Things of absolutely no consequence

But with a certain weird satisfaction.
Anyone who has followed this blog may have come across various posts on the subject of our kettle.
Bought in a vide-grenier (car-boot sale) about ten years ago it has continuously been a functional and heart-warming object in our kitchen.
The original knob dropped off soon after we acquired it and then followed a procession of different objects to act as replacements: a brass curtain finial, a lead policeman, a metal greyhound, corks and so on. The latest, an ancient lead sheep, has been tied on about four times with the wire from a Blanquette (champagne-like substance from this region) cork, but the cork eventually perishes, or the wire snaps.
Mark is still insisting that the sheep is good and that the wire has to be recycled from the cork chosen for the job, rather than using a longer piece from a roll of wire. I told you this post was of little or no consequence . . . but I felt like writing about something small, cosy and homely when such unknown and unbelievable enormities are currently filling our Guardian screen startup page.

                                

                                               tools for the job



                                    satisfied craftsman

                                

                                             Sheep reigns again

Beauty

Ezra and I have this thing about pegs on wire. It's a common feature of village houses around here. Where as some people might be admiring say, a gargoyle on a church, or a magnificent climbing rose on an ochre coloured wall in the late afternoon sun . . .we seek out pegs. Not that I don't appreciate the above things: I do muchly, it's just something about these slightly lost things, waiting for the next pair of knickers or a floor cloth to give them purpose again.

Here is a particularly lovely example of a gaggle of pegs on an inconclusively painted wall.