My Shed

I, like many men out there (and a good few women too) have a shed. It's a normal shed - 8 x 5, one door, pent roof, one window that opens, one that doesn't.

Nothing much to look at, nothing special.

Apart from the fact that it's MY shed. I have total control over that domain. It's my space, my volume. Within it are MY things, arranged the way I want. I have normal shelving and small shelves between the wooden supports, nooks and crannies, drawers, cubby holes and hidey-holes.

It has a work bench, a vice, tools and gadgets.

I have glass jars with bolts, washers and jigsaw blades. I have storage trays with assortments of nails, screws, hooks and all sorts of bits and pieces.

It has tools I bought, tools I inherited from my father-in-law, tools I inherited from HIS father-in-law.

Other guys have commented on my shed - how neat, well stocked, well organised it is.

I'm secretly proud.

I have off-cuts of wood. Steel, copper and plastic piping, plumbing and electrical spares.

I can happily spend hours in my 8 x 5 space, tinkering. I can see me in years to come, smoking my pipe, sipping a tot of whiskey, pretending I can't hear the wife or daughter calling me.

I have a heater to keep it snug in winter.

It's a place to escape, a place to tinker, to fix things, to ponder and create. My 5 year old daughter looks upon it with awe - to set foot inside is a rare treat. I feel like saying to her "One day, all this will be yours!"

I love my shed!