It’s full steam ahead here at Boo Towers.
The garden designers start our garden makeover tomorrow.
We are in for three weeks of heavy duty crashing, banging, neighbour bothering and, of course, mud.
Mud is obligatory.
I thought about cleaning my house this weekend. Then I thought about what is about to happen, and made the decision to just wait until it’s all over. It’s no good getting precious over the state of things when at the end of every day I will inevitably have to chip half a ton of earth off of every surface, and the sink will be invisible under a pile of tea cups and spilled milk. My floors will be carpeted with a fine patina of workman’s boot marks, and the cat will be shedding fur like a mo fo, thanks to gardening related stress.
I am resigned to the mess, and thankful, at least, that there is no plaster dust involved.
We are quite excited about the garden, although a little trepidatious.
We have decided that the finished design will either look absolutely amazing, which we are hoping for, given the amount of anguish that has been lavished over its creating, and the amount of money it is costing.
Or it will look shit.
There is nothing in between.
The plan for the fence made of doors is back on, with some modifications that means it may work. Or not.
We currently have seventeen doors in various states of repair strewn about the place.
We spent large parts of yesterday rounding them up.
Jason also hauled and heaved and towed another massive pile of stuff to the scrap yard, for which we got the princely sum of £9.
We are saving that.
Just in case.
It’s our contingency fund.
We spent lots of today looking at sheds.
We are having at least two sheds I believe. One will be for garden related things. The other will be for everything else.
This everything else includes quite an eclectic range of things, most of which are currently in a storage unit which has to be visited regularly
Jason is hugely interested in sheds. In a manly, shed loving way.
He is sad that our current garden has no sheds at all. What is a man to do without a shed?
Much like a dog, a shed can be a man’s best friend.
He envies our friend Rob, who has such a massive shed that it cannot be called a shed. In fact he gets quite offended if you call it a shed.
It is a workshop. It is full of manly things – and I believe (never having been allowed inside its hallowed doors) – that there are hooks for everything, and labelled drawers that are actually full of the things the labels say they are.
Even if we buy a shed as big as Rob’s, which Jason was tempted to do, it will not look like Rob’s shed. This is because, however much he kids himself that he is like Rob, he is not.
Our shed will gradually fill up with strange, role play related items, like latex elf ears, and ritual objects – muddy robes and two headed war axes. There will not be neatly labelled hooks for these items. They will be shoved, willy nilly into assorted boxes, washing up bowls (this has happened), and bags – swirled together with half empty boxes of grass seed and rusty secateurs which will have migrated from the garden shed, which will be too full of other necessary ‘things’.
He will ‘tidy’ the shed, on average, once every two years, and make us all join in, despite the fact that it is undoubtedly going to be ‘his’ shed. At some point I predict he will buy carpet off cuts and clear a space in the middle, where he will position a camping chair, a box that will act as a coffee table, and an ash tray.
This will be his outside man cave space for when the weather is too clement to stay in his inside man cave.
This will make him very happy.
We have discussed the shed thing between us, at some length in the past. He thinks it’s weird that I think it’s weird that he has such a visceral need for a shed. He says this sort of thing is perfectly normal.
I tried to convince him that having an indoor, heated swimming pool was a perfectly normal need too.
He has yet to be convinced of this.