Garage Repointing - 1: First Attempts

I understand that my house was built/completed in 1977, so I assume that the detached single garage that comes with it also dates from around this time?  The garage is of a fairly standard UK design, using single-skin stretcher bond brickwork and a gently sloping corrugated asbestos concrete roof. Whereas the construction of the house has proved to have been relatively sound, over the years I have spent a disproportionate amount of time trying to remedy defects with the garage! Thus far, I have had to deal with a leaky roof, a rotten window frame, a side-door frame that was not properly anchored to the brickwork, and failed pointing. (If I was 20 years younger and had the money to spare, the sensible course of action would be to have the top half of the garage rebuilt once I realised what I was dealing with!)

Around 25 years ago, it became clear that there was a significant problem with the top nine or ten mortar courses on the garage. The exterior mortar had become noticeably recessed from the surface of the bricks, and when touched it was like dust and would fall out of the wall in a worrying manner. It was little better on the inside, and had burst through the coat(s) of white paint? that had been applied sometime in the first 15 years of the garage’s existence. Thankfully, the lower dozen or so mortar courses appeared to be mainly sound and intact, both outside and in.

Now, it is said that a little knowledge can be a dangerous thing, and I was probably proof of that. I knew very little about brickwork and bricklaying, but I had been given a copy of  “The Reader’s Digest Complete [sic.] DIY Manual”, printed in 1994. (The commercial and social Internet was still developing circa the turn of the millennium, so that was of no use…) I was already aware of the purpose of repointing, and it seemed like that was what I needed to do, and my book informed me that I needed to use a cement-sand mixture. Moreover, I should be able to buy a bag of ready-mixed mortar which would spare me the effort of mixing sand and cement myself.

So I went to the local builder’s supplier and bought a smallish bag of “Blue Hawk” dried mortar mix and a repointing trowel. (I figured I could improvise other tools I might need from off-cuts of wood.) I then raked out the topmost mortar course using a woodscrew driven into a scrap of 1” x 2” softwood, and mixed some replacement mortar according to the instructions on the bag. My first attempt at repointing was a bit messy, because the sand seemed quite coarse compared to the old mortar, and I didn’t achieve as tidy a finish as I had hoped.

When the repointing had set, the first thing I noticed was that the colour was wrong! Although there was no mention on the bag, the new mortar was distinctly reddish, and the original mortar was very pale cream in comparison — almost white. I was also not happy with the grittiness of it, and it seemed difficult to work. I thought that the reason the old mortar had failed after only a decade or so was because it was not “strong” enough to resist the weather and needed more binder. So I decided to make a stronger mortar by adding additional Portland Cement (I can’t now remember the proportion I decided on) and used dilute builder’s PVA as a plasticiser. Furthermore, my Reader’s DIY book had mentioned “weatherstruck” pointing, so I would attempt to use that too! (Even though the original was finished in “bucket handle” profile...)

My new mortar mix was easier to work with as I had hoped, and the additional cement effectively hid the red colour of the sand, so I was happy. I then spent most of my free time when the weather was fine over the next two summers and autumns, raking-out and repointing the upper nine or ten courses on three sides of the garage. (The fourth side is east-facing and forms part of my neighbour’s western boundary, and didn’t appear to have suffered the weather as badly.)

Once I had completed the exterior repointing, I made a start on the interior, but I barely managed two courses before stopping for the season. After that, I seemed to lose interest in finishing the inside; and then any further work was put to a more permanent stop after a tidy-up (not by me!) disposed of all my equipment and materials. And thus did two decades pass…

The northern part of the A338: not a Roman road!

I have not blogged for a while!...

In this photo taken in February last year (2024), I am standing on a short section of the former A338 (realigned in the early 1970s?) just outside the Oxford Lane entrance to the village of Grove in Oxfordshire. The view is looking roughly northeast towards Oxford, some 15 miles away. The alignment of the present-day A338 can be seen beyond the petrol station. A number of sources — such as the Ordnance Survey map of Roman Britain — suggest that below my feet lie the remains of a Roman road, which appears to commence at this very spot and head towards Oxford.

For many decades, I accepted that the northern section of the A338 between the northern side of Grove and the junction with the A420 Swindon to Oxford road was Roman in origin, because it was shown as such on maps that I had seen in the early 1970s. Later in that decade, I became aware of the scholarly work of Ivan D Margary in identifying and mapping the Roman roads of Britain; and I believe it was he who first proposed that this alignment was Roman and identified it as route number 164.

In 1992 I moved to Grove and began working in Oxford, which usually meant a daily commute to work and back by bus. Needless to say, I became quite familiar with the northern part of the A338 over the period of 30 years and an excess of 12,000 journeys back and forth! There were plenty of opportunities to study the route from the top of a double-decker bus. Over time, I changed my mind that this part of the A338 was Roman, based on what I understood about Roman roads and how they were constructed — and what I could actually see on the ground.

A well-engineered Roman road is built on an agger (a slightly raised embankment) and normally has ditches on both sides for drainage. Its alignment is usually as straight as an arrow, and only changes to avoid natural obstacles, which may be achieved using a number of short straight sections. The northern A338 does have a number of straight sections which gives it a Roman feel; but most of the current route shows no clear signs of an agger, the ditches (where present) appear to be too close to the metalling, and there are numerous inexplicable (un-Roman) changes of alignment and obvious curves!

