Back in May, you might recall, I had occasion to be all pipe-smoker-pleased about the business of putting up a shed (a small one) in our garden. You may still read about it here. Since which time hardly a day has passed without friends and strangers alike crossing the street to tug on my sleeve and demand news on one thing only… ‘How about that missing slat?’
(No-one has asked me, really.)
Well, after several back and forths with the shed supplier (and they in turn with the manufacturer), a replacement slat arrived last week by courier, who found it his business to berate me for having such a rubbishy plank delivered – could I not have got one from an orange crate? Which pointed hypotheticals put me into a grim mood for the rest of the day.
Here’s the slat all ready to go. As you can see, I’ve hung my hat on the hasp lock (which sounds like it could be a good folksy lyric, with possible bawdy overtones). This is the straw hat I wore as part of my Vincent Van Gogh get-up this time last year at a party in Portsmouth. I had a bunch of sunflowers in my back pocket, kind of like a Dutch Morrissey, with a bandage rather than a hearing aid. There was a young boy at the party went as Frank Sinatra, who did over-sincere and too-practiced crooning numbers at the karaoke, while my sort-of-brother-in-law threw M&Ms and Skittles at him. But here’s that photo:
And here it is affixed in place. You can just see bottom right there’s an Amazon parcel which someone at the neighbouring house signed for and handed up over the wall. It’s not for me, it’s my wife’s. When the lady handed me the parcel she made a joke I didn’t hear, and then another one, which I also didn’t hear. But I did hear her say ‘I’m only joking’, which she must’ve had to say because my face was probably doing what it does when I don’t hear. So that was all awkward. I was glad of having some nails to bang in.
Finally in this little update, I wanted to show off the keyring I’ve chosen for the shed’s padlock. Probably not the wisest thing to showcase, security-wise, but I’ll deal with that. It’s an ‘ARC’ branded keyring. One of five my dad found in his garage, left over from clear-outs over the years. ARC is the name of a beer I used to work on. I don’t think a day goes by without me thinking about ARC in some way or other. And now of course it won’t. The main thing really to be thinking about is how everything is connected.