Teaser

Day three and already I'm wondering how soon I'm going to fail miserably in this self-imposed challenge, and miss a day of posting. But that day will not be today, for whilst perusing the notes on the tools I bought from Mr A, I was reminded of one of particular interest that I don't think I ever properly bored anyone with before. Here's a teaser:

Now I know you folks; you want more. More! But the countdown to Crimbo is all about anticipation, kiddies. Plus I've finally finished a fascinating tome entitled Teasing Tool Junkies on The Interweb; A Expert's Guide from Lee Valley and want to advance beyond just theory... So tune in tomorrow.

Or maybe Wednesday, depending on how how soon I'm going to fail miserably etc.

Tool Stories

So mentioning "stuff" yesterday, reminded me of one of my old tool buying encounters. One of the things I miss most about not being on the tool hunt any more is not the actual tools so much, as the people you meet. One such was a gentleman, Mr A, with an assortment of surplus tools from his early years as a joiner. He recalled starting training as a "setter out" in a joinery workshop, and on being asked by his mother what he'd learnt, he eagerly explained how he'd been told to take some 6" "stuff" and... Only to be chastised by his mother for using such an inaccurate word as "stuff", and no amount of protestation on his part would get her to believe that was the proper term.

Looking back at my brief notes of the time, I see his father had worked at William Greenslade's, the planemakers, in Bristol, and he remembered seeing the paring chisels used for cutting the escapements. Polished all the way up the back (for you folks who think that's merely a modern affectation), and pushed with the shoulder. If I recall correctly he said as the paring chisel approached the point of being too short a length for the job, the unhappy planemaker would start the laborious job of lapping the back of the replacement, spreading the work over several weeks or months. I seem to be spreading that particular work over several years, myself... He also claimed the beech plane blanks were stored in the rafters to season for ten years before use. Can't see the accountants smiling on that idea these days, but certainly I have no complaints about the examples of Greenslade planes that I own.

Grows On Trees

Tarnation - I missed November. Botheration. I dunno, this year seems to have flown by on a month-by-month basis, while absolutely dragging hour by hour. Most peculiar.

Anyway, December. Possibly my least favourite month of the year, and this one has started out right nippy too. Urgh. I might try and post every day in the run up to the "Winter Festival", just to see if I can. Woodworking will be the first choice of subject, but it probably depends on how desperate I get for Blog Fodder, because, naturally, I haven't planned ahead. Of course, by now, I'm probably back to talking to just myself and all the spammers anyway, but, hey, that's never stopped me before...

So the foundation of woodworking is, um, wood. Timber. Lumberrrrr. "Stuff", as they say in the joinery trade, in an effort to blind us with technical terms. Casting my mind back several months (like twenty) I remembered the piece of possibly-Mahonia that I cut open to reveal a rather stunning yellow. Here 'tis.


Unusual, innit?

Well, I wondered at the time how it would age, so hustled down to the w'shop to dig it out after twenty months exposed to the air and UV light, and here's the answer. On the left, the back that was deliberately kept face down; on the right, the face side, roughly planed.

So, definitely mellowed even out of direct light, but the face side has gone a rather lovely but less remarkable golden brown. Not terribly surprisingly. It's a bit reminiscent of aged Boxwood, and has similar tight grain - grows just as slowly, so again, not a shocker. Unlike Boxwood, it doesn't have that slightly buttery quality when worked though. Figures. Still, it cost me nothing but my time, and it's bound to come in handy some time. Things always do, however small.

And that philosophy right there explains an awful lot about the state of my wood shelves...

A Rose By Any Other Name

99.95% of the world's spokeshaves have never and will never shave a spoke in their entire existence. Channel 4 television manages to show one actually being used to shave a wheel spoke, and the voiceover identifies it as... a rounding plane.

Don't mind me. I'll just be over here, expressing my pointless frustration at the never-ending failure of the media to get anything right by hitting my head against a wall in a repetitive but hopefully soothing motion for a week or two.

P.S. Hah! Bet you thought I'd missed this month, right?

P. P. S. If I never hear Guy Martin utter the word "graft" ever again it'll be too soon.

N.B. This has been a blog post to indicate the continuing failure of my demise. You're welcome.