Subsequently, further reading confirmed my suspicion that assumptions (“conjectures”) had been made about the northern course of the A338 in the mid-twentieth century, and are still being perpetuated today in recent archaeological reports…

The origins of the section of the A338 north of Wantage actually lie in the construction of the Besselsleigh Turnpike in 1771. At its southern end between Venn Mill and Wantage, the turnpike runs to the east of Letcombe Brook. This became the main route from Wantage to Abingdon and Oxford. (In the latter part of the nineteenth century, the section from Wantage Road railway station to the town of Wantage was used by the Wantage Tramway until it closed in 1945.) 

It is recorded that prior to this, the main road to Abingdon and Oxford (the Roman “trade route”) north from Wantage ran from the modern day Denchworth Road in Belmont (where Roman remains have been found); and kept to the west bank of Letcombe Brook, crossing the River Ock near Garford, before heading over Foxcombe Hill to the River Thames at Hinksey. 

Bill Fuller in his series of histories about Grove and Wantage noted that the old road to Abingdon and Oxford passed to the west of old Grove along the track now known as Cow Lane. It surely then ran northerly on the connecting bridleway (also a parish boundary between East Hanney and West Hanney), and crossed what is now the road linking East Hanney to West Hanney. A little beyond this, the route to Garford has been lost as sections were sold to local landowners soon after the new turnpike was built. Similarly, the route from Wantage to Grove cannot now be accurately traced; as the construction of Grove Airfield in the early 1940s, and subsequent housing development since the 1960s have between them obliterated most of the old tracks and roads in the area.

Given that so little evidence remains today of the Roman route from Wantage northwards, then it seems to follow that it was not engineered to be a military road and main highway in Roman times. (The building of the Besselsleigh Turnpike used a mostly new and straighter alignment, in preference to upgrading the old road.) Perhaps the Roman route north was actually a prehistoric trackway, improved and still in use in Roman times (and later) — like The Ridgeway over the Downs south of Wantage?

Cotman and Van Gogh: shades of grey

I have noticed that the half-pans in my favourite Cotman Sketchers’ Pocket Box are starting to show obvious signs of use. In particular, the Ultramarine and Burnt Sienna paints. This is not a surprise, as thanks to the leaflet packed with my Pocket Box that included a brief watercolour tutorial, I soon learnt that when Ultramarine and and Burnt Sienna are mixed together in appropriate proportions, a lovely grey results. And by using more or less Ultramarine in the mix, a cooler or warmer grey can be obtained. I have found this mixture to be indispensable when tackling landscapes. (Others think so too: the artist Jane Blundell mixes up her own tube colour which she calls Jane’s Grey, and it is now produced by Daniel Smith.)

I suspect that I come across as something of a Winsor and Newton Cotman watercolour fan, but I do like to evaluate other paint ranges from time to time to see whether these might convince me to abandon my Cotman paints! Given that I use up more Ultramarine and Burnt Sienna paint, it makes sense to try this pair of colours first of all, as I have certain expectations about how they should behave when mixed together. Also, the pigments used in Ultramarine and Burnt Sienna tend to be less expensive than others, so these colours usually feature in all watercolour ranges.

In the last couple of years, the Royal Talens Van Gogh line of paints had appeared on my radar, and I had bought a number of 10 ml tubes to see whether these might be used in my usual palette. In particular, I was interested in some of the colours which were only available in other more expensive artists’ ranges. But how did the Ultramarine and Burnt Sienna combination perform?

To find out, I took a small piece of practice paper and drew around an empty half pan with a pencil to make two rows of rectangular swatch spaces. Using a ruler, I drew lines between some of the swatches, with arrow heads to indicate where the pigment had come from. Then I had fun mixing up paint and colouring in the swatches! (See the image on the right.)

I did the Cotman colours first when the daylight was starting to fail, so the intensity is a bit inconsistent. Having read comments about the weakness of the Ultramarine, I was a bit surprised with my swatch: I put three drops of water in the half pan and left it for a few minutes, and then picked up the paint on a No. 6 round brush and transferred it to a mixing palette, where I added another drop of water from a pipette. Then I painted the swatch. Wow!

The Van Gogh swatches were done the next day when the light was better, and I took more care to make them more even. The paints mixed as expected with no surprises. Even when I mixed Cotman Ultramarine with Van Gogh Burnt Sienna, the outcome was exactly as I hoped for.

So a successful result from both ranges: several lovely shades of grey!

What’s in my palette?

 Some months ago, I mentioned my use of a watercolour secondary palette of six paints in preference to the apparent dogma of a split primary palette. But my well-used Cotman Sketchers’ Pocket Box has 12 compartments. So what do I have in the other six compartments? (I know this is a popular discussion subject on Internet forums such as Wet Canvas.)

As supplied and after shuffling paints around to make the top/far row the secondary palette, the Pocket Box would then contain Sap Green, Lemon Yellow, Yellow Ochre, Burnt Sienna, Burnt Umber and Chinese White. Of these, I keep all but the Lemon Yellow and Chinese White.

Even though it seems a little weak, the Sap Green is a good starting point for mixing other foliage greens in landscapes. I like all the earth colours and use them frequently, even though other people have criticised the pigment load of the Burnt Sienna. They suit my way of working.

My current replacement for Lemon Yellow is PY129, called Green Gold by Winsor and Newton, and available by different names in other ranges. (Van Gogh have it as Azomethine Yellow.) It is a darkish green-yellow, and I thought it would be useful for mixing more landscape greens.

