A client wanted to do a spot of plastering and fancied trying his hand himself. Nothing wrong with that - I'm all for spreading the word about proper materials as well as hogging work for myself.
He wanted to mix his own plaster, and saw from Ty Mawr's website that a local branch of Jewson's stocked tubs of their lime putty. How very forward-thinking of Jewson's. And then he asked the price.
£24.45 per tub, plus VAT!
That's seriously taking the piss. OK, as a trade customer, I could get that from Jewson's for around £13 a tub, but Nigel at Ty Mawr sells the stuff direct for £8.40 - or a tonne for a shade under £200. By contrast, a tonne of putty from Jewson's would cost my client nearly £800. Is it any wonder that people are put off doing the job properly because of the cost?
Monday, 23 November 2009
Now where was I?
...before I was interrupted by a vulgar little myocardial infarction? Probably ranting.
Anyway, it would be nice to say that I'm back with lots to report, but if truth be known, the chill hand of the recession has gripped this part of the world to the extent that very little is ongoing. In some cases that's a blessing; I was beginning to despair of the number of "renovation" projects that involved stripping out as much original fabric as possible and replacing everything with either plastic or imported hardwood before giving everything a liberal coating of cement and gypsum. thankfully most such projects are on stop, and the speculative cowboys and ignorant second-homers seems to have retreated for the time being.
The second-homers are a bloody pain, though. This year many houses have remained empty and unkempt as the absentee landlords forsook their two weeks in the rain and cut back on the gardener and the part-time housekeeper, and some villages around here are looking rather shabby as a result.
Even before this summer's abandonment I ground my teeth when I heard Lord Hindlip's lumpy daughter on the Today programme. She said that as the owner of two holiday homes she did her bit to support the local communities; nevertheless, "communities have to save themselves," was her blithely Thatcherite prescription.
I'd love to plonk her in the middle of a village near me where two thirds of the houses are empty for much of the year and see how she sets about galvanising that community in helping itself.
Anyway, it would be nice to say that I'm back with lots to report, but if truth be known, the chill hand of the recession has gripped this part of the world to the extent that very little is ongoing. In some cases that's a blessing; I was beginning to despair of the number of "renovation" projects that involved stripping out as much original fabric as possible and replacing everything with either plastic or imported hardwood before giving everything a liberal coating of cement and gypsum. thankfully most such projects are on stop, and the speculative cowboys and ignorant second-homers seems to have retreated for the time being.
The second-homers are a bloody pain, though. This year many houses have remained empty and unkempt as the absentee landlords forsook their two weeks in the rain and cut back on the gardener and the part-time housekeeper, and some villages around here are looking rather shabby as a result.
Even before this summer's abandonment I ground my teeth when I heard Lord Hindlip's lumpy daughter on the Today programme. She said that as the owner of two holiday homes she did her bit to support the local communities; nevertheless, "communities have to save themselves," was her blithely Thatcherite prescription.
I'd love to plonk her in the middle of a village near me where two thirds of the houses are empty for much of the year and see how she sets about galvanising that community in helping itself.
Monday, 13 July 2009
Johnny Collins
A nice obituary in the Guardian today for Johnny Collins, a superb singer and a thoroughly nice chap.
Johnny was on tour, singing in Gdansk, when he had a heart attack and died just hours after finishing a performance last weekend.
A great bear of a man, I found Johnny slightly intimidating when I first encountered him some 15 years ago, but he was one of the warmest, kindest individuals you could hope to meet. Here's an interview with him from 1998 which gives a flavour of the man.
Johnny was on tour, singing in Gdansk, when he had a heart attack and died just hours after finishing a performance last weekend.
A great bear of a man, I found Johnny slightly intimidating when I first encountered him some 15 years ago, but he was one of the warmest, kindest individuals you could hope to meet. Here's an interview with him from 1998 which gives a flavour of the man.
Abdication crisis (again)
According to the Architects' Journal, the Prince of Wales has stomped away from SPAB in a huff because the society doesn't agree with his rather hardline views on conservation.
The AJ reports:
It strikes me that HRH was rather clueless to accept the post in the first place if he failed to find out tht SPAB has nothing against new work, and has its own award to promote good new design in the context of historic buildings.
Perhaps SPAB will seize the opportunity to appoint a patron who actually knows about the society's work and who can actively work to promote it.
