Like many woodworkers, I suspect, I stick to what I know when the time comes to coat the project I’ve sweated, sworn and bled over, with finish. In my case it’s usually three coats of Osmo and one coat of homemade carnauba wax for furniture. Boats get as many coats of Sadolin Ultra as I my patience allows on the bright work.

2018, however, will be the year in which I spread my finishing wings (and get them covered in noxious chemicals which bring me back to Earth). I have a French polishing course booked and am trying something on this chest that is deeply out of character.

Usually I’m with Tony Konovaloff where changing the colour of wood is concerned, “If you want a different colour, choose a different wood.” And I’m certainly not about to start staining beautiful English oak. However I really want to keep this piece light. There seems to be a fashion for adding ‘patina’ to new wood. Black wax is rubbed into the grain to imitate age. Patina is another word for dirt. I grew up in schools with acres of oak panelling and much of it was so darkened by smoke and the paw prints of small boys that it was rather oppressive. My reaction to this is to keep oak as light as possible.

To this end I’m (brace yourself) liming this chest.

Our front hall is not a particularly light place and we want this shoe box to brighten it, not lurk in the corner slowly ‘patinating’. So rather than let the grain fill up with dirt I’m going to charge it with lime wax.

Lime wax has a bad reputation. Beloved of shabby chicists it usually gets smeared onto antique furniture that was hoping for a quiet retirement and instead had to be ‘reinvented’ by someone who finishes every sentence with a question mark. I want a rather more subtle effect than shabby chicistas usually go for. To this end I’m prefinishing all the pieces in an effort to control the intensity of the colour and keep the big blobs of wax that get stuck in the corners off my chest.

Shabby chicartistes recommend ‘opening the grain’ with a brass brush so that it accepts more liming wax. Instead I sanded to 240. Then I smeared on the wax, across the grain, rubbed it in and off and then took some 0000 steel wool to it. I would usually use a grey pad for this but I’m running low and accidentally bought a lifetime’s supply of steel wool several years ago. (Caveat:  never use steel wool directly on unsealed oak. Just don’t.)

The steel wool removes most of the liming wax. You can control it quite carefully. Then I applied carnauba wax. This uses D Limonene as a solvent and that also removes some of the liming wax. If the area you’re working on has a bit too much white in the grain you can knock it back a little by applying and rubbing off more carnauba wax.

One last polish brings up a shine and the job’s done.

‘The possibilities are endless’ stage. Just shellac, rubbed out.

The ’Oh my God, what have I done?’ stage. Applying the liming wax.

The ‘I’m a terrible person. This oak tree gave its life for my project and I’ve defiled its memory.’ stage. Rubbing in and off the liming wax.

The ‘Perhaps this is salvageable.’ stage. Rubbing off the liming wax with steel wool.

The ‘Actually I rather like this’ stage. Rubbing in carnauba wax.

The ‘I wonder if anyone will notice the hours of work I put into this’ stage. Buffing the carnauba wax.