Three
We decide to teach Blunkett something useful for when we have a shed. If we teach her to ‘take it to Master’ then Guy need never come in the house at all – Blunkett can take him books, CDs, messages, wine, whatever he needs. Probably not food because she’s a Labrador and the chances of her carrying food and not eating are, frankly, nil. So we start. Guy throws a ball. She ignores it. I go fetch it. I throw it back to Guy and he throws it again. Blunkett ignores it. I go fetch it. Eventually she decides to humour us and takes the ball from me while I say ‘MASTER’ in a Barbara Woodhouse manner, and she takes it to Guy. Or at least she heads in his general direction then keels over to have her tummy tickled without giving up the ball. Needs a little work yet…
We have an evening making cakes too. We make cakes for friends and friends of friends. We find we have a lot of friends… Wednesday’s tally is two Malteser cakes, one Ferrero Rocher cake (like a Malteser cake but posher) and the beginnings of a book cake which you can’t see because it’s in the cupboard not being sniffed by cats. Yes, that is a gin and tonic on the table. Four cakes in one night deserves a gin…
The plan for Friday night is to carry on with the book cake, finish it and deliver it at 9.30 on Saturday morning. It’s a Good Plan. Will we ever learn? I get home from work to discover Izzy has a large hole in her leg which needs the attention of a vet. I bundle her into her basket and whizz off to the vet, who is waiting for me. I wonder if I am panicking unnecessarily… The vet has a look, assures me I am not panicking, and sticks a couple of needles into Izzy. He says I have to starve her and keep her in overnight, and take her back the next morning – she may need an operation. Good grief. By the time I get home we decide it’s Way Too Late for cakes and we’ll sort it on Saturday. We’ll actually HAVE to sort it on Saturday – it’s for a party on Saturday night. It’ll be fine…
It’s too difficult to allow BB to eat and not Izzy, so they both have to starve. And stay indoors. With a litter tray. Have you ever met a cross Tonkinese? Boy, they can be LOUD. They spend the entire night stomping around complaining about the lack of food, the fact that the cat flap won’t work, and there’s some stupid box with wood chip in it and what on earth is that FOR? Neither Guy nor I sleep…
Izzy goes back to the vets and has to have an operation. We go home and try to concentrate on party cakes looking like books. Tricky… We do the thing in stages, telling ourselves ‘it’ll be dry soon, it’ll be fine’. It doesn’t dry, and it isn’t fine. We get the hairdryer out…
Izzy comes home and is seriously woozy, so we lock her in the bedroom (she’s seriously woozy but CROSS with it) so that she’s safe, then go and build a shed. Yes, that’s right, we put up a SHED!
GUY HAS A SHED!
It’s not as big as we planned, but it goes up easily enough on slabs, it’s all done in three hours, it’s got a roof and the door opens when you want it to. What more is needed? Once we’ve got a log burning stove, a sofa-bed, some bookshelves and a coffee table inside it’ll be just fine. Snug, admittedly, but fine. And, as you can see, Guy is Very Pleased With His New Shed.
End of diary.
OK, so it’s not our shed. It’s a shed for Debbie, our lovely friend who we owed some labour to…. When we had our huge wedding party last year, she did a magnificent job with the food, and we swapped her culinary expertise for some gardening labour… payback time! So it’s her shed… great fun, filthy work, and Debbie is suitably thrilled to be a New Shed Owner. Due to our total lack of sleep we’re utterly knackered at the end of it… we go home and slump in a heap in front of the telly. And nod off. We are clearly Dynamic People.
Achieved: We built a shed! A whole shed, and we (and Debbie) did it. WOO HOO! OK, so it’s not our shed and we STILL don’t have planning permission, but it’s a SHED.
Hours worked: Shed: 0 Cakes: lots.
Progress: Naff all. Sound familiar?
Shed plans: No, we don’t need a verandah. The stove can go on the left of the roof pitch – there are less trees to set fire to that side. This is serious planning stuff and, yes, it is relevant, because the internal door to the storage space has to go the side the stove isn’t.
Meditation progress: Not sure. Every time I try to meditate I nod off. Am I meant to?
Izzy update: She has three stitches and a large bald patch. Guy says there's nothing wrong with a large bald patch.
Purchases: Zippo. Zilch. No point as there’s no planning. This is so DULL.
