It seems that most things we have dismantled or demolished at the restaurant have relinquished some hidden treasure, or rubbish. Behind the wall panelling, nestling in dust between plaster and fibreboard, was a bone handled carving knife, the handle split open with rust expansion. Wall paper, perhaps a hundred years old, had on it scribbled dimensions and a rough sketch of some structure lost in time. Under the floor there was a more recent kind of jetsam; a Lambert and Butler packet and a Double Decker wrapper. Each time, we unearth, clean, tidy and ‘make good’ the section – new floor, new plasterboard, new wallpaper.
As I stuck the last section of sound board to the stud wall which separates the dining room and our neighbour’s front door, I looked about for the spirit level to check for any lean. Turning the place upside down, it quickly became apparent that it was where I left it on Monday, at ceiling height in the stud wall: now behind a layer of sound insulation and two layers of sound board – one securely screwed, the other securely glued. Sod it, the next people can find it.