8^th December

Honestly, I think negotiating Brexit would be easier. At least Theresa May and Dumbo Davis meet their counterparts. In this case the structural engineers and the Building Control Officer haven’t set eyes on each other or crossed paths. All they’ve crossed is Boss Builder and me, and emails. But! I did manage to send the Building Control guy’s mobile phone number to the Italian engineer, and I believe they spoke. Has anything useful come out of this yet? Not that I know. Meanwhile, all patience lost, Boss Builder has taken a risk and ordered the steels – with or without the say-so of the warring parties. I am assuming (should I?) that the risk is his.

Downstairs Bartek and Sebastian spent the morning compacting the hardcore and the clay with a sort of stomping machine that you get going as if it were a petrol-driven lawnmower, for those among you old enough to have come across such things. This afternoon they have been concreting the first layer. Each room takes a day. They are flecked with grey splatters but all Bartek can think of is the end of this shift when he can – it being Friday – play football. Sabastian, sensible fellow, doesn’t.

I have been reading more of the material that the archivist from Christ Church College sent. It is a calendar (its name for itself, not mine for its) of exchanges between the college and various people – builders, the equivalent of Building Control Officers and the courts. The courts? Yes, and the House of Lords, all to establish if the college may sell long leases on its land for the purpose of building houses. There appears to be some arcane law that forbids Ecclesiastical bodies from granting leases for longer than 21 years. Why? It is to be discovered.

What is emerging is this – or so it seems to me: the college is only interested in its land bringing in as much money as it can because that is the demand of the trust set up as per the last will and testament of Robert South who bequeathed the land in the first place. Farmland isn’t doing the business so houses in Kentish Town might do better. The architect Philip Hardwick doesn’t appear to have been impressed with all those builders I quoted before, and would rather one big builder took on the lot. There was one who was interested but he fell by the wayside because he couldn’t raise enough capital. Then along comes another, name of James Taylor. I think he’s the man I am after. But I will need something more detailed to be certain. His aim was to build Third Rate houses. Evidently this was a designation familiar to everyone as there is no explanation. What does it imply? Also to be discovered. Are there fourth rate ones? I fear there may have been. Oh, and by the way. Do you remember that I was impugning the reputation of the good Philip Hardwick over the coming of the Midland Railway, running across the newly-built streets? Well he was innocent. Not so the college, D. and C. which I think stands for Dean and Canons. They didn’t mind in the least if the railway meant that houses just put up would have to be knocked down. The compensation more than compensated, if you get my meaning.