Sidle up to it in a friendly manner. Enter the workshop with an air of ‘I happened to be in the neighbourhood and I thought it rude to pass’.
Observation: What’s here. Sawdust. Sweep that. Red Deal, piney Scando. Tuneless whistle. Heigh Ho. I’ll sharpen a penknife and create a bad spot on my forearm. Sharpness is all and now look directly at the dry assembled front door on the bench. It seems less reproachful but still sternness is there modulated by a recognition of velleity. This is going to be a day of action. Let me just knock it apart. The wedges are already made from a previous engagement.
It was an instructional job. My son did a lot of the work on the hollow chisel morticer and he did the muntin tenons and mortices by hand. I said:
- We’ve done a lot, we can stop now or we can finish it off.
- Let’s do it.
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