Shed/Castle Interface

Shed/Castle Interface

A man's shed is his castle. My castle, however, is full to bursting with garden furniture. This is wrong.

I cannot move for green garden chairs and a large, grey plastic table. My Black and Decker Generic Workmate is wedged behind a decorative umbrella, which led to an important bit of sawing needed to be done using the old standby: "putting my foot on it".

You may observe that these items are essentially feminine in nature, women's tat invading my sacred manly space, reserved entirely for male-orientated tat.

Manly stuff I keep in my shed:

* A golf bag containing a 3-Wood and a putter
* Doctor Teeth, my chainsaw
* A pair of ancient steel-capped boots
* Enough chenicals to strip the vegetation from half a third world country, and to blow up the other half

Garden furniture is right up there with air freshener in the top ten of useless crap that women buy. Garden furniture should only be used by men if forced to at gunpoint, or in the direst of emergencies. These include use as an emergency living room suite should your usual furniture be stolen or repossessed; or if more than three people attend a barbecue and all the kitchen chairs are taken. In both these cases, the furniture should be immediately burnt after use, to prevent contamination.

Lounging in the garden making small talk with the wife's family is certainly interdit.

Notable exceptions: Hammocks, which like frenzied masturbation, should only be attempted out-of-doors by the supremely skilled.

Woe of the Day

I have today realised how old I am. And it is this: Seven months older than the leader of the Conservative Party. I never thought I'd see the day, but, woe, it has finally arrived.

Poor Scaryduck.