We are all plastered this week. And no, it is nothing to do with the two gin and tonics the chief and I sometimes enjoy on a Sunday lunchtime.
It is our weekend treat. Then it sets us up for the gardening. And, last I heard, being merry in charge of a wheelbarrow is not a crime…
No, this week the plaster has been flying because the builders have been in.
It is one of the last house jobs to do. To sort out the unloved larder at the back of the back kitchen.
You go down some steps and into a small room lined with sandstone slabs.
Cold storage
It is cold, but practical: a good place to store things like vegetables, eggs, cheese. Then there is the white wine which does not seem to stay long in there.
So, the larder is useful, but not somewhere you would wish to linger. Especially as parts of the walls are crumbling.
Over the years the plaster has been bursting, and, apparently, it is all to do with the lime.
Lime-based plaster allows walls to breathe. Which is good. On the downside, lime is not as hard-wearing as modern cement-based plaster.
So, enter Bob and his team. To chip off the old stuff and replace it with new.
The operation takes two days, and as it dries, the room looks great. Indeed, there is now no reason to rush in and out as quickly as possible.
Yet plaster dust is a tricky traveller, and as we bid farewell to the workmen, a white film covers not only the back kitchen, but the main kitchen and beyond.
I wipe and wipe – and return an hour later to re-wipe. Happy days.
Of course, having new faces in the house is a source of amusement to the naughty Norfolk and the Chow Chow. Especially when the workmen down tools and have their tea and digestives.
The MacNaughties get their share. Because Bob likes dogs – and dogs like biscuits.
Then Bob also has a terrier, and we commiserate about how this breed is particularly prone to running off after a rabbit or a pheasant.
‘Mine just won’t come back until he gets it,’ Bob tells me. ‘Unfortunately, it’s in his nature.’
Like a wandering star
It must also be in his nature to wander. Because Bob’s dog has several times set off in the back of various delivery vans.
Brought home only when the driver hears a bark, and realises he has a furry, four-legged parcel among the packages.
And there’s another subject. Dogs and delivery vans.
Ours go mad when one dares to come up the drive. You would think we were being invaded by Martians.
The worst bit is when they ring the bell. All that yapping and barking and rushing to the front door. One of these days I will get the thing disconnected.
But, touch wood, our doggies have never gone off in a UPS or a Hermes vehicle.
Not yet. Then, as far as man’s best friend goes, no chickens must be counted – or chased.
Conversation