Poetry has never really been my ‘bag’ (although I am partial to the odd limerick), but one poem that I occasionally think of is ‘Sea Fever‘ by former British poet laureate, John Masefield. Strange really, because I’ve never actually read it. But I do know the first line, which goes “I must go down to the seas again…”
In my head though, it has now become “I must go down to the shed again”.
Well I must. Stuff needs tidying up. Let me explain:
When we moved to Waffle Towers seven years ago, we had only a vintage sofa, a few rusty pots and pans, and a million paperbacks. But what we gained was a shed. Nay, two sheds. Years ago, I think they were used for storing coal, but nobody uses solid fuel now, so the sheds have become what I think of as ‘overspill’ areas for all the stuff that would usually clutter up the house but which we can’t, for various reasons, simply throw away.
Like Lorna, our beloved lawnmower, for instance. (Ah, dear Lorna…)
My problem was that whenever I went to the shed, whether to take something out or put something in, I would have to move loads of detritus before I could actually do what it was I had originally gone there for. A long time ago, we had put a four-shelf freestanding storage unit in there. This, I saw eventually, had become less part of the solution and turned into part of the problem. So I took it to pieces. And for the past week or so, in between other Random Acts of Pootling, I have been straightening and tidying up the shed.
I’m nearly done now.
No honestly, I am.
‘I’ve got it looking so good it deserves a Shed of the Month award, if there is such a thing,’ I told Shana. ‘A shed style magazine might want to come and take photos though, so I might have to mess it all up again just so I can provide some “before” shots for the obligatory before/after sequence.’
Shana beamed and patted me on the head. ‘Here, have a kibble,’ she said, passing me my reward (filched, of course, from Smoky’s secret kibble stash).
I wasn’t sure if our shed would be up to the standard of our competitors though. ‘I’m a little concerned that our shed has no windows, so there’s no natural light,’ I said.
And then I realised that I could have hit paydirt.
‘Hang on!’ I said. ‘This means we could market it as a Sensory Deprivation shed. We could take Lorna out, put her in one corner of the living room maybe, and let the shed on an hourly basis to New Age psycho-numpties who want to “find themselves” but are reluctant to lie in a tank full of water and prefer a shed full of spiders instead. It could be a whole new revenue stream for us. If I run a fan heater on a long extension cord out there, we could even turn it into an urban sweat lodge!’
First though, I’ll have to finish tidying it up.
Then we must hold a Waffle Shed Open Day. Quick, get your tickets now to avoid disappointment!