poshbirdy

Riches to Rags, Defiantly

I’m charmed by neglected things and the spirit of defiance

There are cracks in our floor, but the tiles are almost more beautiful because of their imperfections. Theirs is an honest story of survival and service, the history of the house itself

Yes, I’m charmed by neglected things, always have been. Recently through necessity it’s French architectural salvage, though I’ll never turn down anything pretty or useful

Or in need of help

Found in the garage – Pretty AND useful?

I have optimistically bought old radiators from Ebay, with no idea if they will function in France (or at all), and I can’t wait to see the plumber’s face when I show him my latest treasures!

But I am sure our very likeable builder now understands some of the vision for this house. Initially I was made aware by friends that he prefers to rip out and modernise everything (and this was borne out in our early meetings), but I have noticed a subtle change in his attitude – ‘un change de tête’ after further visits. Standing with me in the house, he admired the quality of the ironwork on a window one day, and he talked about how attractive the old shutters will be when sanded and refreshed – yet weeks before he might have suggested replacing them. I might be imagining it, but

I think the house is actually getting to him

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This house has a true riches to rags story, though no-one seems to know the details. And though it doesn’t need anyone’s approval but ours, I suspect that there lurks in our builder a real admiration of this strong survivor, cherished and valued for centuries before being left abandoned and neglected, exposed to the elements for decades. I think he now has a better understanding of why we are doing this and how hard we are prepared to work towards it

It can never again be pristine. Perhaps it never was, despite its grandeur. But pristine wouldn’t really do it for us – we’re not pristine either

How could anyone not love this house, if only for its total defiance?

West Bay Weekend

Is that OUR van?

Having parked the van way too easily the night before (The Thrill of the Chaise / Pugs and Pink Jugs ), we were stopped in our tracks as we reached the car park

All down the back and sides of the van was a stream of seagull ploppings. In less than twelve hours it had been completely ‘pebble-dashed‘ and the two gulls on top looked pretty bloody smug. Baz suggested that perhaps the Bridport and West Bay Tourist Board could use this photo?

At Bridport market I found lovely brass tiebacks on a stall where the lady remembers us even though it’s sometimes months between visits. Her price was so good I took the lot, and she shoved them into a carrier bag, telling us she only brought them with her as an afterthought that morning and that she’s still hoping to find suitable glass shades for my weird chandelier

We wandered around the junk shops of St Michaels without buying anything, then took a friend’s tip for lunch at the recently-opened Dorshi – absolutely delicious

After a coffee at the flat and armed with ice creams, we struck out in our walking boots in search of bluebells at Eype Down. My sprained ankle made me very slow, but I needed to see how it coped on uneven ground. Not very well, as it turned out. Unfortunately we were a couple of weeks early for the best of the bluebells

Chesil Beach was lit up by the sun and Portland stretched across the horizon

There were lambs – it is April, after all. They are such dear little things. There were ones and twos, blonds and brunettes

And even a little redhead

Back at West Bay we went out on the harbour and watched the late afternoon sun hitting East Cliff, along to Freshwater and Burton Bradstock

After missing out on beer the night before we had a proper night out with friends watching the Skimmity Hitchers at the Ropemakers (And yes, the beer tasted WONDERFUL)

Job done

The Thrill of the Chaise / Pugs and Pink Jugs

One of those evenings when you just want to get to the pub

We borrowed the company van for the weekend and headed off for West Bay. The weekend stretched ahead, promising two nights of proper pubs and some live music. We could just taste that first beer

We needed to make a detour off the M3 to pick up a chaise I had bought on Ebay. The seller seemed fairly abrupt in her messages, so I kept her updated on our progress, arriving at the agreed time of 7.30pm, despite the satnav spluttering and flatlining when we needed it most

We parked up and could see a lot of junk/stock piled in a conservatory. Baz stayed at the gate and I rang the doorbell several times to no avail. I tried repeatedly to telephone the lady, but it just rang and went to voicemail, over and over. I sent emails. I knocked awkwardly a few times on the door but I really didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t go peering in the windows but we had come all this way and…

Judging from what I had seen, she was obviously a hard-nosed dealer

Or…

…Or a delightfully eccentric elderly lady who had fallen asleep and who eventually came to the door flanked by two pugs, one of whom had apparently woken her up

