Twelve tone theory

For the last few months we have been living a trogloditic existence: strange, you might think, when we live on the second and third floors of a house. The reason has been the long, detailed restauration of the house's facade, which has meant living behind scaffolding, with closed windows, plastic sheeting and shutters battened. This is not a happy state to be in, and the etymology of window (wind-eye) begins to assume real importance in the summer's stifling heat.

Well, now we are almost at the end of the process, and the colour is being slapped on. We have had a lot of grief over the colour scheme, not from the stone mason, who is both chromatically subtle and sensitive to clients' concerns, but from the town architects, who have their own ideas on what goes with what.

The BH has suffered the most, as she has a much more developed eye for colour than I do. Each time she goes out of the house, she has been inspecting the latest layer of gunk lovingly spread over the walls, for quality (the workmanship puts Blighty to shame) and for tint (hard to tell with all the under-layers). She has now begun to see the final coat applied, and is somewhat dismayed to find what she calls Italian or Niçois hues going on, rather than the much more faded, pastel finishes common in Antibes. Still, the stuff needs to dry before you can actually tell what tone will be the final one. Watch this space.