I couldn’t see the point of including Chinese White as a palette colour, as you would use white gouache if you needed to paint white areas, surely? Therefore, I have replaced it with Payne’s Gray to provide a convenience dark paint. But I rarely use it. At least it is there in case…

Up to now, my few paintings have used no more than a maximum of ten different paints on each, nor have I needed a colour that I have not been able to mix. This probably says more about my subject matter rather than the suitability of my palette, but it has worked for me so far.

Liquitex Medium Viscosity acrylic paints

As far as I can tell, these were the original artists' acrylic paints, having been introduced in this format as far back as the mid-1950s. Somewhat surprinsingly, they were re-branded as Soft Body Acrylics around 2005 and sold in tubes like the Liquitex Heavy Body Acrylics. However, a decade or so later, the small bottles are now back, but a little taller and redesigned to have a nozzle.

The original format bottles were widely-sold. I bought examples from WH Smith’s in the UK; in an office supplies store in Montreal, Canada; and a local art supplies shop in Oxford, England. They were (and are) excellent paints, being heavily-pigmented and ready for immediate use. (No shaking or stirring necessary.) The screw-on cap with flip-off lid made them very convenient to use. There must have been a large number of colours in the range at its zenith; appealing to artists, crafters and model makers. So why did they disappear from the shops?

Probably only Liquitex themselves know the answer. But I suspect that there are a number of reasons. Cheap imports, competing ranges and more specialised paints.

One other point. The selection shown here includes colours that no longer appear in the current Liquitex ranges. To be honest, I can't think of an obvious use for Christmas Green, but Taupe appealed to me as a scenic colour, and Polished Steel is very useful on models and miniature figures. Christmas Green sounds like a craft colour, and Polished Steel sounds like a hobby colour, so I am guessing that Liquitex stopped producing their craft and hobby colours in order to focus on their art colours?

Malayan butterflies

I was recently given this book — Common Malayan Butterflies by R. Morell — as a gift. It is a fond memento of a time that is now starting to seem a long time ago, because more than 50 years ago butterfly collecting was my first proper hobby. At the time, I was living with my family in Singapore. A friend of the family had a copy of this book and I must have been captivated by the colour illustrations, so thanks to my kind parents it seemed no time at all before I had my own personal copy. For a boy of seven this was a grown-up book with some words that I didn’t understand (and even some Latin), but it was accessible enough and before too long I knew about the biology of butterflies and caterpillars. More important, I could readily identify most of the species I saw flying around my world.

It might seem totally environmentally-unfriendly today, but in the late 1960s butterfly collecting in what we called the Far East was considered to be acceptable, albeit a little eccentric! A number of people I knew were keen, including friends my own age. I suspect that the Singapore of those days was less densely populated and developed than it is now, so there were more green spaces to attract the insects.

As a family, we travelled quite widely around Singapore and Malaysia by car, so on longer trips invariably my butterfly net, supply of specimen envelopes (kitchen grease-proof paper!) and mounting board(s) came with us. I kept no written records of "finds" whatsoever, so it was all by memory. If there was a butterfly that I didn't think I already had in the collection, I would attempt to catch it. Once caught, at that age I was quite happy to dispatch it with a quick pinch in the head/thorax region so it didn't suffer. Then it was into the specimen envelope until I had the opportunity to set out the insect on the mounting board.

 

Lest I conjure up a vision of a young, lepidoteracidal maniac, I hasten to add that I normally caught no more than two of any species. The main reason for this was a lack of display space. I used to have glass-fronted butterfly frames, which were like picture frames and hung on the wall, but were much deeper and they had a thick fibre board back which would accept the butterflies mounted on pins. I was definitely attracted to the larger and more showy creatures for obvious reasons.

The family made two visits to Malaysia's Cameron Highlands, no doubt attracted by the novelty of a more UK-like climate for a few days. Amongst the butterfly enthusiasts, a certain location near there was known to be a place where the stunning Rajah Brooke's Birdwing could be found. My parents obligingly took me there, and I know I caught at least a couple of fine specimens -- the pinnacle of my hobby, I suppose!

The butterfly collecting all came to an end in mid-1970, when my family returned to the UK. I brought my collecting net and mounting boards back with me in the hope that British butterflies would hold a similar fascination -- but the limited number of species, small size and short summer soon put paid to that idea. My net and mounting boards eventually disappeared after a number of house moves, but I believe the butterfly frames may still exist somewhere in the house (loft?). Heaven knows what sort of condition they will be in now.

My original copy of Common Malayan Butterflies (the first edition with a dust jacket, I believe) was stored for many years in the loft of my maternal grandparents' bungalow in Tankerton, Kent. When my mother went to sell the property several years later, a number of items had vanished from the loft, my butterfly book with them. So it was good to be able to finally revisit what had captivated my imagination all those years ago.

Origami

In many ways, I was brought up like my parents were — especially when younger. They were children of the 20th century inter-war years, long before television, computers and mobile phones were common in most households or even invented! In those days it was generally expected that children would make their own entertainment. They were encouraged to read books, take up hobbies and play outside when the weather permitted. Thousands of British young people were raised in a similar way. Were they deprived or disadvantaged because they didn’t enjoy the trappings of the UK in the 21st century? No, far from it! They have since been called our Greatest Generation, because they brought us through the trials of the Second World War and its aftermath, and thanks to their achievements we enjoy life as it is today.

In the early 1970s I could already list things like reading, Airfix kit-building, Lego and stamp collecting as hobbies and pastimes. (I even had a spell as a butterfly collector!) It must have been my friend John in Junior School who introduced me to Origami, the Japanese art of paper folding. Like several things in the 1970s, it was a bit of a thing at the time, no doubt encouraged by a programme on television hosted by Robert Harbin.

