There are sheds and then there are sheds on Pig Row. There are sheds that are built to house tools, spades, lawnmowers, trampolines and screws. There are sheds that are churches to screws, nails and an array of masculine power tools. I never thought I would build a shed for crockery.
Yet, after four months of digging, filling in with hardcore, pouring concrete, swearing and hefting up the four sides of shed like an Amish barn raising but with more four letter words we have all come to this, a new shed on the landscape.
Those of you who have been following this saga, a saga in which men become heroes, women become heroines and both don't know which end is hardest end of a hammer will know that the Dormouse HQ has been a long time coming. In rain, in sunshine, in more rain, my wife, I and my father in law have fought against a slope that can't agree which way it is running, concrete that cracked, holes that mysteriously appeared than turned into lumps after the concrete set. We have won.
I'd like to say we are proud that we have won, that we have built a shed and that we all now feel happy, as if part of a musical chorus. I'd like to write that Little D gave a hand other than giggling. But it is hard to smile when the final thought and the final thing we say as we all trudge down the garden from the new shed is 'I will never build a shed again'. My wife at least has one good idea about the shed as we plan to finish off the windows after the weekend, it will mean we can put Little D somewhere without him destroying the rest of the garden. We have built an over sized rabbit hutch for our child. This makes me proud.