The New Architect

The architects in Casterbridge have sent out one of their apprentices to measure up the place and do some rough sketches for the new Carnac. Turned up yesterday  - young chap with a bit of wispy face-fuzz, as these people tend to wear to try and prove they're a bit older than they are. On the short side, as well.  But it's quite nice that he's a local lad, and we see him at church of a Sunday, mostly tutting and disagreeing with the vicar (in a quiet kind of way). 

I'm not quite sure about his working style - he wandered around, paced out the distances, did a bit of sketching, then he went over to Shepherds' Cottages and spent a while watching Mercy Onmey hanging her laundry out.
He's pointed out a slight mathematical issue with my request, as the alignements de Carnac are several miles in extent, bigger even than my back garden. But I've told him that's his problem to solve.  I'm the customer, he's the expert.

Of greater concern to me is where to obtain all the stone.  Miss Tilney has kindly suggested that it might be cheaper to buy the real thing and move it.  And in these pre-Heritage days, she may well be right.  But while the average Victorian would have not the slightest concern about destroying the biggest Beaker monument in the world to brighten up their own yard, it's not really me.  I've sent Hnaef out on a stone-identifying tour of the neighbourhood.  And I've told him to leave the peasant girls alone.

Meantime, the architect's assistant has turned up (on his day off) this morning, and is down by Shepherds' Cottages, doing sketches and - as far as I can tell - writing poetry.  I can see we're going to have trouble here.

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