Man in his Pyjamas A collection of comedy writing, poetry and Asperger Syndrome.

Haunted Shed

Emailed – 29.9.14

I am embroiled in scandal.  The man shed is causing consternation. My wife thinks I am getting carried away and can’t see the wood for the trees, which is ridiculous, because I am surrounded by wood. Currently 84 meters of it to be precise.  Here-in I shall refer to man shed as MS.This weekend I was afforded special dispensation by Wifey to spend a weekend working on MS. This was as a result of me being a ‘delight to be around recently’.  I think the baby is sending her a bit mental? I’m pretty sure I’m still the nobhead I always was?

The current status of MS is ‘part-cladded’. Part cladded but fully insulated and with a vapour barrier  The two side walls are the cladded – with tongue and groove. Incidentally I used 96 meters of wood for the two walls. And I have I just bought 84 more meters for the back wall and ceiling. I got wood yo.

And there in lies the rub for WIfey  – 180 meters of wood costing approx £260.  I can kinda see her point. What with the wood and the insulation and the curtains and the Wi-fi and the watnot, I am easily spending more than the bloody shed cost to buy in the first place.

But it’s not about money. It’s about doing things properly I explained to my wife.  She just looked at me like I was…….well me.  Her lack of surprise I guess speaks volumes. She didn’t even bother replying. She knew it was a decision beyond my control. But what choice did I have? What was I going to do? Sit in a part-cladded shed in mid winter like a mental person?

It’s a labour of love. It’s my Noah’s Ark. My Sistine Chapel. Who cares if we spend all of our money pimping a 5×5 ft shed at the bottom of the garden. The kids will understand. I’m sure they’d rather go to school with bare feet and empty bellies than see their dad not finish his swan song.

Anyhoo, I apologised profusely as I returned home on Saturday morning with half a tree strapped to the roof rack. I spent the rest of the weekend sawing wood in the garden, and feeling a bit guilty.

It’s all down to lines you see.  You need full pieces spanning the lengths of the walls and ceiling. A glorious length, all treated and smooth, and without interruption.  Clean lines. This is why I needed SO much wood. I need 1.5 meters a pop to stretch the required distance. The wood comes in 2.4 meters. So essentially 0.9 meters is wasted.

I did experiment with taking two 0.9’s and using them to span a 1.5, but it looked like it had been clad by a drunk monkey with the palsy. I mocked up a few to show the wife, just to make a point. It backed fired though because she thought it looked fine.

What do YOU know?

A 1.5 metre expanse, bridged by two pieces of wood – i.e. 4 screws with a join in the middle, IS MY IDEA OF HELL. If you are a two-pieces-and-four-screws kinda person, we will never see eye-to-eye. Never. What kind of a monster are you? Where are your standards you vagrant? Seriously look in the mirror you horror.

With all that in mind – if anyone needs any, I have a MASSIVE pile of  0.9 meter length tongue and groove wood going spare. Mountains of it. Maybe we could do a swap? I’ll probably be divorced soon, so if you have any single friends? Lookers only please. No weirdos.

Funny thing is, as I clad MS, the already small internal space becomes even smaller. Bijou. I anticipate that once the curtains are up and the furniture is in, it’ll probably look a bit like a tomb. Or one of those fairground games with the mystic sitting encased in glass, waiting to tell you your fortune.

zoltan

The above picture and MS share the exact same dimensions.  Freaky. In addition I wear a moustache and turban whilst I am in there, so its all pretty accurate really.

Keeping my children out of MS is my next point of order. I’ve started telling them MS is daddy’s coffin, just to freak them out.  I need them to be scared to keep them away. I’m sewing the seeds of terror innit. At bedtime I plan to tell them MS is haunted by a dead relative and that if they take but ONE step inside, their flesh will melt from their bones and their bones will turn to dust. POOF!

Beware mad, dead Uncle Reg!

In addition I have taken to locking them in the pantry whenever they’re passing.  It’s like our new thing. They don’t like it mind. Letting them bang repeatedly on the door, begging for release from the tiny, dark space may seem a bit harsh, but, in my defence, if I can teach them to be claustrophobic now, It’ll pay dividends later. I’m playing the long game you see. My solitude is important to me. They can sort their fears out with a shrink when I’m dead and gone.

I’ve also started warning off our unborn baby.  Never too early to make an impression I say. Late at night, when I feel it kicking, I gently nuzzle my head next to Wifey’s big, round  belly and in hushed tones declare…

DO NOT ENTER DADDY’S COFFIN OR YOU WILL MEET YOU DOOM.  STAY AWAY, STAY AWAY, WOOOOOOOO.  Oh and please be a girl…..

Anyhoo – gotta go saw some wood.

Love you. x

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