“His middle name isn’t really ‘Pagan’, it’s for marketing.” Ben laughed looking at the DVD for organic pools by David ‘Pagan’ Butler. Not even hippies are immune to advertising tricks. Pagan or not Ben’s organic pool was a stunning oasis. As we worked on battening his curving bar structure the water glistened invitingly. Paul kept checking the temperature 61F, it was a beautiful sunny day, just three of us on a roof.

The curving structure was going to have a green roof, nestled into the hill, disappearing. Straight trees are always sort after, but here Ben found a use for the bananas, it was beautiful.

As the sun sank low over the trees the pool became a little less inviting, but we had promised ourselves a swim, and no matter how frigid the water we were going to do it! (we were due for a wash) I jumped, head going under, it was about the temperature of the Antarctic waters of the Victorian coast, so really nothing new, but it wasn’t a hot Australian summers day. Paul and I surreptitiously washed when Ben was looking the other way, we didn’t wan him to think we might be encouraging an algae bloom.

Once we numbed it was lovely with the stones and the irises around us, the occasional newt blinking up at us. Chickens enjoyed the last rays of sun next door and an old oak was lit up in Golden light.

Hot tea with a splash of milk is so comforting. I hadn’t really touched the stuff since my thesis when, alone in the dark of the night I sort comfort in pots of the stuff accompanied by the soothing murmurings of ABC classical FM. I felt that familiar comfort as we drank mug after mug, we were in England now, a world away from the blue bottled beers that were being passed around on site in New Mexico. And only in England would someone be giving it up for a while to break their addiction, Paul was on herbal teas as the caffeine was starting to become a crutch. Kineseology Chris (not to be confused with rigger Chris) proved the point by getting Paul to hold a tea bag to his chest and pushed on his arm to test for strength, there was a different result for a beer bottle.

We tested our butterpat joints, with a pile of past failures destined for the fire looming nearby. The kind of went together, like a seasaw… Ben taught a neat little trick of putting leaves in the joints and then checking where the green marks were left to see where it rubbed. They needed work.

Then an excursion to see the building Ben did for the national trust, a finely finished home and a school multipurpose room. On the way we scooped up a fallen cyclist who had got himself tangled trying to remove some dangling string from his wheel. The hospital was closed, but he was recovered enough by then to be dropped at the train station. I hoped I would not require similar saving in my biking adventures.

I’ll leave the photos to show you around, but I was particularly charmed by the school building. It was so much fun with a rope ramp entry, green roof and underground secret space. That’s what school buildings should be.

Then it was pizza night, with Dylan head chef (as usual when it comes to doughy matters). What a delight to have Smoky woodpile pizza sitting around the fire with new friends and homemade cider delivered by Ben in a giant glass flagon. Every year they have an cider making day in the village, a real communal event with children running through aprons and the like. Last year someone left a terse note regarding apples rolling onto their driveway and the next day unknown scoundrels lobbed apples at their door, they didn’t have the right village spirit I suppose and promptly move on.

Watching now familiar faces flickering in the fire we Thought, too soon the course would be over and off we’d fly rootless into the breeze. But enough tomorrow, now there is nettle pesto and feta pizza and lots of other creative toppings to be devoured.

In glorious sunshine we laid the frame out on the “should be level, should be straight” framing bed. I was a proud mother when my pole was chosen for its straightness as the first of the two wall poles. Then there were crux poles, butterpat joints and scribers, and for this I’ll refer you to Ben’s book as when I tried to write it all down it was such a confused misery to read I’d fear to turn people off timber framing completely (Ben’s got lovely diagrams you see).

At lunch a cry went out, the cat had sculpted a ridgeline out of chris’ loaf of bread, the day before it had been in the back of his car devouring bagels. When it’s not your bagels, its rather funny. Then after chiselling away at three dimensional curves for a the rest of the day, we just had to pray they would all fit together in the morning.

By the fire we had a pasta night, Dylan and I inspired by the great swathes of nettles made up a nettle pesto, which wasn’t half bad. Ben gave me access to his veggie patch, which he may later have regretted, as I’ve been starved of that luxury for three months!

As we had ridden towards the woodland the first day we had been overwhelmed by the strong aroma of garlic, and Ben pointed me in the direction of its source. He had a patch of wild garlic under a tree and when disturbed it’s glorious scent rose up from the bluebells and bugles flowers.

Then we all bounced off to the brewery through darkened lanes lined with stone walls. There was live music on, but it was so crowded that we could barely squeeze inside. “that’s Ben Law from grand designs” a gent with leather elbow patches whispered to his wife. Ben Law from grand designs sighed world weary when we told him, not his crowd. Then the call went out “hard liquor for the Lady!” Ben could not stand for someone to be drinkless and as beer doesn’t agree with me we were all marching towards the pub where Ben introduced me to a fine tequila. The proprietor was an Algerian, who didn’t like to be called french and was sat beret on head, playing classical Spanish songs on the guitar.

Symbolic shells were cracked as we grew comfortable in each others company. Dylan’s story of how he was refused entry into a scotish fell race because he had no himalyan root finding experience lead to marvellous yarns from Ben about his adventures lost in the himalyas seeking shelter and satiation from buddist monastries. We agreed that the world was not as wild as it use to be over a g&t.