You shall go to the ball

Ever since I first became an adult, Christmas has been a huge, artificial obstacle in the middle of the road which has to be reached without leaving any loose ends that cannot be tied until January 3rd, when the vast machine rumbles back into action for another year.

The dogs were my last job of 2023. The night before their installation I parked my ailing car and hastily arranged different methods of transport involving five different people and it all came together very well, but with a little more stress than I would have liked.

I then had the time to ponder a while on what to do about the car. There was so much work to do on it that I decided to scrap it and get another. I was recommended a company which drives all the way from Poole, Dorset with a huge transporter, and actually pays you more than the vehicle is worth to take it away. I could not even give it away in the condition it was in, so I booked it in and signed it off.

At dawn yesterday morning I drove it behind the transporter and it was driven up the extremely steep ramp, strapped on and driven away to Dorset.

With a week to go before running into the huge obstacle and my road tax expiring, I had tied up all the loose ends and felt relaxed enough to allow myself to catch Covid for a second time.

I am so relaxed about it that I would not be too bothered if Christmas is written-off for me by being contagious next week, but I have a feeling that I will not be.

Who let the dogs out? Me.

The dogs are up. I think they look great. I love them and I always have. Now for my Christmas break.

Spending more time with my family

I had a bit of an accident on Friday. I fell up some steps in the pub and I wasn't even drunk. The result is that my right leg and foot (and knee) is painful and swollen and I can hardly walk. It is a bit of an inconvenience because I am installing those stone dogs on Tuesday and there is no way I can climb up ladders - or even onto the back of the delivery truck - but I have a cunning plan which involves standing on the ground and pointing my finger at a comparatively young man whilst telling him what to do. I intend to do that as much as possible in what remains of my working life.

I seem to be misunderstood a lot at the moment here in Blogland, but I suppose that is quite common for everyone at some point during their glittering careers. Maybe what I find funny is not to everyones' taste, and maybe people see personal attacks in what I see as light-hearted joshing. 

Did you read the reactions to my comment over on John's about a postman sticking his arm through the cat-flap, knowing there to be about half a dozen dogs on the other side? Have you ever heard of, or can you ever imagine such a thing?? One follower suggested that I should not visit blogs if I am going to leave such negative comments, and John himself (reacting to my saying - jokingly- that I thought he was making it up) told me that it was not funny. Well I thought it was. I still do. Update - I have just been deleted. Hey ho...

I have lost my sense of humour quite badly recently, so I have been trying to refresh it in the last couple of days. I occasionally find myself turning into Lenny Bruce (but not as clever) in his latter days of stand-up, and I saw how that worked out for him. Colonel Blimp hasn't helped but he is easy to override - if not ignore - until he spouts dangerous rubbish about things which really matter to everyone but him.

So after Tuesday I am shutting the factory down and having a rest which I do not really deserve, and will spend more time with my family. Don't read anything sinister in that, please.

Enough killing

All I know is that since the brutal massacre of 1,200 innocent Israeli citizens on October the 7th, the IDF have killed over 21,000 Palestinians, 6000 of which have been children and babies, and have displaced 80% of the entire population of Palestine by obliterating every city and town that they have bombed.

The armed illegal settlers on the West Bank are now seemingly out of control and are beginning to kill their Palestinian neighbours.

Today the Israeli government said that Hamas have bought a load of plastic dolls from China and the people holding up shrouded babies who have been killed in the conflict are lying to the news media. 61 Palestinian journalists have been killed so far, and rising. They fear for their lives and the IDF refuses to embed journalists from anywhere else in the world.

The other things that I know are that Hamas will not be defeated by eradicating the entire nation of Palestine and peace is not achieved by bombing.

The Brits are not showing heart-rending footage shot in the Gaza region by Al Jazeera, the highly respected company who the Israeli government have blocked from the airwaves.

I have to say this now. I am getting too angry and depressed to hold back.

Christian sacrifice

It is too cold in my unheated workshop to do the last thing to some objects to be delivered (if I can find a truck and HIAB crane) next week, so I am leaving the car parked up and footling about here at home.

Try as I have done, I find it impossible not to get caught up in the mounting frenzy of the build-up to Christmas. It reminds me of the death of Princess Diana all those years ago. I did not think that the British were capable of such unashamed, hysterical displays of mass grief, then I remembered what happened when the death of Sherlock Holmes was announced. Black armbands, the lot.

I have to 'shelter-coat' the pair of composite stone dogs prior to putting them up on a wall. This involves making a sort of paint with very fine stone dusts, putty-lime, very fine aggregate (pumice in this case) and a binding of casein. It must not freeze.

The shelter-coat technique was developed at Wells Cathedral by a Professor Baker, who resurrected the traditional use of real slaked lime which had fallen out of fashion when they marketed Portland cement in the 19th century. He originally called it a 'sacrificial coat', but it was decided by the diocese that the term smacked too much of Paganism to sensitive Christian ears, so was dropped.

Lights in a dark world

I am feeling quite chirpy today. It is Saturday, the weather is fine and crisply frosty and there is a lull in the ghastly events to allow the exchange of hostages and delivery of essentials. 

Next week I will titivate a pair of 17th century stone dogs (copies of old friends) and arrange for them to be hoiked up onto a wall of my favourite house in Bath where they will stand guard over the lawns and some other objects I have put there. This will be my last job before Christmas, which is always a good thing.

My wealthy neighbours have excelled themselves with their Christmas lights this year.

Today I will take the tweed overcoat out of its wrappings and wander around town, stopping for a coffee to watch the hundreds of people milling around in the sunshine for the Christmas Market. 

Tonight I am roasting a chicken and making a cream sauce heavily infused with fresh tarragon. You can't go wrong with that, so long as you like cream and tarragon.

Green-Eyes is pregnant with a girl so I am about to become a step great-grandfather. It seems so recently that I was holding her hand to cross the road, and I hope I can stay around long enough to do the same with her daughter.

Small things, big world, or big things, small world?

Not transformation but enhancement

These are what have been taking up my time for a bit longer than they should have been recently. You see a 'before' photo, as on Monday I will be colouring them to match in with the wall and blend in with the surroundings, not stand out and glare as they do now.

I quite like turning stone on my lathe, but I do not like the dust I get covered with from head to foot. The design of these urn finials mean that 50% of the material is reduced to a very fine dust. That is a lot of dust. At weekends it is wonderful to wear clean clothes.

I have many more things to make and acquire which will improve what is an already beautiful garden, and I am very lucky to have been given the opportunity to work on my absolute favourite house in the area. I fell in love with this place when I worked here before many years ago, but almost everything I did for it then has gone (it's a long story) so I now have what amounts to a clean slate for the future. That is quite a responsibility, but after all these years I am more than capable of suggesting things which will suit perfectly and I am not about to inflict any incongruity on somewhere I love so much.