A GARDEN SHED

There is something very special about a garden shed.

Perhaps it should be large enough to accommodate a spare bed, but most of all it should be a cosy retreat. 

An octagonal one made of cedar wood, and roof, coated with sun-reflecting paint, is ideal.

Six of its eight sides should be at least three quarters glazed, and its other two sides of overlapping cedar boards should hide garden accoutrements, like tools, wood, bamboos, compost bin and other unsightly items like bags of bought compost and emergency bags of sand if floods (even being remotely possible) are kept.

Through the glazed sides one should be able to admire the plants and trees that have been lovingly tended to display themselves at their best.

It is an important place in which to pass spare time, relaxing with a glass of two, with added music and conversation.

After moving into my London house some 36 years ago I happened to be looking for plants in a country garden centre when I saw my shed, but lacking its door. As such, it was offered at a good price for both its cost and transport to London.

The country delivery lad and I assembled the shed, all of which had to be brought through the terraced house to be formed on paving stones at the end of the small walled garden. And for some fortunate reason it was now delivered with its missing door.

Its eight sides where easy enough to handle and be screwed together. But the roof, in one piece, only just managed to pass through doors when tilted at an angle.

This untreated cedar wood haven has matured in colour over the years and now houses two very comfortable chairs and two fold-up hardwood ones.

It is decorated with two large paintings, shelves for multiple objects, including a special robin feeder, garden fertilisers and several plastic containers for birdseed. 

It is 5.30pm on a balmy English summer’s evening and time for me to lay down my pen, leave the shed, and make a Champagne cocktail (using Crémant de Loire).

So then Margreet and I can enjoy talk of the day, listen to radio music, and consider our plants and birds. This is a lovely way to enjoy the approaching evening.

And as it is Margreet’s turn to provide dinner (we cook on alternate weeks) I wait to see what culinary surprises will appear. 

I smell that garlic is part of one.