The ‘one year on’ post is eight months old. It’s time-consuming, this farming, bricklaying, rural living stuff, especially when funded by a life of other work and my real deep need to sit around with a glass of wine and a book. These then are vintage pictures of a still nowhere near finished restoration job circa June 2015. Yes, friends, I do now have a toilet, and the black felt curtains of spiderwebs are mostly down, but there is much to do and much that could be done, just not by me.
The other reason for putting it off is that I failed to find anything that conveyed the sweat, tears, hours, injury, blasphemy, fear, doubt, self-satisfaction and poverty the work entailed.
Looking at these in the same way that I look at the wall or the ceiling or the wiring or the fencing or the garage which could be a bedroom or the ‘kitchen’ which could be a kitchen has me hyperventilating and scrawling illegible To Do lists on the back of bills and receipts. Sometimes I stand in the bathroom, fashioned out of a derelict shed stuffed full of partridges, and all I think is that the shower glass needs cleaning (which of course it does).