She told me the chaise was in the garage, but after looking around extensively she concluded that she could not find the garage key. A mere mortal such as myself might have been embarrassed and apologised. But not Lady with Pugs

‘Never mind. My partner will be back from Keep Fit class soon. One of us is very fit and the other is fat’ she announced. She was not very fit. ‘You’ll have to come in and wait. I’ll make you a coffee’

Baz and I exchanged exasperated glances as we stepped through the door behind her. ‘Are you a dealer?’ I asked LwP, taking stock of the lime-green painted dresser in the kitchen, crammed with a jumble of mainly green jugs and vases, and pointing out to Baz a cute pink art deco jug on the top shelf

We followed LwP to the kitchen, where she set about making me a coffee. ‘Oh yes, I was a trader for years, but at my age it’s getting difficult because I have brittle bones. The class finishes at 8 o’clock, so she should be back by ten past’

I saw Baz slump at the prospect of spending over half an hour in an elderly stranger’s house. We were totally trapped

By the time my coffee was ready, the three of us sat at a small kitchen table and a little black pug was asleep on my right boot, snoring loudly. The larger pug was happily licking the knee of Baz’s jeans. It felt quite homely and I made an effort to keep chatting to pass the time. She asked what sort of things I like and I told her of my lifelong obsession with art deco and my love of art nouveau. I was sitting next to an impressive metal art nouveau jug, just plonked on the kitchen surface and barely visible, competing as it was with random other stuff

LwP said she had given up collecting art deco in favour of her passion for the work of Edinburgh-born artist Russell Flint She struggles with mobility after a huge operation on her foot and she spoke of how she’d like to sell up and move back to Spain. To be honest the time passed very quickly, it was easy to make conversation and soon the front door opened. A petite spandex-clad and slightly younger lady stepped in, carrying a yoga mat

‘This lady is here to pick up the sofa and I can’t find my garage key’ said LwP

‘Oh, have you lost your keys again?’ (Fitty in Spandex)

‘The one thing does not equate to the other’ maintained LwP

As the lady in lycra was infinitely more mobile and had a key, she suggested we follow her to the garage. I thanked LwP for the coffee and as we were leaving, she asked me what I had seen on the dresser. I told her it was the little pink jug and she told me to take it, but of course I refused

‘I do a boot sale on a Wednesday morning and that was going with me this week. I’ll get nothing for it. I want you to take it’

I thanked her, embarrassed, and asked Baz to reach up for the jug. As he did, LwP said, ‘Just check there’s no money in it’. Baz dutifully shook it and it rattled. At first I wondered if it might be her keys (it was one of those evenings), but there was a load of change inside it and he tipped it out for her. She shook our hands warmly at the door and I meant it when I said it had been a pleasure to meet her

The nippy little lady in lycra made light work of moving things in the garage and she helped us load the chaise into the van, easily hopping up inside to make sure it was securely loaded, and we said goodbye

I spent the rest of the ride clutching my precious vase, delighted with this little gift. It was getting quite dark and Baz wanted the journey to end. We were an hour behind schedule, hungry and thirsty

So, did we make it to the pub?

We did not. We parked up opposite the flat and threw together some pasta, washing it down with red wine. We sat in front of the telly, dissecting the evening’s entertaining events and the little jug sat in its new home

Porridgey Looks and Paint Removal

What would Goldilocks say?

Of course, we all know how difficult it is to remove Weetabix once it has been left in the bottom of a breakfast bowl

Last night, while researching paint removal on a cornice ( I have used the Peel Away system on fireplaces and beams, but it is messy and horribly expensive) I found a mention on a website of using porridge. Admittedly I was sceptical, expecting to discover that it was an April Fools joke. But no, apparently humble porridge really is perfectly designed for removing water-based paints from intricate plasterwork (I just knew we weren’t supposed to be eating it!)

I homed in on one blogger’s post and she was kind enough to get in touch and give me the benefit of her personal experience (thank you), including the results. I was impressed

https://witchhouseourhouse.wordpress.com/2014/01/02/porridge-corner-and-other-stories/comment-page-1/#comment-96

Back when we were kids (late 60s/ early 70s) porridge was a staple on cold mornings. I hated it and used to smother it in top of the milk, golden (demarara) and dark brown (muscovado) sugars to make it edible, pretending that the crunchy golden sugar which went on first was gold and had to be completely buried in brown sugar – soil – before eating. Now, of course, I feel completely vindicated because I realise that we should have been spreading it on the plasterwork like normal people

Porridge gave rise to a much-used expression in our house. I can’t quite describe it but even now, I can tell my older brother that someone gave me a ‘porridgey look’ and he will give me a knowing smile 🙂

I now look forward to rustling up a trial bowl of this and slapping it onto the wall. I will of course wash all utensils immediately after use

What would Goldilocks say?

