Baywatch

I had big plans for the garage at the new house.

I have, over the course of the last five family moves spanning some 30 years, gravitated towards a proper garage.

Our first property purchase, pre-kids, was a small terraced cottage, straight onto a busy village road, in effect a slip road for the M62 Motorway. It had, apart from a small landlocked yard, no actual external space and so the car had to run the gauntlet of the frantic traffic out on the street.

Next up was an old detached house with a concrete hardstanding out the back but access to it was through the car park of a Public House. This was not a proper right of way although obviously an ancient arrangement with the Landlord, perhaps from a former owner occupier who was a regular boozer. My non attendance at the lounge bar during the two years of living at the house was constantly remarked upon by the pub host and made me feel very awkward about using the access.

A further family move out of the area and to a terraced house was a regression to streetside parking and now with two vehicles this regularly tested our skills at negotiating congested spaces.

We rapidly outgrew that house and were able to buy a 1920's built semi detached place just around the corner in the same town.

This came with a side driveway and a detached garage.

On my wish list of property attributes these could effectively be ticked off but in practical terms there were some disadvantages. The driveway paralell to the front garden was just right to take our family transport fleet. This was fortunate as half way down the side elevation of the house a living room bay window jutted out forming a pinch point, past which any car could be taken but with all due diligence to prevent collision and abrasion.

The garage did look a bit forlorn being set well within the rear plot.

It was a substantially built structure in solid concrete blocks dating it to the 1950's, more so the roof in corrugated asbestos sheeting.

Highly likely to have been purpose designed for a specific motor car of the post war era the dimensions were not compatible with modern vehicles. This restricted use of the garage to a bike store, workshop and general dumping ground for children's toys, garden furniture, old barbecues and as a waste transfer station for rubbish until I had enough to make a trip to the Civic Amenity Site worth the effort.

It was a much abused garage, oil and paint splattered, a broken window in a wet rot deteriorated frame and foliage intruding through the roof. I did tart it up one summer with a dazzling whitewash on the external masonry, a new smart black gloss finish to the double doors and what I thought with some pride, having fitted it myself, as a big security upgrade- a big padlock.

This proved to be wholly inadequate as ,one sunday morning, I found that my best mountain bike had disappeared from the garage seemingly through teleportation as the padlock was still in position. On closer scrutiny the whole thing had been forced and by-passed with little obvious effort.

I felt sorry for the old garage, unloved, neglected and now a failure in providing a safe haven for the family possessions.

The new house, so called because having been built in 1977 it is the newest we have ever lived in, took garaging to a completely new level. Well, still at ground level, obviously, but of double vehicle size with an electronically operated up and over door and of integral status.

This sold the house to me personally, although other family members went for the upper floor living space and the view over a City Park.

I could imagine great things for the garage bay.

At last after nearly thirty years, a special area could be dedicated to all things bikes and bike bits, and fulfilling my long held fantasy of an array of  floor mounted and ceiling suspended frames and wheels. That would look super smart, efficient and very sporty indeed.

It was still big enough for me to indulge myself in, say, a classic car project. It was not that I wanted one but menopausal men of my age are expected to have something like that to keep them pre-occupied.

The very industrial concrete floor could do with a deep red or even a green surface finish as I had seen in workshop magazines. A few stylish metal racks and shelves would look good even if my selection of tatty tools and implements would look pitiful on them.

It could be my territory, a den, a refuge, somewhere to nail up my cycling memorabilia and relax in.

That was the ultimate intention but, alas, in the three years of residence, has not been so.

I am not bitter or resentful.

It is just that the garage has been subject to one of those unwritten laws along the lines of "if you have a wonderful space that could bring all of your dreams to life, then it is inevitable that it will soon fill up with everyone else's storage boxes, surplus furniture and miscellaneous items".

I will go into more detail on specifics over the next few days under the title of "Things the children left at home"