OK Chaps! A crisis in N scale where I am king. It's called painting, and your correspondent is way below hopeless at it. Hours and hours of painstaking work, in comes the paint brush and poof we're talking the sort of disaster that produced the Soviet Apartment Building. To the end of the earth with attempts at realism, just going to have to go full blown tie-dye, kaftans, sit-ins and Jimmy Hendrix album covers.
Does put a bit of burden on the Gormenghast end of N Scale, but so what, maybe
they were all tripping out in a joyous manner released from the constraints of
red ties, white shirts, maleness and flannels when the painters arrived. Wasn't
it nice to see the freedom of meanings at the current speaker's oathing
ceremony. And no, not a believer in the streaming of consciousness as producing
anything useful this side of a rubber room of lies.