Rusty

Six weeks have evaporated like meths in the sun. Not that there’s been any. We have had visitors, though. Firstly, Kevin McCloud of t̶h̶e̶ ̶c̶l̶a̶n̶ ̶M̶c̶C̶l̶o̶u̶d̶ Grand Designs, has come to chuckle at the timetable, budget and the idea of building in cob in exactly the months you oughtn’t to. So far, no-one’s pregnant, so who knows if it’ll be broadcast.

It’s been warm – 14°C as I type – and wet and windy as a well digger’s ass.

And no matter how inclement, the team has been flat out taking deep craters and driving up into the air. And while they were there one particularly inhospitable day in November, I was in the Savoy, winning an award. Which was nice.

The result of all their graft and craft, is that since Thursday, we have a frame for the not-house. I’m calling it the not-house as it was originally planned to be a winery, where we’d turn our grapes into wine, but the more I consider it, the more I like the idea of installing a still (instilling?) and making a whole world of seasonal gins and other liquid exhilarants. Given the ridiculous amount of herbs and spices we grow year round, the fact that we already have an amazing wine maker, and my willingness to undertake the taste-testing necessary to come up with a fabulous gin, it’s a no-brainer. Which, I fear, is my likely nickname in a few short, pickled years.

In the sludge, rain and wind, men in cranes and hard hats have been lifting poles in place – a steel frame to sit just inside the walls themselves. I rather like the colour – it reminds me of a bike I made myself from bits when I was 13 or so. I think I may have just painted it in primer of this colour and never got around to giving it a final spray. This may well have been down to a stern talking to, on account of the amount of clothing I ruined whenever I crossed paths with a spray can.

The walls will be made of cob. If you aren’t familiar with cob, you clearly don’t live in the west country, and more fool you. Cob is a mix of clayey sunsoil, sand, stones and straw, and has long been used as a building material. Our last house, the one before it and (less famously) the Walls Of Jerico are among the many structures made of this marvellous material.

You are supposed to build in cob between May and September: our building schedule runs from October to April. To establish the relative madness of building in cob when you shouldn’t, we’ve set up a test spot: the wall that links the two buildings.

As well as making and getting quietly sozzled on our own gin, running courses, cooking demos and other events, the idea of the Kitchen Garden School is to put opportunity in the way of those not ordinarily exposed to much of it. Everything will have an element of pay-what-you-can, we’ll be doing plenty in schools and with other community groups, and providing training, apprenticeships and other opportunities: this was the first of those days, and it was a complete honour and pleasure to be joined by some of the fine folk from the Exeter Chiefs HITZ Programme. We mixed cob, some learned to drive diggers (one better than I, but obviously he won’t be coming back again) and we lay the first metre or two of rusty cob in place.

It’s all getting a bit real, and well I like it.

Merry Christmas, all.