Bricks with mortar

When my builder told me my stash of bricks was nowhere near enough and that he'd found some century-old, wire-cut bricks like mine in Rugeley I agreed to buy them. I didn't stop to wonder whether, if I was buying bricks, I ought perhaps to consider a different sort rather than stay on my obsessive track. Only after they'd arrived did I start to think that maybe I should have gone for something more modern (though I don't actually like the monochromatic red or monochromatic yellow of lots of buildings near me).

Then the neighbours I'm building alongside boldly said that they'd go for the same sort of bricks so that our houses look coherent and I really did wonder whether I'd made a very blinkered decision for the sake of my 1,095 bricks. 

We agreed to mix them all up so that the variegations are consistent. That might mean that my favourite mislaid brick ends up in their wall not mine, but so be it.

Today was the first time I'd seen the bricks with mortar around them and my faith in myself is restored. My spirits are lifted by how thy look together and I'm going to love sitting in this hidey-hole patio watching the colours shift with the light.