Whoever does get the job would be advised to spend just a couple of minutes reading what SPAB says about its aims:
Although, to be honest, I would have thought that that a body like SPAB would be grown-up enough to be able to enter the 21st Century without a patron to, er, patronise it.
The AJ reports:
The falling-out centres on a foreword Charles wrote for a handbook on the restoration of old houses. The heir to the throne used the opportunity to express his belief that buildings should always be restored in their original style. The society, which frequently uses modern architecture and design, asked Charles to amend his conservative views. The Prince refused and subsequently resigned from the Society.
Philip Venning, secretary of SPAB, said: ‘We agree with so much of what he says, but on the issue of new design there are occasions when we disagree, and we don’t disguise the fact. We were pleased he was our patron.’
Charles was asked to write the foreword to The Old House Handbook by its authors, Roger Hunt and Marianne Suhr. After his work was rejected, Philip Venning provided the introduction himself.
The SPAB, founded by socialist architect and writer William Morris, is the world’s oldest environmental campaigning group. It is understood that Charles resigned from the Society several months ago when his five-year term as patron ended - before his very public row with Richard Rogers over the Chelsea Barracks development.
SPAB has yet to appoint a new patron.
It strikes me that HRH was rather clueless to accept the post in the first place if he failed to find out tht SPAB has nothing against new work, and has its own award to promote good new design in the context of historic buildings.
Perhaps SPAB will seize the opportunity to appoint a patron who actually knows about the society's work and who can actively work to promote it.
Whoever does get the job would be advised to spend just a couple of minutes reading what SPAB says about its aims:
Our work is guided by these principles:
Repair not Restore
Although no building can withstand decay, neglect and depredation entirely, neither can aesthetic judgement nor archaeological proof justify the reproduction of worn or missing parts. Only as a practical expedient on a small scale can a case for restoration be argued.
Responsible methods
A repair done today should not preclude treatment tomorrow, nor should it result in further loss of fabric.
Complement not parody
New work should express modern needs in a modern language. These are the only terms in which new can relate to old in a way which is positive and responsive at the same time. If an addition proves essential, it should not be made to out-do or out-last the original.
Regular maintenance
This is the most practical and economic form of preservation.
Although, to be honest, I would have thought that that a body like SPAB would be grown-up enough to be able to enter the 21st Century without a patron to, er, patronise it.
Friday, 15 May 2009
As the storm clouds gather...
...and the future looks ever more uncertain, sometimes one stumbles across something that raises the spirits.
We could all learn, I think, from Archibald Clark-Kerr, 1st Baron Inverchapel.
As British Ambassador to Moscow in early 1943 he could be forgiven for feeling gloomy. Nevertheless he found time to write a letter to Reginald Herbert, 15th Earl of Pembroke and 12th Earl of Montgomery - a panjandrum of some note at the Foreign Office.
The world was falling around them, Hitler was still untamed and things looked decidedly bleak. Yet Archie, I feel, hit the spot:
God bless the Freedom of Information Act.
We could all learn, I think, from Archibald Clark-Kerr, 1st Baron Inverchapel.
As British Ambassador to Moscow in early 1943 he could be forgiven for feeling gloomy. Nevertheless he found time to write a letter to Reginald Herbert, 15th Earl of Pembroke and 12th Earl of Montgomery - a panjandrum of some note at the Foreign Office.
The world was falling around them, Hitler was still untamed and things looked decidedly bleak. Yet Archie, I feel, hit the spot:
God bless the Freedom of Information Act.
A remarkable sale...
The sale of a Victorian village at the Shambles Museum, Newent, Gloucestershire: http://www.simonchorley.com/dedicatedsales.aspx
Some remarkable things there, from coffin handles to taxidermist's equipment. And the chance to place a bid online. The temptation is too much...
Some remarkable things there, from coffin handles to taxidermist's equipment. And the chance to place a bid online. The temptation is too much...
Monday, 11 May 2009
An alloyed success
I've always been a huge fan of the Open University. It's one of those legacies of the Wilson years that really seemed to catch the spirit of an age and to have gone on to make a truly positive long-term contribution to the country. Only a churl or some embittered whey-faced academic, too long in his ivory tower, could dare say anything nasty about such a cuddlesome concept.
Then I enrolled as a student, one of the 180,000-odd people being churned through the machine. And now, three years into a history degree and nearing the end, I have to wonder if the OU really does cut the mustard as a 'proper' university.