What appealed to me was that all you needed was a simple square of paper and a few minutes of time. And the ability to follow instructions carefully and make accurate folds. There were at least two books published at the time as a companion to the TV series, which were a great help. It was even possible to buy special Origami paper in bold colours, but I seem to remember that it was relatively expensive on my modest pocket money budget of the time!

Nearly half a century later, I can still remember the important folds and bases, and produce an acceptable Flapping Bird in a few minutes! Once upon a time, I could even make the amazing 3D Jackstone (by Jack Silverman of the USA?) from memory; but that was nearly three decades ago and my brain has been filled with other things since!

Spitfire at RAF Biggin Hill

On the 80th anniversary of Battle of Britain Day, I thought this would be an appropriate subject. Back in June 1992, some family friends who were stationed at RAF Biggin Hill at the time invited my mother and I to experience the Biggin Hill Airshow from the RAF side of the airfield. Despite its history and association with the Battle of Britain in particular, I was sadly aware that RAF Station Biggin Hill was due to close in October of that year. This was my opportunity to record something of the Station before closure.

The weather was perfect for an airshow, and armed with camera and films I soon shot through my colour exposures on the aerial displays. I still had rolls of black and white Kodak Plus X Pan, and carried on shooting that as the day came to an end. The colour film was duly processed and when I treated myself to a flatbed scanner in 2010, some of those photos became part of my Flickr stream. However, the black and white exposures were put away in the fridge to be processed at a later date...

It was August 2016 when I decided that I ought to do something about the exposed and unprocessed films in my fridge! The film itself would have expired in early 1983 (bulk-loaded), and I had not recorded when it had been exposed, so I picked one at random. This turned out to be the Biggin Hill film from 1992. I had it commercially processed in Oxford rather than doing it myself.

When I received the negatives, the good news was that there were images on the film. The less good news was that they were of low contrast and showed some fogging due to age, so it would be a challenge to extract usable images from them. Although the de facto standard software for doing this is Adobe Photoshop, I prefer to use GIMP (GNU Image Manipulation Program) due to licensing and cost reasons. I don’t have a record of how many hours I spent experimenting with both scanner software and GIMP settings, but I now have a better idea of how to get the best results from my scanning! Eventually, I found that repeated use of Layers resulted in a smoother and brighter sky.

Had I captured a historic moment? Was this the last time that an iconic Spitfire was serviced at RAF Biggin Hill? (Probably not, as this would have likely continued till the end of the air display season.) The hangar to the right is no more, but remarkably the concrete surface on which the Spitfire stands and the walls behind it still exist (as of early September 2019). I believe these are what remain of the Belfast triple-bay hangar that was demolished on the orders of the RAF Biggin Hill Station Commander on 4th September 1940, after a number of devastating Luftwaffe air raids during the Battle of Britain.

Some 80 years later, Biggin Hill Airport as it is now, still occasionally reverberates to the sounds of Spitfires. We are most fortunate to live in more peaceful times. And we should still be grateful for the young men and women who gave their best (and in some cases gave their lives) when most of the free world needed them.

Pro Arte Sablene brushes

I suspect that if I counted up my paint brush collection I would find that I had more assorted Pro Arte brand brushes than any others. I have been using them ever since a friend of mine brought them to my attention around 20 years ago; and Acrylix, Connoisseur, and Prolene Plus brushes all now see regular use.

Within the last couple of years, I noticed that Ken Bromley Art Supplies has been selling a Pro Arte brush called Sablene. Tantalisingly, little additional information seems to be available about it, and few people seem to have tried one and posted their reactions. I wondered whether Sablene might be the response to the Escoda Versatil and other synthetic brushes that claim to give a more sable-like experience when painting?

What is even more mysterious is that as of late July 2020, Pro Arte’s own Website makes no mention of Sablene whatsoever! (Or of Sablesque, which appeared about the same time as Sablene.) Odd.

Ken Bromley's only supplies these brushes in wallets containing four or five different brushes: you cannot (yet?) buy brushes individually. Also, there are some wallets described as Scholar, which are a little cheaper but the brushes have silver-coloured ferrules rather than gold-coloured. (Guess which sort I bought?...) Yes, I chose the Scholar 38WA pack containing Nos. 2, 4, 6, 8 round, and a 3/8 inch flat. I hoped that the cost would be saved in the handles and the hairs would be the same quality as in the more expensive wallets...

The brushes arrived in the same order as the Van Gogh paints I mentioned previously. To start with, I thought I would add to the test of brushes I made in February 2015 to get some idea of performance.  As I said back then, this is totally unscientific, and is simply a crude way of seeing how much paint a brush will hold and how well it releases it onto the paper.

Van Gogh watercolours

During one late evening Internet browsing session during the COVID-19 lockdown, I discovered that Ken Bromley Art Supplies now carry the Royal Talens Van Gogh range of student watercolour paints. Could these be a viable alternative to my favoured Cotman watercolours? Would EU manufacture win out over Far Eastern? Attracted by the reasonable pricing and the availability of some single pigment paints that are normally only available in more expensive artists’ ranges — and swayed by some favourable reviews — I ordered four 10 ml tubes. (Ken Bromley doesn’t stock these paints in pans.)

Despite the effects of the pandemic, my order was delivered to my door within four days, which I thought was good going. I had chosen a tube each of Raw Sienna, Sap Green, Pyrrole Orange and Azomethine Green Yellow. My only previous experience with student watercolours (ignoring the cheap rubbish in tin boxes that I remembered from childhood) has been with the Winsor and Newton Cotman range, so I was curious to try them out right away.

