Jonathan Dodd‘s latest column. Guest opinion articles do not necessarily reflect the views of the publication. Ed
I do like wood. I’ve always had a theory about materials and our relationships with them. For instance, I know that I have no affinity for metal. I just don’t get it. Whenever I’ve attempted to do any maintenance on any of the myriad cars I’ve always been the last owner of, it’s been a complete disaster.
I once bought a Haynes manual all about tuning your car – in the days when such a thing was normal and natural, and your dad would go out to the drive and get the engine running sweetly by adjusting various minuscule screws and knobs. It was a sort of Idiot’s Guide. It turned out I needed a Moron’s Guide. One with a single page in it, and the words “DON’T EVEN START!” in very large letters.
It was working fine this morning!
I ended up calling the AA about 5pm on a Sunday afternoon after completely destroying any vestige of normality under my bonnet. He looked at my engine, then he looked at me, and I actually said-“It was working fine this morning!” Which was actually true, but I turned as red as a Post Office van. He had it going perfectly in about two minutes. Before he drove off, he said – “Next time, call us up before you start messing with it!”
So I don’t do that sort of thing any more. I will change a tyre, and I have been known to change a radio, but that’s my limit. In fact, the last time I even looked under my bonnet I was heard to ask – “Who took the engine out?” It just looked like a stack of metal boxes to me. I didn’t recognise anything under there. I’m in awe of anyone who can do any work on cars without ruining them.
I put up shelves without trauma
However, it’s wood I like. Give me a pile of wood and I’ll build something. I put up shelves without trauma, I build cupboards and sheds and I can mend wooden things. I don’t know how or why, it’s just there. A feeling for wood, exactly unlike my complete lack of feeling for metal.
My dad used to build things. I don’t think he was trained, and he would use whatever was to hand. The results were serviceable but unevenly skilled. I like to think my woodwork is more elegant than his and somewhat more skilled. Certainly more ambitious. But I was never taught how, he never wanted me to help him, and I just worked it out for myself.
Stay within your skillset
The trick for me is not to start until you’re quite sure how it’s going to look and how it’s going to be built. You need to have the tools for each part of the job, and you need to stay within your skillset before you start. I built my workshop in my garden after getting a large pile of timber delivered, and it was brilliant fun. Brilliant scary fun.
The interesting thing for me is that whenever I have a conversation with my wife about building things, she wants to know what colour it’s going to be. I always say I don’t care. The thing is to get it built and worry about painting or decorating it when it’s up. It’s like curtains. Who cares what colour they are as long as they keep out the light when you’re watching a DVD?
The lovely knot holes
I realised early on that this is not just a way of looking at things, it goes a little deeper. I actually like wood. Not just the way it feels and the way it smells when you cut it, and the absolutely unique patterns each piece of wood produce, and the lovely knot holes. I like the feel and colour of the raw wood, and when I build something I want to leave it as it is. I like the way it gradually goes darker in the light, like getting a tan, and it becomes richer and more varied as it ages and matures.
I do concede that wood in the garden needs to be treated to stop it rotting, but I’d rather give it a coat of something that doesn’t change the colour than a uniform coat of paint or some other covering or stain. I like it as it comes, au naturel.
Two different sisters-in-law
I was thinking about this a while ago when I noticed a series of selfies on social media. Women were taking photos of themselves without any make-up on, and posting them. I think it was for a cancer charity, and it was very worthy. I was reminded of a previous life, when I had two different sisters-in-law to the two I have now.
We were staying with one of them. She had a bath and washed her hair, and then joined us in jeans and sweatshirt and damp hair and apologised. I asked her what she was apologising for, and she replied that she hadn’t put her make-up on or done her hair. This struck me as strange, because she looked much nicer and attractive to me than she usually did. Natural.
The wrong thing to say
This was the wrong thing to say. I was struck by the struggles these women had with themselves before taking their naked-faced selfies, and I thought each of them was attractive and real in a way they could never be with their make-up masks on.
But that’s just my opinion, based on my relationship with wood. What do I know?
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