Listening to: Hancock
Removing the tired old ceiling from the back bedroom was going to be a delicate job - so the pig "farmer" hit it with a hammer. A very big hammer.
The dust took a minute or two to clear. Small pieces of wood and plaster were stuck in the pig "farmer's" hair (in desperate need of a cut). He looked like Hair Bear after an earthquake. And sawdust doesn't taste as nice as you might think.
Further exploration with hammers (lump and claw), a crowbar and a tightly-shut mouth revealed the full sorry state of the "roof" of the old part of the house. Let's face it this. . .
. . . doesn't look great. (Yes, that's corrugated cement/asbestos you can see).
Most of the dust that had dropped on the pig "farmer" was sawdust, left by a squad of very enthusiastic woodworm. What is the collective for woodworm, anyway? A lot of the wood looked like de-chocolated Crunchie. . .
I've seen the sorry state of the beams many times, but it still came as a bit of a shock to see them in broad daylight. Woodworm is endemic in Orkney and, like wasps, you can't help but wonder where they fit in the whole Mother Nature chain of command thingy.
I can only assume whoever was in charge of creation/evolution/big bangs had a fierce sense of humour - woodworm aren't even worms, for heaven's sake. Who's idea was that?
Anyhoo. . . I've tied all the loose bits up with baler twine which, as any fule kno, is absolutely indestructible and will keep the roof together for. . . ooh, ages and ages.
Or at least until a new roof is put up in the summer.