Poor old Portico.

Recently the portico has been leaning away from the house at an even more rakish slant  – like a dignified old gentleman somewhat in his cups, offended by his host.  I’m thinking silk scarf and evening wear. For some reason Quentin Crisp comes to mind, but he was far too urbane to be offended by anyone (oh how I loved Quentin Crisp).  Probably more Richard Harris.  Hair pushed distractedly back. Forgotten cigarette dangling from aesthetically nicotine-stained fingers.  I’m getting fanciful.

So anyway.  Like the cavalry come galloping over the hill at the last possible moment, the Government, gawd bless ’em, have finally come and given the old gent a helping hand.  Nothing to do with completion and possible lawsuits, of course.  Not that we would.

There’s a likely photoshoot happening in a couple of weeks.  They seem to like a few shots in the portico, these photographers.  I hope they don’t mind a tinge of Changing-the-Guard-at-Buckingham-Palace.

Photos courtesy of Ms Pimp and her new camera.