It has become standard procedure for me with any new watercolour paint, to make a small square reference swatch on a 1/16 Imperial sheet of Fabriano 130 lb Watercolour paper. (Making sure I label each one with the brand and colour.) This is a useful way of seeing which paints I own and gives some idea of what the paint will look like on paper — but it is not the best way to compare different paints. (The Internet has a number of excellent suggestions of how to organise ones watercolour paint swatches!)

All the Van Gogh tubes were well-filled with paint, and in the case of the Sap Green and Azomethine Green Yellow, I had to be careful not to make a mess of the cap and threads. I dabbed a little paint into my porcelain mixing dish and gradually added water with a paint brush till I had what I thought was a medium intensity. Each of the paints seemed a little reluctant to dilute with water and achieving an even mix seemed like more effort than I was used to with Cotmans. When painting out the swatches, I was surprised to see some bronzing in the Sap Green — so I must have mixed it stronger than I thought. The Raw Sienna came out a little weak and patchy. Both the Pyrrole Orange and Azomethine Green Yellow worked as expected, however.

It was at this point that I decided to consult the Internet — something I should have done before I placed my order! Granted, there were some favourable reviews, notably by people who had been sent sets by Royal Talens — including one who used rather expensive paper (Hahnemühle Leonardo 300 lb no less!). But I found one or two comparative reviews more helpful and balanced. Comments like saturated, low flow, some bronzing, no chalkiness, easy re-wetting, opaqueness, optical brighteners, and muddled colour seemed to be a common theme. I was a bit concerned that the author of the Scratchmade Journal wrote that I like to build watercolor paintings in gentle layers, but Van Gogh doesn't go for that. This watercolor likes to go down strong and be left alone, but I did enjoy using them similar to gouache.

I read that to mean that Van Gogh watercolours were not suitable for glazing techniques — something I believe is fundamental to watercolour. Elsewhere, I read a grumble that the paints could not be overpainted without lifting, which if true meant that the paints would be in large part useless to me! I had already noticed the reluctance to flow, but I found the reports of ease of rewetting more troubling. I decided to perform a simple test. If I painted out a square of Pyrrole Orange (which I know is staining in other brands) wet on dry, how would it respond to glazing and lifting?

Well, despite using (St Cuthbert’s Mill) Bockingford 300 gsm CP paper which is known for its colour-lifting ability, I was pleased to find that repeated scrubbing with water and a Pro Arte Prolene Plus round brush lifted very little colour after a day. A glazing test using Cotman Ultramarine worked perfectly. And a subsequent glazing test a day later using Van Gogh Azomethine Green Yellow (diluted with homemade distilled water) didn’t cause disappointment either, even on the Cotman Ultramarine which usually lifts fairly easily.

Therefore, I am happy to say that despite some initial misgivings, my testing has shown that at least two of my paint choices work in the way I would expect them to, and they will be a useful addition to my watercolour palette. I will look into improving the paint flow: the distilled water seemed to help a little. (My tap water is fairly hard.)

I think this goes to show that we all have different expectations and ways of working. I have the greatest admiration for someone who can produce a masterpiece in a couple of hours or less; my approach is more measured and deliberate. (It is a hobby for me.) I would certainly consider using Van Gogh paints again in the future. But I don’t think they will replace my Cotmans. Perhaps I was fortunate with my choices? (Except for the Raw Sienna...)

Canon EOS digital colour 3

Perhaps predictably, after about a year I became dissatisfied with the colour in the photos I was getting from my Canon EOS 100D, using my variation of the Prolost Flat setting. I mostly shoot landscapes as both a record of where I have been, and/or as a record of how my world is changing, and I felt that there was still something lacking. In one comparison shot with my favoured compact camera, I was disappointed and surprised to see how much the sky differed between the two cameras. Had I overdone the Auto White Balance (AWB) setting on the EOS that badly?

Once again the video people on the Internet confirmed what I had been seeing: the Canon Neutral colour setting produces strong greens and magenta in the blues! So Neutral colour was actually turning my distinct blue skies to washed-out blue-grey, and also doing strange things to the colours of the clouds. (Apparently the Canon Faithful colour setting is similar to Neutral but boosts the reds.) So no wonder that my picture of the ruined Corfe Castle on a sunny summer afternoon failed to draw my eye afterwards. 

I had already come to the realisation that depicting a convincing and natural blue sky — when present — is an important ingredient of my photographs. (I was leaning in the same direction for watercolour landscape paintings.) A particularly good test is the pale cyan sky that can be seen on sunny days with small cumulus clouds on the horizon. Indeed I might go as far to say that if the sky looks right, then the rest of the image shouldn’t be too wrong. To then discover that a camera colour setting is doing unkind things to my skies clinched it: I needed to revise my colour settings.

Given that most of the other Canon camera picture modes influence the colour in known ways, the obvious choice was to return to the Standard colour mode setting. Thanks to previous camera forum comments and my own experiments, I knew that the contrast needed to be turned right down. I also knew that the saturation had to be reduced below zero to tone down the colours: I experimented with -2 and -1 saturation before settling on -1. I increased the sharpness by one to 4, which is probably as high as I dare risk it going by other Internet comments. Lastly, I tweaked the Auto White Balance compensation to A3 + G2. I think this is now pretty close to what I am expecting to see. (See the top image. For comparison, the second image was taken within a few seconds of the first and shows what my variation of Prolost Flat looks like using A4 + G4 AWB. Hmm, no surprise that I thought there was something missing...)

