The place where me and Mag were working was owned by an old boy. He died, the place got split and where our old workshop once stood is nothing. Just the concrete floor footprint. I got out of the caravan and me and tex moved to frome. I was always alright in the satellite villages but in frome I just knew too many people. All the mentally ill, all the alcis, all the junkies, all the crackheads.
We found an old shed down the retreat, next door to sonja who had been Neil Wilkins top maker. It was yards frome Mags house and he managed to rent the field opposite the nature reserve so all the wildlife doesn't know the the borders. He rents it along with a couple who are interested in self sufficiency and together they rear pigs and sheep to kill each year. They grow some veg and keep bees. Mag has a collection of chickens and quail to supply him with eggs. The walk along the river is mine and Dooks, it was once mine and tex. We see kingfishers, otters, watch sparrow hawks rear their young. A wide variety of butterflies and damsel flies, dragon flies, egret, herons, swans were there. I took Claire down to show her them once but foxes or dogs had torn them to bits. That aspect of working there, the wildlife that lives in and around the river is fantastic.
But I wish I hadn't moved back to frome. As soon as I was there all the badass junkies were on my back. All the crackheads were trying to draw me in. If I had to nail my downfall it would be to moving in to frome again. The dozen odd junkies had multiplied ten fold. Crack had come in. New more vicious types were involved. Walking in to the retreat I feel a mixture of relief in escaping the town druggies mixed with the veiled curtain eyes of the middle class checking out what you are doing on their land.
We insulated the building and fixed the roof, secured it as best we could and built a false floor where our benches stand. The machine shop which is adequately equipped is in the area by the entrance where new and waste wood is stored. A wood burner keeps us warm throughout the winter months. These are the best months as locals keep in doors whilst summer sees a steady flood of children coming down for a swim.
Sonja next door must be amongst the best glasss blowers in the country. Her quiet company keeps me sane.
I think the first projects I launched in to there were a series of five four poster beds. They were for Heath house in Shropshire and aren't epamongst my best work. The client had an interior designer involved who had little common aesthetic shared ground. I did my best and the quality of making was good but the designs were compromised. A mish mash of the client, the interior designers and my taste. I became disillusioned. What was I doing this for? Around this time I did succumb to my inner urges and a habit ensued leaving me suicidal. Finally I took the plunge and gave up all drugs alcohol and tobacco. This crunching breakdown I have written about before.
Once recovered I spent two happy years on another house project. The builder provided rough ideas for me to work from and once my ego settled down from not being sole designer we hit a harmony that worked out pretty well. There were two double beds, four single beds, fourteen bedside tables, five chests of drawers and five dressing tables. I made seperate vanity units. All made from ash and yew. The builder was something of a tim stead in style but with a taste for multiple timbers. Keeping some restraint and understatement was my main objective. There was a set of bunk beds that were particularly good. The whole top floor of the house. Quite a piece of work and it kept me out of trouble for three years.
No comments:
Post a Comment