The Good News: We finally bought a new shed for the Hub’s prized crap. Way back in April, I think.
The Bad News: We had to erect it.
The Bad News: And we needed help.
The Good News: We have two strong sons.
The Bad News: One of whom hardly lived here.
The Bad News: It rained for months, so we couldn’t put it up.
The Good News: It rained for months, so we couldn’t put it up.
The Good News: The sun came out; the son came home.
The Bad News: For a few days; for a few days.
The Good News: We did it!
The Bad News: Look at the mess we left!
You may have wondered why you’ve hardly heard from me again this week. I have been busy, busy, busy – once I off-loaded my visitors, I helped Tory Boy pack to leave and helped Spud and Tory Boy put up the shed. Even under the Hub’s expert and irritating direction (given his ME, it’s all we will allow him to do and that makes him irritable), it took a week. We had to fit it in around Tory Boy’s goodbye visits (which seemed to involve a lot of drinking and pizzas) to his many friends.
We put the shed up in stages:
- Build the base
- Add flooring
- Raise the sides
- Raise the roof (me; ready to throttle the thwarted Hub)
- Then – the biggie – move it across the garden.
- We didn’t build it on the spot and although the Hub explained to me why that was so, I’m no wiser now though I am reaching the point of sleeping in the spare room – I have a spare room! – so I don’t end up sleeping in a prison cell.
However, despite my fractured marriage, the shed is up and in position. Here is the view from my back door:
I suspect it went there so the Hub could giggle away to himself that I won the battle (a shed for his crap) but he won the war (a monster outbuilding to annoy the missus).
Surely a jury would let me off on the grounds of provocation?
A gallery for you: