Dawn of the shed

As befits a man my age, I spent this weekend constructing a shed.  Shed technology has moved on apace over the last few years.  These days they're all plastic prefabs with windows and faux-tiled pitched roofs.  Say goodbye to creosote misery.  All that notwithstanding though, one still has to bolt the whole thing together, which took myself and my day-labourer, Mrs O, about five solid hours.

I really have to go to the well, character-wise, when performing tasks like this.  It's not something I'm particularly good at by nature, construction.  I have scant reserves of patience too, which doesn't help.  Luckily, Mrs O can always read the runes and steps in with tea and biscuits before my mental rev counter enters the red.

In the end I think we made quite a creditable fist of it.  It looks quite nice in situ.  I am no longer in my twenties, incidentally, in case you were in any doubt.  Anyways, it looks inoffensive and now contains the detritus that was previously under our stairs, stuff that should probably have been turfed into a skip back in the 90s.  But there it is.

Now it's finally done, I feel like an Olympic champion.  I've worked so very hard for so very long to realise this dream, and now it's a reality.  What am I going to do with the rest of my life?  I'm too young to retire.