I am now a person who can produce a mortised hinge. Let there be no doubt on this point. I have produced three of the things, and they work perfectly.
I had my doubts I could do it, but I watched this nice American gent explain it, and then had a go. He no doubt enjoys the advantages of squareness and perpendicularity in everything he does, and these characteristics are nowhere present in my shed. But I actually improvised a plumb line to make sure the hinges were all in alignment, then got to work with my chisels.
Fortunately it was a hot, windless weekend, otherwise the ad hoc scaffolding I used for supporting the door would have collapsed at the first blast of wind. In fact, a little zephyr chanced by at one point, and the door, which was only hinged at the top at that point, showed its eagerness to swing, reminding me just what a precarious operation it was.
My little pink and green screwdriver, inherited from my female predecessor at an English school, was invaluable for getting the screws in snugly. Thanks Kelly!
I managed to get all three hinges completed before the scaffolding collapsed in a heap.
Three latches complete the door. Nothing can describe my feelings of satisfaction in having accomplished this very commonplace task.
The weeping plumb is now at the peak of its blossoming. Here are just a few of the many, many pictures I took. And to think that I used to laugh at old men who earnestly take pictures of blossoming trees.
The birds have been thrusting their beaks into each flower in turn, so hopefully there should be a crop of plums for making the plum drink that warms my winter evenings.