| Let us travel back to the bodgery in my Tardis...
No: that isn't my Tardis, that's the back half of the shed
The previous inhabitants had unmolished the front half of it for some reason, probably connected with dilapidation, or to be precise, dilumpidation, since the shed originally was builded of clay lump.
To prevent the contents from walking off during the night a wall was molished from - shock-horror! - flettons.
For those not in the know, clay lump is a building material much used in East Angular, and was exceedingly inexpensive, and so long as it was kept dry, exceedingly effective. An area of ground was stripped of its topsoil, exposing the clay beneath. Water, chopped straw and fresh cowdung were sploofed on the clay and a heavy horse walked round and round on it, until it had been pugged into a sticky mess the constituency of clod porage.
The sticky mess was shovelled into long square-section troughs with dividing boards the length of them, and one of the sides removable, dividing them into standard-sized blockholes, so to speak. The gunge was tamped in with a flat-headed plonker and left to dry a bit. ("Often referred to in Norfolkese as 'a fule'." Ed.) When the blocks had hardened enough, the sides of the moulds were removed and the damp blocks tipped out and stacked loosely under cover to dry.
To the left of the shed you will just molish out another door, back amongst the hedge. This is the netty, thunderbox, privy, or whatever you wish to call it. It is NOT the bathroom. Per-lease! The sheet of something-or-other in the foreground covers a hole in which I found bwicks and bits of wubble. I was prematurely excited by the find, gooving that I'd found a filled-in well. Alas! (And a lack) It was not to be so: the well which had served the four cottijis is berried beneath next-door's eggs ten shun. (Stamps foot)
Anyway, back to the Sirius business of molishing clay lumpenstuff: more cow-dung, water and chopped straw were flung into the claypit, and the horse wound-up and started off again. This must have been boring for the horse, and it would have been much kinder to use something with a shorter span of attention, such as a glodfish, but glodfish haven't got big enough feet innit.
And so-on, until there were enough blocks to build the house and a big enough hole to float a small freighter. In the clay-covered areas of East Angular, ponds are usually called pits - mainly because that is what they are.
Here I shall have to insert a load of waffle in order to move the right column over. I'll put something apposite opposite the other side as soon as I can goove of anything.
Hmmmm. Text just gets squished into a skinny space fit for planting a flagpole, or a pic of me, sideways.
The way things are going, it looks as if it will have to be something big, like another pic of the Tardi^H^H^H^shed...
...is this any betterer?
There are plans afoot to put an orange-juice bockle on top of the conservative, and for any dismissive individuals who might say "So what?", all I can say is that you haven't seen the orange -juice bockle.
Never mind, you will. Be assured of that, you will. But let's keep to the matter in hand, shall we? The trouble with molishing columns in wibblespace is that you have to fill them or you has a nasty lump of nothing at the top of them, and a useless bit of empty space underneath innit.
I suppose I could always look for another pitcher and pour that in. (Thinks) "What might add a bit of interest? I don't think I have any pics of Lillian Gish I want to share with you, and Hattie Jaques won't fit. I know! ..."
The black plastic is covering the Rayburn which will one day grace the kitching, but first I have to molish a big quarry in the chimblybeast innit.