Pressies: From Guy: Gin. I love this man.
Plan: Wait for the planner to come back off his holiday and resist temptation to phone him at 9.05 on Monday saying ‘have you done it yet?’ It’s now 15 weeks since our planning application went in and it’s only a BLOODY SHED. No, I’m fine, really, I’m fine.
We have an evening making cakes too. We make cakes for friends and friends of friends. We find we have a lot of friends… Wednesday’s tally is two Malteser cakes, one Ferrero Rocher cake (like a Malteser cake but posher) and the beginnings of a book cake which you can’t see because it’s in the cupboard not being sniffed by cats. Yes, that is a gin and tonic on the table. Four cakes in one night deserves a gin…
The plan for Friday night is to carry on with the book cake, finish it and deliver it at 9.30 on Saturday morning. It’s a Good Plan. Will we ever learn? I get home from work to discover Izzy has a large hole in her leg which needs the attention of a vet. I bundle her into her basket and whizz off to the vet, who is waiting for me. I wonder if I am panicking unnecessarily… The vet has a look, assures me I am not panicking, and sticks a couple of needles into Izzy. He says I have to starve her and keep her in overnight, and take her back the next morning – she may need an operation. Good grief. By the time I get home we decide it’s Way Too Late for cakes and we’ll sort it on Saturday. We’ll actually HAVE to sort it on Saturday – it’s for a party on Saturday night. It’ll be fine…
It’s too difficult to allow BB to eat and not Izzy, so they both have to starve. And stay indoors. With a litter tray. Have you ever met a cross Tonkinese? Boy, they can be LOUD. They spend the entire night stomping around complaining about the lack of food, the fact that the cat flap won’t work, and there’s some stupid box with wood chip in it and what on earth is that FOR? Neither Guy nor I sleep…
Izzy goes back to the vets and has to have an operation. We go home and try to concentrate on party cakes looking like books. Tricky… We do the thing in stages, telling ourselves ‘it’ll be dry soon, it’ll be fine’. It doesn’t dry, and it isn’t fine. We get the hairdryer out…
Izzy comes home and is seriously woozy, so we lock her in the bedroom (she’s seriously woozy but CROSS with it) so that she’s safe, then go and build a shed. Yes, that’s right, we put up a SHED!
GUY HAS A SHED!
It’s not as big as we planned, but it goes up easily enough on slabs, it’s all done in three hours, it’s got a roof and the door opens when you want it to. What more is needed? Once we’ve got a log burning stove, a sofa-bed, some bookshelves and a coffee table inside it’ll be just fine. Snug, admittedly, but fine. And, as you can see, Guy is Very Pleased With His New Shed.
Shed finished.
End of diary.
OK, so it’s not our shed. It’s a shed for Debbie, our lovely friend who we owed some labour to…. When we had our huge wedding party last year, she did a magnificent job with the food, and we swapped her culinary expertise for some gardening labour… payback time! So it’s her shed… great fun, filthy work, and Debbie is suitably thrilled to be a New Shed Owner. Due to our total lack of sleep we’re utterly knackered at the end of it… we go home and slump in a heap in front of the telly. And nod off. We are clearly Dynamic People.
Achieved: We built a shed! A whole shed, and we (and Debbie) did it. WOO HOO! OK, so it’s not our shed and we STILL don’t have planning permission, but it’s a SHED.
Hours worked: Shed: 0 Cakes: lots.
Progress: Naff all. Sound familiar?
Shed plans: No, we don’t need a verandah. The stove can go on the left of the roof pitch – there are less trees to set fire to that side. This is serious planning stuff and, yes, it is relevant, because the internal door to the storage space has to go the side the stove isn’t.
Meditation progress: Not sure. Every time I try to meditate I nod off. Am I meant to?
Izzy update: She has three stitches and a large bald patch. Guy says there's nothing wrong with a large bald patch.
Purchases: Zippo. Zilch. No point as there’s no planning. This is so DULL.
Pressies: From Guy: Gin. I love this man.
Plan: Wait for the planner to come back off his holiday and resist temptation to phone him at 9.05 on Monday saying ‘have you done it yet?’ It’s now 15 weeks since our planning application went in and it’s only a BLOODY SHED. No, I’m fine, really, I’m fine.
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