Collioure, a Jewel in the Med

Perpignan caused a brief hiccup as our sat-nav struggled to decide which road we were on. When we arrived at Collioure the mist was low and we could only just make out the shapes of a chateau and a windmill on the hills in the distance. The sky was grey and the air colourless, dreadful for photos but giving everything a strange calm. Despite the conditions the sea was clear turquoise blue and the entire bay was laid out before us

As the sun burned through the mist we started to see the warmth of the colours of the stone, and to feel the heat of the day. Having been in the snow of Les Angles only the day before, the Med felt like another world, warm and sensuous

It’s hard to take a ‘new’ picture in Collioure. It’s been painted by artists for centuries and photographed in every way possible, yet it remains a compelling scene. Baz took a lovely shot of the brightly coloured houses on the sloping roads back from the shore

Lunch wasn’t expensive and we were served with great charm and humour. The fish stew, the squid and the sea bass were all superb. After feeding a small shoal of fish in the bay we grabbed ice creams then coffee. We sat on the beach facing Collioure’s famous tower while C practised skimming stones. As we were leaving she and I hit a seam of precious sea gems (broken glass to other people) and stuffed them into my handbag with no real purpose in mindWe will go back. Perhaps not in summer, when traffic queues are rumoured to be three hours long and parking impossible. I hope we’ll overnight next time and enjoy a glass of wine with lunch and a leisurely dinnerThe sun was still shining when we left, but we had to navigate Perpignan once again and it’s still all new to us

On the way home we stopped among the Maury vineyards

The 24-hour Roof Terrace

A pop-up roof terrace but it couldn’t last

front roof For one day only we had the roof terrace of our dreams. On Wednesday evening the guys left the front attic fully exposed to the sky, creating fantastic views of the hills, both east and west. It was stunningly beautiful and peaceful. I cried

front roof It was the pop-up roof terrace that could never be, thanks to local restrictions. At least we were able to experience it, however briefly

front roof
By the end of Thursday it was fully enclosed once more, before the rain arrived. All beams and boards had been replaced, and there was no trace of the terrace of the night before

Having lost this spectacular terrace, the attic space will be used for chilling in the evening with a drink – and a pool table?

Two Days in Les Angles

Meeting Baz and C at Carcassonne Airport on Easter Saturday felt wonderful. I hadn’t seen them for 11 days and had watched the Brussels atrocities unfold alone

On Sunday we drove to Les Angles, about an hour from us. It was hard to imagine that there would be any snow anywhere after the warm weather we’d had, but we glimpsed some as we rose higher up the dramatically winding road. And then Les Angles appeared ahead of us

We were staying at a cosy stone cottage, converted and owned by Mike and Jenny of Pyranean Trails . It was just a few minutes walk from the piste, and we could not have asked for friendlier hosts

The weather conditions on Easter Sunday were changeable, but on Monday we lunched on the mountain in T-shirts and I settled myself down on a lovely squidgy outdoor sofa to watch Baz and C try out their new boots, which had been expertly (and very patiently) fitted by Mike and Jenny’s son Paul, who works at a local ski shop

Of course, I had totally messed up the trip by spraining my ankle, so will have to wait until next winter to get my fitting doneOf course, I had totally messed up the trip by spraining my ankle, so I was unable to ski or get boots fitted, so I just took in the scenery instead

Perhaps the most lovely sight in Les Angles is Lilli, our hosts’ Pyranean Mountain Dog who was a constant gentle presence outside the cottage, ‘guarding’ us all and being generally spectacularly beautiful

The trip down was much less intimidating because the sheer drop was on the other side of the road! The last few miles were along the River Aude where the road has been cut through the rocks of the gorge

It was good to be together. Wednesday evening arrived and it was time to see the changes that had taken place at our house…

The Void and its Secrets

This is a decidedly secret place

Up inside the low dark void on the second floor, accessed by the little door, I squatted right down inside once more among the filth. This is not a place for claustrophobics and I was very conscious that my ankle was still sore. As I was about to leave, I shone my torch further along and spotted these hanging from a nail on the inner side of a beam

Too low to stand up in, and with its rough bench bracketed to the wall, this secret place feels like a priest hole, used to hide something or someone. I know I have been reading too many war-related books lately!

