Merry Xmas

The Skater reckons that the Père Noël has brought me the biggest Kapla set in the whole world. A day in advance, the sleigh, pulled by four nervous reindeer, their antlers festonned with glittering frost from the Siberian forest, pulled up outside the Maison Camy to deliver 2km of Russian larch.


It's more or less a year since The Client moved into the Maison Camy and two years since the first blog entry. This time last year the Xmas tree was improvised from a stepladder. There's still a fair amount of improvisation involved in the living arrangements but things are moving in the right direction. The parquet next month will double the habitable surface area. The façade cladding will add a few degrees to the internal temperature.

The best of all seasons greetings to all the visitors to the Maison Camy and especially to those who've spiced things up with their comments; mdw, MOA and TOA and Petunia Girl, - also thank you to those who've offered the occasional encouragement that reassures me I'm not talking to myself. Wherever you are in the world have a good one.

PARQUET n.m. Revêtement de sol en lames

One of those many french words that have found their way into the english language, parquet. Originally a term to describe an enclosure surrounded by a plank fence. There are various laying patterns possible, each has a name;
Parquet Versailles, Parquet à bâtons rompus, Parquet à point de Hongrie and last but not least Parquet à Frises or Parquet à l'Anglaise.
Of course, it goes without saying, we'll be having the Parquet à l'Anglaise in oak. How very english. I think I'll take up cricket. Anyone know how to make cucumber sandwiches?

Singes en laiton avec gelure des couilles

Cold, so cold. New from the people who brought you Croft 3 (mdw), 'skyecommute', an everyday story of country folk that brave the ferocious highland climate day in and day out. Like a trappist monk doing a road test for Top Gear, essentially a visual experience, the daily commute from one side of Skye to the other will leave you breathless with its outstanding beauty and sheer gobsmacking ruggedness.

The right tool

This one’s for mdw who, without realising the awful truth, suggested that I might be kitted up like ‘Bob ze Builder’.
‘Bob ze Builder’ has had exposure here in France, having been liberally sprinkled over the hexagon via multiple satellite channels. Unlike the UK though, the adult population over here has not yet started behaving like Bob. The British mass ‘do-it-yourself’ ‘makeover’ hysteria has yet to be seen in France.

So I suppose I’m a bit avant-garde.

The Skater’s not of the same opinion. He took one look at my orderly organisation of spare garage space, muttered ‘geek’ under his breath and left quickly for an appointment with some poor unsuspecting urban landscaping project.

The Client, drawing on her experience as a psychology graduate back in the 80’s suggested that it was essentially ‘a male thing’ and didn’t think it was a problem as long as I could still maintain eye contact.

Next week I’ll show you my power tools.

The Joiners Tale – or the lace and finery of the humble man

It was about two years ago, the point at which I realised the building industry was going 'boom' crazy. It was the moment when the first joiner, first of many that is, walked into my office wearing a drop dead minimalist dark grey Armani suit.

He’d sent me a quote for a couple of sliding doors and 50 square metres of parquet. When the fax arrived I wasn’t even shocked by the figure, I naturally assumed he’d made an error. After assuring me on the phone that he hadn’t added an extra zero by mistake or he wasn't offering me a luxury bright yellow car worthy of Jeremy Clarkson, I suggested we had a meeting to go through the figures together.

Now, you might say what’s wrong with a joiner wanting to dress up smart when he’s not on site. You might have a point. Maybe on a scale of Political Correctness it comes way down at the bottom to assume that just because of the job they do, certain people can’t once in a while dress smart. It’s was certainly more aesthetically pleasing than the extremely hirsute stone mason that turned up mid-week to sign a contract, fresh from an energetic summer tennis match still in damp shorts, armless string vest and multiple multicoloured sweat bands (that somehow had not quite fulfilled their purpose). I hope you’re getting the mental picture there of what string vest, curly body hair and sweat add up to. Would you have signed?

Somehow you have to look the part. At least make an excuse why you’re out of character. The joiner could have told me he was on his way to a wedding, or a funeral or even that he had the lead role in an amateur dramatic production of The Godfather and I might have been slightly less taken aback.
It even occurred to me that maybe he might have been influenced by rumours that certain builders put about concerning the sexuality of architects (male ones that is)– especially English architects (thank you Edith Cresson). I had this vision of him saying to his spotty faced and pierced sawdust covered apprentices ‘Hey you guys see you later, gotta meet an architect about a job – I’ll just slip out of this overall into something black and sexy’.

Anyway, needless to say, the prices didn’t budge, justified presumably by the joiners high dry cleaning overheads, and the contract wasn’t signed.

All of which is what, in part, explains why The Architect has been investing heavily in woodworking tools.

And, why The Client has had to be so patient.