If I'm doing forge work I'll clean out the fire, take out the clinker, chop wood, light the fire and build it up with coke and a little breeze. I'll put the kettle on. I like it when I've got jobs ready to go - something to be chopped to size or cropped on the guillotine. The work takes it out of your wrists and elbows. I'm happy when the phone calls and the errands of the day end. Everything's a bonus if you're working in the evening.

It's surprising what you can do when the material's hot. It holds magic, this glowing bar. You fold it, bend it, and your hammer strokes force it to grow. You've made something fluid and organic, and trapped it into rigidity. I'm happy when metal has a human feel. A latch on a gate may take hours to make but there is a way to make it feel right to the touch. A heavy latch can give the lightest, smallest gate stability. I'm a poor businessman. A test piece might take three days and then I'll have to scrap it.

I don't have a family, but I love it when people tell me their children are their greatest accomplishments. I have other areas of happiness. I sit down and play music with others. My metalwork is going to last more than 100 years. Music is here and it's gone. It's atmosphere and emotion. I'm happy I've got both in my life. My ancestors were craftsmen. I see their work on gravestones. At the end of the evening, I leave this place with an air of tranquillity. I've dealt with the things of the day