WTF Monday - Clingy

 Some kinda weird BDSM thang going on up at the Castle this morning.

The Return of the Stone of Soane to the Office of Dive.

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, Old Dive sat happily on the top floor of our old office, gazing out across the river to the Cathedral. Then we got booted out and cast screaming into temporary accommodation while the profiteering powers-that-be converted the upper floors of our office into luxury apartments while the old ground floor was being re-purposed as our new office.

We’ve moved back in now and admittedly it is pretty spiffy and ultra-modern, with rise and fall workstations we can stand or sit at and all manner of whizzy virtual stuff that’s bound to go wrong.

I’ll post some piccies later but at the moment the builders are still in and it’s a fucking mess, soundtracked by power tools and the view over Pull’s Ferry to the Cathedral is obscured by site offices and lorries.

Yes, I know it's off-centre but it's not fixed yet.

This week, however, saw the welcome return of our capital capital. This used to stand in the rear courtyard but is now positioned at the office entrance and is currently being used as the workmen’s lunch table.

I am happy to report that Old Dive saved it from destruction due to some dogged detective work.
The Partners had always considered it a modern, reconstituted stone reproduction and it was due for demolition as part of the building works. Old Dive had his doubts and snuck out to examine it, only to discover that it was hand-carved Portland Stone and probably Eighteenth-Century, though the design was one I’d never seen.

The Partners postponed the demolition and tasked me with presenting a case for its preservation. I canvassed the old ex. members of staff, but nobody could recall where it came from except that it had moved with us from Sir Bernard’s old office in Cathedral Close when the new office was built in 1969.
Some suggested it might have been “looted” when we did work at St.Paul’s Cathedral in London; others that it had come from York Minster when Sir Bernard was restoring it. The style and the type of stone were wrong for York, however, and St.Paul’s had straight, Greek Corinthian capitals.

After much digging around in my old books, I found the weirdly erotic flower design was copied from an original in the Temple of Vesta at Tivoli (illustration from Antoine Desgodetz’ “Edifices Antiques de Rome” of 1682).

Alan (retired from the London office) told me he was sure there was a plaster cast of that in the Soane Museum, which then suggested it might have been from Soane’s remodelling of the 1730s Bank of England, started in 1788.

A delve in the archives found photographs of the column capitals in situ prior to the Twentieth Century virtual rebuild. A match! Turns out Sir Bernard had somehow snaffled a couple of these during the works and one ended up in his old garden at Stiffkey Hall (pronounced Stewkey – this is Norfolk) and the other in our old office.

At which, the Partners ponied up many groats to have it carefully removed, stored and plonked back at the entrance to our new office. Huzzah!

What's The Time? Buggered If I Know; The Sundial's Stopped Working.

 

Here be Tim and Erin on a church-crawl, peering out from behind the shamelessly over-the-top south door (which dates from around 1120 CE) at Kirby Bedon St. Andrew's Church.

Dig those doubled-over C-straps! That blacksmith was trippin' balls!

Anyhoo … That's not why we're here. Take a look to the right of the cushion capital of the right-hand pilaster and you'll see what was quite common on mediæval churches: a sweet little sundial.

Here's a closer look at it.

To check when to start the service, they'd stick a stick in the hole and read off the time, though only of course if the sun was shining.

Trouble is, someone built a porch over the door in the fifteenth century and the poor little sundial has not worked since. Starved of sunshine it has sat sadly these six-hundred years, recklessly robbed of its raison d'être.

Sometimes, I surprise even myself at the sheer, mind-numbing dullness of things that fascinate me.

A Door Fetishist Writes …

Hokay …

So as I'm back on the Planet I felt it about time I started (yet) another photo-post series. This one is inspired by Lynn, who you may recall has a penchant for fondling ancient doors.

Check out the blacksmith bling on this beauty!

According to Jane Geddes (who wrote the Bible on the subject), the door and ironwork for this, Haddiscoe and Hales churches (you'll see them another day) were made around 1100CE by the same joiner and blacksmith.

This one is the south door at Raveningham St.Peter's Church, (about half-an hour's drive from Lynn's parents' house next time we get to enjoy a Norfolk day out).

What Happens When You Set Fire To A Fat Hobbit And Watch It Burn …

As The Inkspots so memorably (and mellifluously) crooned, “I Don’t Want To Set The World On Fire.” 

Well, sometimes - whether we want to or not – it turns out that we do have to set little bits of it on fire. Sometimes we have to take something really cute and cuddly and stick it in a kiln and burn it to destruction (omnes: "Bwa-ha-haaaa”).

This is what happened to Fat Hobbit, my fire test piece for the mediæval doors I’ve designed for Norwich Castle.

Before we tested a full-sized door we built a small one using four different jointing methods (one for each quarter of the door) to find out which was the most effective so that we could incorporate it into the final design. These fire tests are fifteen grand sterling a pop so we want to get it right!

Inevitably, due to its proportions, the little door soon got named The Fat Hobbit Door, subsequently referred to as "Fat Hobbit" by the Castle Team.

Just look at its cuteness … You know you want one!

The blacksmith from Holkham Hall Estate has been working with us on this and is doing a splendid job on the Norman style C-hinges. I can’t wait to see what he does with my insanely complex Saxo-Norman extravagances (on which more in a later post, when they're built).

This is the Fat Hobbit getting ready for burning; two of the build-ups were left as bare oak, a third was painted red and a fourth clad in blue leather, variants of which are part of my designs and so had to be tested.

Poor little Fat Hobbit got plastered in to the front of the kiln and wired up with all manner of sensory doohickeys. Then they fired up the burners!