To summarise, the settings I am now using are (S, 4, -4, -1, 0), with A3 + G2 AWB. I know that most other people who care about this sort of thing “shoot raw” — but someone might find this useful.

Modelu figures 2

I have been one of the fortunate people — even though I may not always think it — who has been able to work safely from home during the UK COVID-19 lockdown, albeit everything seems to take at least 50 percent longer and my working day is invariably lengthened! Given that I now need to make time for exercise that I would normally get during the daily commute to work, I don’t actually have any additional time to myself during the week. Even weekends seem to have filled up with Zoom sessions and the like!

Nevertheless, I was determined to attempt at least one rainy-day project, and thought that the Modelu figures that I reviewed back in March 2017 might be something achievable in small doses. I would use the same painting technique that I mentioned in January 2015 that worked well on cast metal figures. Would I be satisfied with the results on plastic 3D-printed figures?

The first step was to take each figure and carefully wash it with warm water and inexpensive shower gel, using an old soft-bristled craft paint brush. Once all the figures had been washed, they were left in a warm dust-free environment for at least 24 hours to dry. I was then able to use double-sided tape (3M) to carefully attach (without handling) each of the figures to an old scrap of softwood, in preparation for the matt black base coat.

My favoured way of applying the black paint layer is to use acrylic matt black from an aerosol can, as is usually found in car accessory shops and similar. It is important that this is done outside on a still, fine day, or else in a shed where the vapour can be directed outside! The trick is to go for two or three light applications of paint, allowing ten minutes between each coat.

The figures in their black paint undercoats can then be returned to their warm, dust-free environment for at least another 24 hours to allow the base coats to harden. (I found that an inverted 0.3 litre Really Useful Storage box and lid made an ideal drying area.)

The next stage required each figure to be carefully removed from the block of wood and attached to an individual base for brush-painting. I found that old orange juice carton caps and milk container caps worked well as a source of bases. The double-sided tape still had enough tack to fix the bases of the figures to the caps. I used more double-sided tape to attach a couple of coins inside the milk cap to give more stability to the 0 gauge figure.

Now I could start on the hand-painting. I began with Daler-Rowney Warm Grey System 3 acrylic paint, dry-brushed on to each figure in turn using a Pro Arte Acrylix Series 204 flat brush — 1/8” for the 4 mm scale figures, and 1/4” for the 7 mm figure. Strokes were always vertically downward, attempting to recreate the shadows of strong light from above. Allowing at least 24 hours for the grey to harden, I repeated the process more sparingly with Daler-Rowney Titanium White in order to depict the high-lights on the upper surfaces of each figure.

Tune in another time to see progress on the glazes, and hopefully the finished articles...

Their finest hour

In these strange and uncertain times, I post a photo of the interior of the Saint George’s RAF Chapel of Remembrance at Biggin Hill in Kent, England. As some people might know, RAF Station Biggin Hill as it was then, played a key part in the summer of 1940 during the Battle of Britain. Its fighter pilots fought with distinction against the Luftwaffe, and were ably supported by courageous ground crews and station personnel who kept things going despite a number of devastating air raids.

The Battle of Britain has passed into legend as one of the times when the UK has prevailed in times of adversity, along with the myths that the Spitfire won it and the RAF was outnumbered. (The facts are a little different!) Thanks to the vision and preparation before the Second World War of the head of the RAF’s Fighter Command — Air Marshall Dowding — the Royal Air Force’s squadrons of Hurricanes and Spitfires were up to the job of keeping the Luftwaffe from British skies during daylight hours (when it could have done the most damage). Dowding — as a former fighter pilot himself — took a keen interest in the needs of his pilots (his chicks), and knew that they would be at the sharp end of things. Therefore, anything that could be done to protect his pilots (bulletproof windscreens, seat back armour) or give them an advantage (higher octane fuel, DeWilde ammunition) was organised. Then of course, there was the Dowding System, the world’s first co-ordinated air defence system.

So what’s this got to do with the COVID-19 pandemic? Well, unlike the mid- and late-1930s, it seems that in the Western Hemisphere, no-one saw this coming — or else decided the risk was too small to bother with. So we have frontline medical workers (the fighter pilots of today) working long hours, exposing themselves to high levels of Coranavirus, and struggling to source effective Personal Protective Equipment (PPE), despite repeated assurances from the UK government that this is under control. Can you imagine pilots bolting-on protective windscreens and armour plate to their fighter aircraft in 1940? Or taking off without oxygen masks?

In 1940 the UK had a mature RDF (Radar) and tracking system to show when and where the threat was likely to come from. Still as of today, the UK has limited Coronavirus testing, and no case tracking scheme that I am aware of. How is it possible to contain the spread of the disease and return to normality in a reasonable amount of time if no-one knows where the cases are? Or who has already had it (and has not been to hospital)?

My heart goes out to all frontline workers, facing an enemy they cannot see with the uncertainty of the harm it will cause.

I would like to think that this is a wake-up call for the planet, but the signs are that the world leaders still don’t understand the message. May you live in interesting times...

Using NIS with OpenLDAP on a server

Network Information Service (NIS) — formerly known as Yellow Pages (YP) — is an information sharing technology developed by Sun Microsystems in the 1980s for the Unix Operating System. Despite the introduction of an improved system named NISplus in the 1990s, the use of NIS persisted, and became supported by the Linux Operating System as well as Unix. When the time came to upgrade NIS to a more capable technology, the system of choice was often Lightweight Directory Access Protocol (LDAP), or (ironically) Microsoft’s Active Directory (AD).

