The Basement

I have begun to inhabit the basement where I shall make my studio. There is still much to clear being that it was once the studio of Bernard Reynolds, a sculptor with a fascination for birds of all sorts.



His bronzes, plaster maquettes and moulds are stacked in the next room. I began yesterday with much enthusiasm until, looking for a light, I flicked a switch which, much to my consternation, brought a grinder to life. The grinder was not screwed down and promptly shot across the workbench firing screws, bits of Bernard's sculpture and other debris in my direction. I only cut the power just in time as the beast was inches from my arm. Since then I have been more circumspect in my tidying. But I have made good progress.






Miss Dover has also found herself a little monkish cell that was once a darkroom and before that a coal cellar. She says she feels like Fra Angelico.