From the start the OU has had an open entry policy - hence the name - whereby students' previous academic achievemnts (or the lack thereof) are not taken into account when enrolling for courses. For someone like me, who chucked away the chance to do a Botany degree many moons ago, that's probably irrelevant - a reasonable crop of A levels would have done the job regardless - but for many who left school without qualifications, the policy is the only key to the door of higher education.
Once through that door, though, the open policy appears to continue in a way which does little credit to its much-vaunted status as a pukka university. I have no idea what the courses were like in 1969, but in 2009 they seem to be too bloody easy.
The OU states that one of its 60-point undergraduate courses requires 14 hours a week of study to master. Currently I'm signed on for two concurrent 60-pointers. By rights I should be spending pretty nearly a full working week just on the university work. Am I buggery.
Yet, on the basis of the results I'm getting, it would seem to be perfectly feasible to trouser a 2:1 with about three hours' study a week.
The material - beatifully produced, it has to be said - is effectively spoon-fed to the students and the essays (tutor-marked assigments in OU speak) are set about with so many notes, guidelines and hints that it would seem to be impossible to fail.
The pass mark is 40 per cent, but one would have to be monumentally dim to fall even anywhere near that level. Even among the Desperate Housewives who twitter on the online OU conference forums, there is never a mention of failure, and if the semi-literate, solipsistic and frankly stupid level of writing on the boards is any indication, then failure bloody well should be an option.
Yet a simple regurgitation of the materials you have seems to be adequate for a second, and it appears possible to complete a degree entirely without once looking something up in a library.
I can't help but feel I'm taking the piss. Someone like me, with a cavalier attitude to the course, who never attends tutorials (they would involve five hours of travel, for Pete's sake) and who stuffs his study into odd moments in the week, surely shouldn't be able to get away with it?
So, the OU is undoubtedly a good thing. But does it have to be quite so dumbed down? Certainly it's hardly surprising that was rated the top university in England and Wales in the 2005 and 2006 national student satisfaction survey, and second in 2007. Who's going to grumble when things are quite so soft?
Anyway, enough wittering. I've got an essay to hand in today, so I'd better get started...
Then I enrolled as a student, one of the 180,000-odd people being churned through the machine. And now, three years into a history degree and nearing the end, I have to wonder if the OU really does cut the mustard as a 'proper' university.
From the start the OU has had an open entry policy - hence the name - whereby students' previous academic achievemnts (or the lack thereof) are not taken into account when enrolling for courses. For someone like me, who chucked away the chance to do a Botany degree many moons ago, that's probably irrelevant - a reasonable crop of A levels would have done the job regardless - but for many who left school without qualifications, the policy is the only key to the door of higher education.
Once through that door, though, the open policy appears to continue in a way which does little credit to its much-vaunted status as a pukka university. I have no idea what the courses were like in 1969, but in 2009 they seem to be too bloody easy.
The OU states that one of its 60-point undergraduate courses requires 14 hours a week of study to master. Currently I'm signed on for two concurrent 60-pointers. By rights I should be spending pretty nearly a full working week just on the university work. Am I buggery.
Yet, on the basis of the results I'm getting, it would seem to be perfectly feasible to trouser a 2:1 with about three hours' study a week.
The material - beatifully produced, it has to be said - is effectively spoon-fed to the students and the essays (tutor-marked assigments in OU speak) are set about with so many notes, guidelines and hints that it would seem to be impossible to fail.
The pass mark is 40 per cent, but one would have to be monumentally dim to fall even anywhere near that level. Even among the Desperate Housewives who twitter on the online OU conference forums, there is never a mention of failure, and if the semi-literate, solipsistic and frankly stupid level of writing on the boards is any indication, then failure bloody well should be an option.
Yet a simple regurgitation of the materials you have seems to be adequate for a second, and it appears possible to complete a degree entirely without once looking something up in a library.
I can't help but feel I'm taking the piss. Someone like me, with a cavalier attitude to the course, who never attends tutorials (they would involve five hours of travel, for Pete's sake) and who stuffs his study into odd moments in the week, surely shouldn't be able to get away with it?
So, the OU is undoubtedly a good thing. But does it have to be quite so dumbed down? Certainly it's hardly surprising that was rated the top university in England and Wales in the 2005 and 2006 national student satisfaction survey, and second in 2007. Who's going to grumble when things are quite so soft?
Anyway, enough wittering. I've got an essay to hand in today, so I'd better get started...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