The 30 minute artist

I first heard about the artist Terry Harrison when I was given a useful book about acrylic painting techniques a few Christmases ago. (Despite its modest cost, the book was my favourite gift that year, if I had to chose one.) I subsequently learnt that Terry was an accomplished painter, and did much to promote painting through tutorials, classes and even his own range of brushes and paints. And a number of books, of course. It was therefore with some dismay and sadness that I learnt that Terry had succumbed to cancer two and a half years ago, while still in his 60s. He seemed like a gentle and kind person.

More recently, I was tempted into buying a pad of all-cotton watercolour paper from Ken Bromley Art Supplies, and the book Painting Water in Watercolour by Terry Harrison also caught my eye. The price was under a tenner, and as I appear to have included water in a number of my (few) paintings, I thought it might help me in the future if the inclination continues. Perhaps there would be a technique I could try after a number of months of painting inactivity?

My package arrived from Ken Bromley well-packed and in no time at all -- the usual excellent levels of service. The watercolour pad was squirreled-away for a time when I feel I will be able to do the paper justice. The book was a little smaller than I expected, at 96 pages. I was hoping it might have been hardcover with a spiral binding like my acrylic book, but it was a standard softcover and glued binding. However, the content itself did not disappoint.

Inside were sections on materials, colours, techniques and projects. (Apart from the projects, not unlike my earlier acrylic book really.) As the book's subtitle suggests, the idea is that any of the projects can be completed in 30 minutes if you follow Terry's instructions -- and are as adept and proficient as Terry was, of course! I think this is a good idea in principle, as many people have full and busy lives, and taking more than an hour out to paint can be a big ask.

Suitably inspired and wanting to try out a WHSmith Watercolour Paper pad that I had received for Christmas, I thought that there might be an exercise I could do. Sure enough, the Sky reflections technique on page 54 seemed to fit the bill, as it seemed reasonably simple and mostly within my capabilities; also, it looked effective as a painting in its own right.

The book shows an image for each step with text underneath: the text says what you need to do for that step, including suggestions as to which brush(es) to use and which colour(s). I tried to match the brush selections from my collection. The recommended colour palette was Raw Sienna, Ultramarine and Burnt Umber. I used Cotman colours throughout, but substituted Cadmium Yellow Pale Hue (with a touch of Cadmium Red Pale Hue in places) for the Raw Sienna. Otherwise, I followed the instructions as closely as I could.

The (uncorrected) result is shown here, warts and all! It took me around 45 minutes in total, allowing time for the paper to dry between two of the steps. (I imagine that Terry would have been able to do this comfortably in about ten minutes using a hairdryer.) As I suspected, the paper did not really lend itself to wet-in-wet painting, but nor did it cockle too badly either. I am pleased with how it turned out, given the unfamiliar paper and lack of prior practice. But clearly I need to work on my technique (and my observations!) if I am to achieve more convincing reflections in water... (Can I say Axis of Symmetry?)

Terry Harrison's book is definitely worth having if you are learning to paint in watercolour and expect to depict some sort of water (lake, stream, sea, puddle, waterfall) in at least one of your pictures. Fortunately, being a 30 minute artist is optional.

No nuts please, we’re British?

A Happy New Year to all my non-existent readers!

On a seasonal note, I am still partial to a little Christmas pudding at this time of year. Over time, tastes seem to have changed, and the sweet course of mince pies and Christmas pudding may be skipped altogether — or there might be an alternative dessert. I suspect that the rich fruit and pastry are not to everyone’s liking now. As a reasonably young person, Christmas pudding was the highlight of the festive meal and I recall that sometimes a second helping was out of the question as it had all been eaten!

In the mid-1970s I moved to Canada. I soon discovered that nuts were a lot more common in cakes and confectionery than I had been used to. They even put them in ice cream! I couldn’t see the point: I disliked nuts, and could not see the pleasure in their hardness and bitterness. (Although I did like savoury peanuts and cashew nuts.) Thankfully I never had a nut allergy.

The first time I was aware of nuts in a Christmas pudding must have been the early 1980s. My father had been given a homemade Christmas pudding by someone he knew, and I’m sure we were told that it was rather good. Well, expecting wonderful things, both my parents and I were disappointed to be munching through significant quantities of nuts, and much adverse comment and moaning ensued! My father spared us from the ordeal of a repeat helping of the unfortunate pudding, when with good intentions he attempted to reheat it in our relatively new microwave oven and somewhat overestimated the time required. Result: one rather charred and inedible pudding! Phew.

But this was only a portent of what was to come. Some 30 years later, and back in the UK, we seem to have become North Americanised (globalised?). Noticeable quantities of nuts are now standard ingredients in our so-called traditional Christmas puddings. Pecans? Come on! The Waitrose one pictured above is a typical example, regrettably.

I don’t dispute that nuts may have always been a key ingredient of Christmas pudding, but back in the day they were chopped or crushed finely enough that you were not aware that you were eating them. I don’t think we even knew what pecans were in the 1970s! So if the manufacturers insist on putting nuts in, make sure they are finely chopped, dammit.

Equalised Springy Beams -- 1

More years ago than I care to admit, and with great enthusiasm (and ambitious ideas), I started work on a Comet Models etched chassis kit for a Fowler LMS 4F 0-6-0 locomotive in 00 gauge. I think I even got as far as fitting electrical pick-ups to it. But it was shortly afterwards that I discovered that there were serious problems in my handiwork, and it was pointless trying to go any further. It was packed away in a convenient storage box, and every few years it saw the light of day briefly, if only to remind me that things don't always work out as anticipated... (Actually, experience has shown that things rarely work out as expected!)

