Planes by the pint

Well I can tell you were all agog wondering about this one.

Anyway...

Occasionally, or maybe more often than that, my dad tells of an old dear in the village he grew up in who used to sell potatoes by the pint. Seems to me a cunning scheme to sell folks a lot of air to me. Anyway, I reckon you can probably fit more planes to the pint than you can potatoes. If you nest them.

I know, I know. It looks like a crush at the bottom. But they're all fine, honest. If my apron plane had been a low angle instead of standard, I'd definitely got that in there, I'm sure of it.

See? Look at all that space at the top! Alas, nothing quite small enough to fit in it. I suppose I could have stopped off to make one or two. Didn't think of that. Anyway they had to be functioning... Wanted to put the Stanley #271 in there too - or try to - but inexplicably can't find it. Okay, perhaps not so inexplicably. My top tip: make every effort to avoid long absences from the w'shop directly after you've tidied it; you can't find a thing.

Unfortunately the detail rebate's effusive tail meant I could only get one in. Too bad, because they look good in a jar, turns out. Likewise, the cherry knob on the side rebate ruled out more than one, and I couldn't find the Stanley #79 either to try that. It must be somewhere.

 Yes, it's a woodie! I was especially pleased to get that one in, for variety.

And the final total. Ten. Yes, TEN (count 'em) planes to the litre chez Alf. And by no means all "miniatures" either, but proper grown-up planes. If I'd ever succumbed to the siren song of violin maker's thumb planes, it'd easily be a round dozen.

So my wondering mind can rest easy again. Until the next time.

When is a plane till not a plane till

You know those fair and fête things where you guess the weight of the fruit cake or how many sweets are in the jar? This is like that, except you don't get to win the cake. Or in this case, the jar of planes.

"The jar of... What?" Do I hear you splutter?

Well it's like this... A few weeks ago I looked at this unexceptional Kilner jar knock-off, and thought "Self, I wonder how many planes you could fit in this jar?"

Well you know me and wondering - it's fatal. Instead of having the thought, discarding the thought, and then going and doing something useful, the thought stuck. The thought persisted. Dammit, the thought positively nagged. So you can guess what happened next.

Well I say "Next", but I mean a coupla weeks later, obviously. Doesn't do to rush.

I gave myself some parameters to avoid the temptation of asking El Presidente if I could borrow a gross (or two) of key rings and totally skew the results. Viz: The planes have to be of a functioning variety; they must be in one piece and not broken down into component parts; and they must come out of the experience unscathed. (The last one was particularly important.) I also wanted to avoid an exclusively Canadian jar, if at all possible. Just because.

So a single one litre glass preserving/food storage jar, approximately 6in tall. How many whole and functioning hand planes can I fit in it and still seal the lid?

And just to get you started, yes, I did use the Veritas miniatures, but as you can see, they didn't get me very far...

Answer next week. I know you'll be on tenterhooks.

Tea Tree

For the style-concious tea-swilling* woodworker, these might be just the ticket:

At least I assume they can take hot drinks; it doesn't actually say, does it? Of course you could make your own; if you're suitably roundy-spinny equipped - and talented - you could make something even better for the beverage of your choice. Or attempt to:

(Forgive the picture - it's ancient enough to have been on film. Wood is Mountain Laurel, iirc.)

It's just the attaching of the handle that can be a worry; hot drinks and epoxy, for instance, could be potentially disastrous. Hence my slight wondering about the resilience of that Japanese example; it's a lot of yen for a water mug. Good-looking though.

*Or coffee. This is an equal beverage-swilling blog.

Still a workbench

The Society for the Prevention of the Exploitation of Workbenches (SPEW) is slacking again. Actually I'm two minds about this one; it is still being used for something creative, just not for what it was intended. But should any working bench really be subjected to quite so much pastel?

Found it here - you'll have to scroll down past an awful lot of glass jars full of buttons, and plenteous ribbons, so I'll append the caption and save you some possible pain if that's not your idea of a good time:

"I orginally bought this workbench to use as my worktable but, at only 13 inches, it ended up not being deep enough. I still love it, though! It didn't photograph well because the flash made the wood look a lot lighter than it is. I paid $110 for it at Pappy's Antiques and put a glass top on it for two reasons. The top is pretty rough since it was actually some man's workbench. And, again because it was used, it has oil and grease on it."

Good heavens, it was actually some man's workbench. With oil and grease on it. There's a surprise.

Ack, no, fair enough - the world of buttons and ribbons is short on grease, I suppose. On the bright side, it's not been busted up and may yet live again as a workbench sometime in the future. As long as no-one's cut out a heart shape in the middle of the apron in the meantime. Even the most dedicated Spewer may cavil at that in their w'shop.