…a new shed. Seriously you know you have hit middle age head on when you buy a shed. Not that I had a hand in erecting it of course. That privilege lay squarely with Superdad and SuperGramps, and a bit of help from SuperNana. My skills do not lie in construction of any sort, especially not sheds. I went shopping for pyjamas instead.
So we have a shed. It’s very nice for a shed. Not that I have much to compare it to. It was cheap which is a bonus. It’s also no where near big enough to house all our stuff but then you can’t have everything.
The exciting bit about it is that it signals the start of our extension in a way. It’s been built as storage because we are demolishing a large brick outhouse to make our garden bigger and so the new bit of house will fit. Our neighbours got the letters today about planning permission so we are finally getting somewhere. The start of something significant.
For the record though if you are going to buy a shed to put your stuff in, whether associated with a momentous change or not, try to ensure you put the right address on your order details. We got the address wrong (when I say we I mean Paul, obviously) and all the many parties involved seemed reluctant to change it. They seemed keen to deliver the shed to Paul’s office. Very keen. Keen enough to ignore emails and multiple phone calls. I’m not sure the receptionist would have been too thrilled to have had it dumped in front of her desk as unceremoniously as they dumped it on our drive.
So there is just a note of caution if you are ordering a shed. But I would really advise avoiding middle age entirely and going to The Seychelles.