The idea of having sprung model railway rolling stock like the real thing has appealed to me for a long time. Although I never owned any, Peco Wonderful Wagons were the first exposure to the concept of springing in models.

HMS Royal Oak (1916-1939)

A fortnight ago, I made a special trip to the Orkneys, a place I had never been to before. (They are located off the north-eastern tip of Scotland [technically the tip of Great Britain] if you are curious.) The reason was the eightieth anniversary of the sinking of the battleship HMS Royal Oak, and the loss of so many lives.

A laser-cut work station

Although not readily apparent in this blog, I like to make models. Unfortunately, sufficient time to do so has been in short supply recently! One hurdle I have is that there is but one suitable table to work on in the house, and I do not have the luxury of a dedicated work bench where I can leave projects in progress. Consequently, I need to allow time to both set up and put away my work space, which eats into valuable model-making time and is a deterrent to doing anything constructive at all.

A couple of months ago I spotted a laser-cut work station on a blog, similar to the one shown. I decided that this was exactly the thing I needed for small projects, as it was little bigger than an A4 sheet of paper and would fit in the cupboard when not in use. It also seemed to be an ideal size for working on my lap when I couldn’t be bothered to sit at the table!

In a rare moment of enthusiasm I ordered this useful aid. I had been directed to the British Railway Modelling (BRM) Website, so I had to go through the faff of registering first. Eventually I was able to place an order (I resisted the pack of miniature BRM staffers!), and was pleased when a large padded envelope was delivered to my front door within a week.

Ubuntu 16.04 on an HP Pavilion 15 laptop

I don’t buy many laptops — my previous one dated from about 1990! But last month I felt it was time to get another one so as to ensure my continuing Internet access. It was a process tinged with a little sadness, as my mother was keen that I should get a new laptop, and her gift of a cheque towards it was one of the last things she did. I eventually decided on an HP Pavilion 15-cw0980na laptop as it had most of the features I wanted and it also was on offer at the time... However, the big doubt in my mind was whether I would be able to successfully run Linux on it?

The inevitable Internet searching didn’t turn up any horror stories from people who had tried to install Linux on this hardware and failed, so although this seemed as though I was sailing into uncharted waters, it was actually reassuring. The next step was to download my distro of choice (the latest Ubuntu 16.04) and write it to a USB memory stick. When it came to booting and installing from the memory stick, it was textbook: even the GPU was recognised and supported. I went for a dual-boot configuration, just in case I ever needed to use Windows 10. (Shurely shome mishstake?) After rebooting to complete the installation, everything seemed fine — except that I wasn’t seeing any WiFi activity in the network menu.

Now, in a modern laptop, wireless networking is an expected norm. This was one of the main reasons for buying it. Getting Ubuntu 16.04 to use WiFi in an HP Pavilion 15-cw0980na could then be a challenge. Firing up a Terminal, I used the  lspci command to identify the wireless networking chip. As far as I could tell, it was a Realtek Semiconductor Co., Ltd. RTL8821CE. Although Ubuntu does provide support for the RTL8821AE, this is a different chip unfortunately.  (One nice thing about the HP Pavilion 15 laptop, and a reason why I bought it, is that it also comes with an Ethernet port. So I could connect a UTP network cable between my laptop and home router and still have an Internet connection.)

More Internet searching for the RTL8821CE and Ubuntu turned up a number of leads, including source for at least one driver on Github. (Thank you Tomas Pinho and friends.) The catch being that this was targetted for Ubuntu 18.04, not 16.04! Nevertheless, I reasoned that the driver source changes couldn't have been that drastic for 18.04, otherwise I would have heard (read) the criticism. (Even IT people are not that keen on change, especially if the benefits are questionable.)

Therefore, I installed the extra packages needed to access and compile the driver source code, and copied the driver code into a suitable directory. When I went into the driver code directory and ran the make command, predictably it chugged away for a few seconds and then stopped saying there was a problem with the file os_dep/linux/rtw_android.c: there was a mismatch of arguments in the macro access_ok. Fortunately, I was able to copy and change the file to work with Ubuntu 16.04, and to my relief the commands make and make install both ran without further errors. When I then rebooted my laptop, I was delighted to see that wireless networking had sprung to life -- and I was able to connect to my home WiFi without any problem. Excellent!

For a more detailed explanation, these are the steps I took to get wireless networking functioning:

1. mkdir /usr/local/src/tomaspinho; cd /usr/local/src/tomaspinho
2. apt-get install git
3. git clone https://github.com/tomaspinho/rtl8821ce.git
4. cd rtl8821ce
5. Edit the file os_dep/linux/rtw_android.c (make a copy first) and use a text editor to change line 665 from: if (!access_ok(priv_cmd.buf, priv_cmd.total_len)) { to: if (!access_ok(VERIFY_WRITE, priv_cmd.buf, priv_cmd.total_len)) { .
6. Run the make command.
7. Run the make install command.
8. Now reboot the laptop.
9. Wireless networking should now be working. 

One downside of these steps is that the driver needs to be rebuilt every time the kernel is updated, which can be a little annoying. The full Ubuntu 18.04 solution uses DKMS which will automatically update the driver as required. But I was just happy to have my wireless networking functional. (I will write a simple script to automate the rebuild.) No doubt my mother would have been pleased to see me typing away on this blog posting on my new laptop...