Locked down and twiddling our thumbs, our gaze was drawn up to the inherited office suspended ceilings. Above them lay majestic chestnut beams that pitched in lofted, jaunty repose. Like a reveal of an ancient labour, languishing in an entombed modern, insipid shroud of plaster tiles.
Thus ensued the turning back of time in this great Cortijo, as the ceilings came down with a clatter and the beams were lavished with respect.
A labour of love but indeed, a love which will endure.