Somewhat terrifyingly, after only three-and-a-half minutes, smoke was pouring through the gaps around the door. This is when the smoke seals started to expand and do their bit. A little while later, no more smoke as they filled the gaps.

With the temperature inside the kiln up around a thousand degrees Centigrade, the full, intumescent fire seals kicked in and we sailed past the thirty-minute mark needed to complete the fire test (long enough for the building to be evacuated and the fire brigade to show up in all their hunkiness).

Here we are passing forty-five minutes with the temperature on the fire side at a thousand degrees C and at the outer surface of the door steady at fourteen degrees C. Damned impressive from the Fat Hobbit!

“Hokay! Let’s keep on going and test it to destruction.” came the jolly cries of the Castle Team.  "That'll cost an extra four-hundred quid." quoth the Fire Test Folk. "We don't care! Burn it! BURN  IT!"

And thus it transpired …

Fat Hobbit turned out to be a real hero and refused to die. Here’s the view from kiln-side after the test. You can still see a little bit of red glow from inside the door. The two thicknesses of air-dried, joinery-quality oak, properly jointed, with the front face of vertical planks and the rear, horizontal, did their job and simply charred on the kiln side to provide an extra layer of fire resistance.

Thanks to Fat Hobbit’s heroic sacrifice, after a post-mortem examination we decided on the best construction method for the full-sized door and here it is after testing. The Fire Test Folk estimate it would be good for four hours in the locations we shall be using it. This one did fail eventually but only because we ponied up another four-hundred quid and got a bit carried away, with a certain person dancing around in front of my monitor, singing “Burn, Baby, Burn – Disco Inferno!” as you do.

By-the-bye, all the blacksmith’s spiffy strapwork has simply been unbolted from the door, taken to be sandblasted and then sent back to the smithy, where the blacksmith will re-use it as part of the Great Hall Kitchen door, and you'll soon be able to go and visit it. Yay, recycling!

More from the Castle soon.

The Return of Fat Gandalf

 Gods, look what the cat’s dragged in.
 
Eighteen months trapped in a washing machine spin cycle of mental illness triggered by the sudden return of people into my safe little Aspie world after the bliss of lockdown isolation.
 
If any of my lovely old Blogville neighbours still check in here from time to time, I can only grovel and genefluct in your general direction and especially apologise to folk I should have emailed but couldn’t bring myself to make the human contact. Sitting in front of the pooter, trying to email folk but shaking with the horror of it all (and a fair amount of vomiting, too) was not something I anticipated but these things happen and here I am, attempting to do my first blog post in way too long.

I'm still not venturing back to Fæcebook; that's too big a step. First, we'll see if I can keep this up.
 
On a happier note, things are coming along slowly but carefully at the Castle, so I’ll do some catch-up posts on that for anyone who’s interested.
 
Next post, we’ll find out what happens when you set fire to a Fat Hobbit and watch it burn …Yes, really.

Parp and Blart

 

It's England, it's 52.6 deg. North, the City Hall clock reads 3:28PM and the sun disappears below the horizon.

All's well and peaceful at the castle. The nasty modern materials in the picture will become the roof over the much needed wc block. The new stuff outside the keep is Gabriela, Erin and Dan's kingdom. I tried to persuade them to put a proper lead roof on the wc block but they pointed out that it would cost many thousands more and besides, you cannot see the roof from anywhere (unless you actually jump off the battlements directly above it).

Inside the keep (my kingdom), the archæology is protected and the old floors cleared out ready for the restoration of Henry 1st's palace.

I decided on a whim to have the boys make up some alpenhorns …

Actually they're the connectors between the rainwater downpipes and the existing sewer but we all enjoyed parping and blarting down them … as you do.

At Bloody Last …

Finally …

After weeks of faff and blather and daily commuting to bloody Cambridge, we've moved into our temporary orifice while the builders bugger up our old building.

I still have no interweb at home but at least I can post from the orifice now.

This is our little side office off the main room. That's Simon on the left, looking uncharacteristically stern, then Dan the mad Viking with his man-bun and David D with a head even shinier than mine. Emily and Erin couldn't be arsed to turn up and unpack their boxes.

I've got my mug of coffee and my little wooden cathedral so I'm settling in nicely. It's only a three minute walk to the castle from here so expect an update soon.

Normal Service Will Be Resumed &c …

 AUGH!

If anyone's been wondering why I've not responded to emails of late, my broadband has been as dead as a Norwegian Blue for the past couple of weeks. BT (British Telecom) have been living up to their anagram (Besmirch Toilet) by doing fuck all to help.

In the meantime, our temporary office (while our proper  office is being refurbished) is furnished and ready to move in to except BT (them again) are two weeks late in laying on our interweb so everyone is having to work from home.

Everyone except me of course, with no smegging broadband …

So I've been commuting to our Cambridge office where I can get work done but have no access to my personal stuff and will continue to do so until probably next Friday when BT have promised they will have sorted out our new office.

Hence the crapness of today's photo, taken by Alan, the Clerk of Works on what might be a pinhole camera. Having lifted part of the 1960s floor they have discovered a previously unknown seascape with island … or it could just be a damp and manky old piece of plywood.

Anyhoo, while I'm out of contact, feel free to play amongst yourselves and if BT ever get around to fixing my broadband I'll be back with you once I've waded through the gazillion junk emails that wait in ambush.

WTF Monday - You Know You Want One

In our last comments-fest, the subject of this peculiarly specific item came up. Too late to adopt this one but there are many other fascinating items to adopt up at the Castle.

If you want one of your own, ask at your local kitchen shop; I am sure they will oblige.