Shed Seventy Seven

My wife has all the best ideas.

She is the driving force behind our family and I am the perpetual passenger along for the journey. Of course I have to fulfill my role as a man by being the spoiler of good ideas, the pooh-pooher of grand schemes and the purveyor of practical considerations which make the best ideas seem impractical.

That is not to say that some of my wife's best ideas have materialised.

The house had a big makeover on her initiative perhaps a decade or more ago but I admit that the builder I found for the job,on the recommendation of someone I have not seen or heard of since, was pretty hopeless. His more than competent Number 1 plasterer was fantastic in skimming the bedroom but then had to go off on another job. I came home from work to find the lounge ceiling beautifully smooth finished and thought that perhaps the key man had managed to carry through the job.

In the early hours of the morning a frantic scrabbling of dogs claws on bare floorboards was the precursor for a strange crackling and almost glass-tinkling sound as the thin layer of plaster parted company with the original finish. It was a mosaic of a million fragments on everything stored in the room. The action of our dog gave me some comfort in that if there was an earthquake or even a meteorite strike we may be forewarned by a matter of milliseconds which would be nice.

The builder was a bit embarassed in admitting that he had forgotten to provide a bonding agent as preparation for the work.His other lasting legacy, that we are aware of, is an horrific Artex coating on the dining room ceiling. I have seen some wonderful craftmanship in other peoples homes with rambling roses, shells and intricate combed patterns. The most polite description of our example would be Antarctica from space. There, I admit it is terrible but then global warming was always expected to cause a contraction of the Polar Regions and strange ridged, speckled, creased, pockmarked and distorted phenomena.

We have hard wearing real wood floors through the heavy footfall areas and when clean, mopped to a non-sticky and polished patina  they look striking. That was my wife's idea.

The Kitchen was refitted 4 years ago to cater for our teenage grazers and fridge browser. A big project but well worth doing- my wife's idea.

The placing of our house on the market last year highlighted a number of aspects where it was lacking based on the properties that we were competing against for the few buyers able and willing to consider a transaction.

My wife, over the last 18 months of monitoring Rightmove, Zoopla and the seemingly endless other media for selling a property is now fully versed on what features help to woo and seduce the rare breed that are prospective buyers.

We have, since the first sales brochure, painted those bits of the front of the house that I was brave enough to reach even with the help of Dave the Fireman. I have covered up, rather effectively all of the rotten woodwork around the balcony with plastic claddings and soon I may even finish fastening it properly where I ran out of screw fixings. The tarmac drive has been power washed of nearly all of its moss. The slate bed feature along the base of the kitchen wall has been extended over what resembled an untidy fly-tipping site. Yes, over and not replacing. 

The chimney breast in the dining room has a bright and gawdy papered finish to contrast with the stark white emulsion which covers the facing and offset walls.

We do not have a wet room or any Travertine tiling but I am waiting patiently for this type of feature to go out of fashion as did Yorkstone fireplaces, cheap brittle laminate and formica. On the evidence presented by the fact that we are still for sale and with no actual offers I may have misjudged the attraction and stickability of Travertine and a plug hole flush to the floor through which to sluice your dead skin and bits of bodily hair.

We are making the best we can of the existing attributes of a property that has been a wonderful family home for the last 17 years.

I am not even sure now if the garden, 100 feet long at the rear, and more than adequate for a football pitch, badminton court, swingball circle, outdoor party, camping, learning to ride bikes and just sitting out and relaxing does in fact represent a disincentive to a purchaser.

My wife has definitely second guessed market trends with her latest, best idea and it revolves around the old summerhouse which sits half way down the garden, just behind the garage and has a due south aspect. People would fight over it if it was on the Promenade at Mablethorpe or Filey. Cleared of the stored playroom and computer furniture, folding garden chairs (mostly burst in the canvas seating), gardening ephemera and just junk, my wife has a vision of establishing a safe haven, a get away from it all, a tranquil retreat in which to write that novel, pen that poem or pay those bills.

I am on board with the idea and have suppressed my obligations as a male to stifle creativity and imagination. I have already had serious thoughts on sourcing materials and have undertaken an internet search of similar ventures. Think tongued and grooved flooring- painted and perhaps stencilled in attractive motifs, a new door that actually opens on some hinges, replacement glass , a simple shelving arrangement, a shabby-chic desk and chair, the overall emphasis on less is more.

Tomorrow will be Day One and another run or series of trips up to the local tip to empty the accumulated contents. The resident spiders, wood lice and earwigs will be carefully relocated. I am quite excited and motivated by the project.

At last, that book that someone bought me more than a decade ago entitled 'Men and Their Sheds' may become my principal reference work, a permanent protruberance through my stylish work dungarees (Matalan £1.99).