client has been waiting all summer for me to deliver it, he is hardly going to take kindly to me insisting that it should be wrapped up in sackcloth and hidden for the rest of the winter, and I am not sure how this stone is going to react to the sort of sub-zero temperatures we experienced last year - and into this year. I had a whole, huge block of stone turn into a pile of small chippings at the thaw last winter, but all the rest of the exposed carved stone at my client's house survived remarkably well. I could be in debtor's prison now if it hadn't.
All of the famous country houses wrapped their external sculpture for the winter, and this produce some remarkably modern-looking sculpture in itself. I have been trying to find some old photographs taken from gardens designed by Gertrude Jekyll (above) to show you what I mean, but you probably know anyway. The huge, stone head which you may remember from past posts would survive a nuclear explosion, and if nobody touches it, I am confident that it will still be there exactly as I left it, in 800 years time.
As of today, I can hide myself away in a cosy workshop, chip chipping away regardless of the weather outside, and I am really looking forward to it. Just me, Radio 4 and the mice for company.
My workshop is divided into two rooms - a large one and a small one. Maybe it isn't as remarkable as I find it, but the rats cavort in the large one at night, and the mice in the smaller one. I can see from the footprints in the dust that the rats make the occasional visit into the small one, but - by and large - they seem to have sorted out their territory according to scale and hierarchy quite nicely.
I hardly ever catch sight of any of them, but I often hear the mice scurrying around between the roof-tiles and felt, their little feet rattling around just above my head. They have one peculiar habit which is to always shit in the same place - right on the top of a tiny coal-burning stove that they somehow manage to climb up every night. When I start lighting it, they will have to find somewhere else I suppose, or I will have to sweep baked mouse-shit off it every day.
Anyway, I have just realised what a boring post this is turning into, so I'll go off and get on with my life now and allow you to get on with yours.
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