Summer House

The summer house in our back garden is looking a bit sorry.


The 1930's reclaimed front door has rotted away at its critical strong points and the half glazed panel hangs precariously, threatening to decapitate any small child who, out of a good upbringing, attempts to make the place secure.


Across the threshold there can be heard a savage scraping as the door is wrestled open. The flooring, in a poor choice of material- chipboard - is swollen, distorted and with the small flakes which were compressed and glued trying hard to escape and go it alone. Where rain has seeped in under the door the boarding has collapsed revealing a network of ant-trails and small armoured clusters of wood lice.


The building is about 8 feet wide by 10 feet deep. It has a steeply sloping roof overdressed in mineral felt onto a good stout and weatherproof tongued and grooved underdrawing which represents the best and most durable element of the place. A rustic placque, a sliver of a tree bough is fixed over the door bearing the name Kelly's Cottage. This was from our first house purchase and in honour of that great Irish cyclist from the 70's and 80's.


The front of the summer house resembles a squat sentry box with side panes and a bright green paintwork finish. Both sides are one third in timber weatherboard and the remainder glazed with opening casements on stiff, runner type stays and catches. The back wall is solid wood planking.


When we first took it on there were clear indications of very regular and regimented use by the former owner. He retained his military title of Squadron Leader and in true RAF style everything through the house, garage and outbuildings was neatly arranged and labelled. Someone in his family had rashly purchased one of those Dymo label makers (Other brands are available) and most of his civilian retirement years had obviously kept that manufacturer in full production of the thin, sturdy tape strips. The non-glazed surfaces in the summer house served as the mounting for galvanised brackets into which the shaft of garden tools could be placed and slid down to be held in position by the 'T' shaped handles. The labelmaker had been at work to produce hoe, fork, spade, rake, trowel, shears, secateurs, aerator and edging tool. Above and within the framework of the eaves were alcoves and niche's still  with the round, rusty rings from longstanding tins and receptacles indicated with labelling for nails, screws, washers and oddments.


We misused the summer house badly. We did not understand how to use it properly.


Wet garden chairs and childrens toys were roughly thrown in contributing to the slow inward decay. Bulky surplus furniture found its way into any free space and for many months the full capacity prevented the door from being closed.


This was an opportunity for wildlife to claim the dark places within. On walking up the garden path there was often the clatter and scramble of a neighbourhood cat vacating in haste after spending the night in the bottom of the old wardrobe amongst the decorating dust sheets.


One summer, in an inspired piece of parental job creation the children were encouraged on a labour only basis to renovate the summer house. This was only after a detailed inspection and close scrutiny for insects. Upon the  all clear there was much activity of painting, sprucing up and sweeping followed by the major task of re-flooring. After a week of intermittent work the place looked smart and loved. I commandeered the building to host a barbecue with TV coverage of that years FA Cup Final much to the disgust of the children whose intense efforts, they were of the opinion, had entitled them to full ownership. They were deflated when I produced the Title Plan for the house in irrefutable proof that I was the freeholder. Fortunately for me Childline are not particularly knowledgeable on matters of Property Law, Possessory and Adverse Title.


In more recent years the deterioration of the summer house has been rapid. A time lapse sequence of filming will have shown a slow return to nature. At one stage we seriously considered demolishing and using the concreted base for a fanciful hot tub before realising that any steamy antics would be overlooked from the first floor windows of at least a dozen surrounding residences.


Currently the glorified shed is clogged with more furniture, a fearsome but disfunctional petrol powered lawn mower, the parasol and garden chairs which have seen perhaps 4 days use in a ten year period, some old plastic plant pots and a Tesco carrier bag of sprouting flower bulbs. I scurry past, turning my gaze away in shame on the occasion of a trip up the garden to the compost bin or to check that the Murphy Family have not encroached on the vague rear boundary.


Given, say a few hundred pounds and an infinite period of time I could really do justice to the summer house as it deserves. On reflection, for the same cash consideration I could easily get a very faithful replica made and confine the rest to a roaring, glorious funeral pyre which will be of excellent annoyance to the aformentioned Murphy's.