Tag Archives: buildings

Difficult to get on

Standard

… with anything much, when there is water dripping through the ceiling, and the plumber clonking about detectively.

With November imminent, it was appropriate to groan and say, Here we go again, and cut out paper.  Every year the most tiresome part is trying to squeeze uniqueness into a hundred squares, each no more than an inch and a half on a side, when there is barely room to turn the scissors (the large squares are much easier).   So I applied the worst-first rule.

Seventy-five minuscule squares later, and with a shiny new ballcock in situ, that seems to have been a sound decision.

Advertisements

Not quite incunabula

Standard

I’ve been looking through some photos from last week.  There was little time to go anywhere except the College itself, or a quick doddle round the Close for fresh air.  Luckily, there was a fascinating exhibition in the library, and the cathedral always rewards.  (Click a thumbnail for the gallery. If you want to see texts properly, click on link from gallery to full size.)

 

“‘Tis the Last Judgement’s fire must cure this place…

Standard

… calcine its clods …” I muttered gloomily, though Browning was not thinking of kitchen shelves.

I had an outbreak of Usefulness, and in fact was genuinely useful (as well as being annoying).  Disheartened, though, as past a certain age and level of neglect kitchens become finally uncleanable:  the greasy steam seeps into every cranny, soaks into the cupboard doors, coats every tile and pipe, and, scrub as you may, the tackiness persists.  But at least the new owner should be able to find his sarcasm when he needs it.

Austerity

Standard

Today I went looking for a quiet place on the stairs in which to find a teasing line.  Instead I found an image, obscure at first but clarifying into black comedy.

I don’t think he or she made it.

So goodbye to the lectures and a brief hello to some nearestsanddearests; full of apple crumble we admired the Close and the cathedral lit by what looked like about seven million lux, killing the stars.

I have swapped my austere hall-of-residence style bed for something even more austere, having no bedstead at all; but the ambience is friendly, and I am cooched up on the sofa with the Middle English Metrical Paraphrase of the Old Testament:

In this boke that cald is Genesis
ther may men see the soth unsoght
How God, that beldes in endlese blyse,
all only with Hys Word hath wroght
Hevyn on heght for Hym and Hys,
this erth and all that ever is oght.
This erth was wyde and wast
and no gud on yt grovyd;
On the heght the Holi Gast
abown the waters movyd.

Milton, eat your heart out.

Stocking up on seaside …

Standard

… while we have the chance.

Setting up

Standard

There’s a gracious backdrop to the confusion of cars, vans, marquees, gazebos, trestles and tables, residue from about a hundred geese, and other impedimenta.   Crucially, we found the tap.

We were slightly concerned by the number of people attaching storm straps or extra guys to their canvas.  We don’t have any for ours.  The forecast is fair overnight, but I find my ear is cocked for a change in the wind.

Mysterious bundles

Standard

 

With a bit of luck, and sunshine, it will be mayhem tomorrow.

Thoughts and shades

Standard

I carefully consulted the forecast to travel on the coolest day this week, and then the Met Office sneakily turned it into a hot one instead.

I came home with eight; a limit imposed not by the librarian, but by my powers of traction.