Home Is Where The Hearth Is

HIP #4 is coming along quite nicely now. The new fireplace hearth is bedded down in cement, and the wooden flooring is shaping up around it. Once Tony the Werewolf boxes in the pipework, we'll be able to finish lying the floor and the skirting boards.

The hearth was eventually purchased from Site 77 - a reclaimation yard in Aston Clinton - on Friday. It is a reproduction - a single piece of black granite polished to a beautiful shiny surface. It catches and reflects the light, and if you gaze upon it, you can see your face looking back from its dark depths. If you stood it on its side, it would look like the monolith from 2001: A Space Odyssey.

After putting the floor down, we crashed out on the sofa and sat open-mouthed, gazing upon the granite hearth like primitive apemen. Vic even picked up a large thigh bone, bashed the granite with it, and roared with primal rage.

"Rah!"

You probably don't realise how frustrating it is getting these things straight and level...


Spelling Correction

There's only one L in cassoulet.


Signs

Watched the movie Signs on Friday night. Pretty good. Well-acted, nicely paced, understated, and apart from the rather obvious Sixth Sense style twist, just unpredictable enough to keep you guessing. It was also notable in that it managed to make me jump - something very few films do. The poor skewered doggy now finds himself on a short-list with:

The head in the small boat with the hole in its hull in Jaws.
Something stupid - perhaps a squeeling cat - in the original Halloween.
The zombie that jumps out of the bedroom cupboard in the first Resident Evil PS1 game.
Vic when telling me to pick up my dirty socks and pants and put them in the washing basket.