Saturday, 11 January 2014

Good old balsa wood.

Visited a hobby shop this afternoon, looking for some rigid but cuttable plastic sheets to make the rectangular plinth of the light fitting I discussed in yesterday's blog. They didn't stock such a material but after browsing the shelves for inspiration, I came across a box of wooden dowelling and balsa wood strips.

Realised that these were exactly the materials I required to make the lighting cradle.

I'll cut the dowelling into two lengths, each the thickness of the baseboard and drill a hole through the centre of each to take the wiring for the lampposts - see brown cylinders in diagram below.

The light blue rectangle in the diagram will be made out of a section of the balsa wood.

Dowelling plus balsa wood strips


*********************************************************************************
Currently listening to:

Bugge Wesseltoft
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Last night's dinner:

Forgot to take photograph but it was an excellent spouse-made lasagna.


RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
Currently reading:



On p 144 of this hilarious book, there is the funniest anecdote I have ever read: about Ernest Borgnine and Ethel Merman who were disastrously married to each other at the time.

"....the no longer young Ethel had been at a rehearsal. When she got home, Borgnine asked gruffly, "How did it go?" Merman bridled. "Well, they were crazy about my thirty-five-year-old face and my thirty-five-year-old body and my thirty-five-year-old voice."  "Oh really?" Borgnine said. "And what did they think of your sixty-five-year-old cunt?" Ethel shot back, "You weren't mentioned once."

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM
Miscellany:

When a teenager, my very clever elder cousin Peter constructed the most amazing model planes from balsa wood, powered by elastic band driven propellers.

Very much like these in appearance:




On a visit, he generously presented me with such a model. Excitedly I took it out to the front garden, wound up its propeller, held it at shoulder height and released it.

The beautiful but fragile machine flew in a short horizontal line, smashed cockpit-first into the top of a brick gate post and fell to the ground where it made a pile of  irreparable pieces at the base of the gate post. Smithereens was the word that came to mind.



No comments:

Post a comment