These are thin metal tags, consecutively indented with numbers 3045 to 3100, and originally bright and shiny metal, now rusted. From a search of Google images, I believe they are cow tags, but someone must have really lost their way to leave them in this top floor ‘void’ of a townhouse. There are no fields here

These would not (have not) been seen by anyone poking their head into the void, as I did several times. There is a full row of these hidden nails where small items could be hung out of sight

The huge attic above it has at some time been locked from the attic side with its iron bar and the door panel has been smashed to reach the bar, then patched up (How Low Can We Go?). The void is not easily detectable from inside there either

Of course, we’ll probably never know any more. It would be amazing if someone knew something, but generations have passed. We should probably keep it exactly as it is. It feels important to keep it intact, until someone can come up with an explanation

Any ideas?

How Low Can We Go?

There are clues everywhere, but put on your sunglasses

It’s exciting to find dates on things. I got a rush when I noticed that the panel of the attic door which we use on a daily basis is patched up with a financial report from 1914. Did someone from the house have links with Paris at that time?

Newspaper seems to have been used liberally in the house. It’s great because it helps establish dates. The latest so far is 1983

On our first weekend at the house (Wine, Weather and Woodworm – 4 nights in Quillan) we noticed a door from one bedroom which didn’t open, while the other side of it in the ‘Jewel Room’ had fabric wall covering continued across it, making it invisible. The fabric covered the entire room, but we removed it from one wall amid a tempest of dust, exposing two layers of paper, the bottom one being pure ‘jazz age’ in exuberant zig zag, while also incorporating stripes and curves (below right). I love art deco but this is hideous

Having removed the paper from the wall with the door, I found that they had filled out the old door with cardboard and newspaper to make it flush with the wall before papering

The date of the stocks and shares is 9th August 1895. Under the newspaper is also some very old sort-of-flock paper, in a beautiful teal colour. It must have once looked very impressive, and it presumably pre-dates the newspaper

Back in ‘the big cupboard room’ I purloined the builders ladder from the attic and have unleashed a torrent of papers. There are flowers, geometric print with flowers, stripes with bouquets, just stripes and then a simple one-colour blue on a pale background under them all

Geometric with flowers – do you think it’s too much?

The one thing the occupiers of this house didn’t over-use was restraint. My neck and shoulders ache tonight, but I’m getting a little bit closer to the bones of the house now

Peeling Back Layers

It’s a random sum

There’s something about stripping wallpaper that to me is very therapeutic. The downside is that it can be immensely hard work when there are numerous layers and RSI sets in. Multiply the layers by the number of rooms to strip and the total here becomes at least fifty, perhaps seventy. I don’t know what that number means – it’s a random sum – but that’s what we’ve got. Yesterday that total equated to around about a year’s solid work for me

But today that number has been considerably reduced, courtesy of one of the roof guys who saw me labouring away and brought in a stripping product for me to try. I tried some last night and can confirm that the sum will now be divided by perhaps ten, meaning that naked walls will be achievable in about six or seven. I started again this morning after a coffee

The effectiveness seems to be due to not only the product, but the application using a pressurised spray (‘vaporisateur’), the type you sort of jump up and down on to build up pressure

When we were kids there was a product that was regularly applied to prevent greenfly in the garden, not only by our parents but by us, very willingly, because it seemed so much fun to use the spray thing. It was called, enchantingly, Killa Spray. Therefore, before anyone gets too precious about using spray substances to remove wallpaper without proper mask/ overalls/ ventilation I would suggest that any damage was already done back in the seventies

So, the concentrated product is enormously diluted with water (we’re back to wallpaper stripper now, I very much doubt that Killa Spray still exists) and is used to soak the paper economically and evenly. A few minutes later a scraper will just lift the paper cleanly. Voila! C’est fait!

I admit that I am not so tough, I do wear gloves because my hands are like beacons of abuse right now. But I am also really enjoying removing wallpaper in its truest purest form as therapy

And as you can see they’ve left some spare paper in case I change my mind!

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