Cloth, leather and marbled paper over grain-long cream pages. Nothing on this shelf came out of a machine.
See what is on the shelf
There are nine rooms in the old bank building on Church Street and I have one of them, at the back, where the light comes in from the south the whole day. A section is five folded sheets; a standard A5 journal takes nine of them, sewn onto linen tapes with waxed thread, and that is about two hours of sitting dead still. The paper is always cut grain-long, running head to tail with the spine, because a book cut the wrong way fights you every time you open it and will never lie flat no matter how you press it. Repairs I quote only once the book is in my hands. A loose hinge and a tired spine are an afternoon. A text block somebody has glued back together in a hurry can be a fortnight, and I have to take the hurry out again before I can start. Bring it in on a Thursday or post it to the shop, and I will tell you honestly what it needs and what it will cost. Some books are not worth doing, and I would rather say so than take the money.
Once a month: what came in for repair, what is finished and standing on the shelf, and when the marbling tray is next out in the yard.