This question has been troubling me recently, as I ordered one a couple of months ago. After two failed attempts, the company, who shall remain nameless, as I am not inclined to give them any free publicity, managed to deliver the said item, in ready-to-assemble form.
You’ve heard the expression ‘Fix the roof while the sun is shining?’ A sensible maxim. And it was my intention to do almost that, in shed terms. The old shed (a relic built by our property’s previous owner) had given good service, but the running repairs I had made on the roof a few years ago with corrugated plastic had started to wear out. Like Nigel Planer’s shoe, my shed was letting in water. It was time for a new one.
A search online revealed a bewildering array of sheds, of all shapes, sizes, genders and proclivities. I just wanted a plain wooden one, ideally with a window, to store such things as one doesn’t want cluttering up the house, like a pushbike, the lawnmower, and an old wheelchair for when I lose the use of my legs. There was every type of shed available, from tiny ones that could be adapted to house an outdoor lavatory, to huge monsters the size of the Sydney Opera House, sheds that could house the London Velodrome or become a pop-up workshop for someone wishing to restore a decommissioned Boeing Superfortress.
The shed (often referred to as ‘the humble garden shed’, with ‘humble’ being as indispensable an epithet for shed as ‘long-suffering’ is for Victor Meldrew’s wife Margaret, or ‘vulnerable’ for practically anyone below the age of 25) has had a long list of distinguished devotees, from much-loved children’s author Roald Dahl, who wrote his unforgettable books in his own special writer’s shed, to much-loathed leading brexiteer James Dyson, who apparently designed and built his first vacuum cleaner in his own shed. There’s even a competition for shed enthusiasts (known as ‘sheddies’), the Cuprinol Shed of the Year competition. I have a friend whose incredible ‘manshed’ (though he abominates this term, preferring the more lyrical ‘Paraffin parlour’) would have been a shoe-in for First Prize had he entered the competition. No flat packed pre-dipped kits for this guy, he built it with his own hands and furnished its interior with delightful memorabilia of two of his major passions, cycling and real ale. Kelvin’s construction was to sheds what the Taj Mahal is to mausoleums: a true labour of love.
And that brings me back neatly (as neatly as a well-chamfered* tongue and groove joint) to that much overused word ‘iconic’. Is the Taj Mahal iconic? Of course. But can the shed (the humble shed) really lay claim to this worn-out piece of lazy journalese? It may not be as beautiful as the Taj, as mysterious as Ayers Rock or as vertigo-inducing as the Eiffel Tower, but the shed seems to embody certain essential values which we cherish in Blighty: modesty, functionality and durability. It can be used for everything from storing useful products like WD40 and Swarfega, to a place to relax and watch old Countdown videos**, as a character in an episode of Inside Number 9 was fond of doing.
So here’s to the shed, British icon. I can’t wait to get mine erected.
* chamfered. I was familiar with this word, but don’t get the chance to use it very often. That must change.
** They weren’t really Countdown videos he was watching