Today was the day when the blacksmith came to measure up for the railing. Turns out my hunch was correct: all the men round here called "Sauveur", and there are lots of them, are really "Salvatore". This one, when he found out that I had taught Italian, broke into Sicilian, and revealed that his parents were from Caltanisetta (Sicily), and that he had been born in Tunisia. There used to be lots of Italians in North Africa.
Everything went fine: measurements OK, finalised details of decorative work and handrail end curve (the equivalent of the newel post), discussion of how to get rid of old Greek restaurant ruins, etc., then, as he was leaving, he looked at our door, took out his measuring tape, and said that the assembled ironwork wouldn't get through the space. Most likely it will have to be hauled up from the street, via the balcony. All 120 kilogrammes or so. Promise to keep you posted...
Work today consisted of applying and sanding the dreaded "lissage". Horrible stuff, which has to be put on in very thin coats, left to dry, then sanded, then done again and again. Funny thing, though: when being sanded, it smells of stink-bombs. Why would a quick drying plaster mix have hydrogen sulphide in it? Discolours the steel of the palette knife, too, if left for a while. Must ask Meirion!
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