Carpe Diem script lettering design

The north range lost its roof in Tuesday's gale, so I am writing this at the kitchen table with the rain coming in through the gap where the old hall hangings used to hang. The surveyor from Berwick came on Wednesday, measured everything twice, and told me the walls would stand another hundred years if someone found the money for new lead. I told him I have never met a wall that asked for money. He did not laugh, and he has sent his bill anyway.

You will want to know about the ink. I have been making it the old way, from oak galls I gathered along the burn, with a bit of iron filings from the smithy and gum from the chemist in Alnwick. It stains my fingers blue and tastes faintly of pennies, but the lines dry black and do not fade, which is more than can be said for the rest of us.

Grandfather cut the words over the dairy arch in 1911, Carpe Diem, with a flourish running off the C like a fishing line let out too far. The inspectors wanted it scraped off when they listed the building. I stood under it with a lantern until they gave up. Each morning I run my thumb along that long tail on the way to the well, and each morning it reminds me how many things I have been putting off.

So I am keeping the sheep and the stones, and selling the old van you have been nagging me about since 1998. Come at Easter if the footbridge holds. Bring the good nib. I have left the last loop of the Y unfinished on the lintel so you can see where I meant to take it.

Your loving sister, Margaret