Colin had been fancying a man shed for a while. I had to agree, now we were settling comfortably (boringly) into our retirement. A bolt hole for him sounded like a great idea. I’ve seen many garden sheds in my time so was quite prepared for its arrival. A 6’x 3’ specimen would fit nicely in the top corner of the garden.
When the delivery lorry arrived I realised just how wrong a woman can be. A small crane-like structure was needed to unload the 10’x10’ monstrosity. Colin assured me that it would fit into the space he had earmarked.
Over the next couple of days Colin diligently laid the base. When I enquired who was going to erect the shed he calmly said that we were. He was eager to get going so we made an early start. Although the shed appeared to be well made, the instructions were in “Chinglish”.
The rain started gently at first but soon turned into a torrent. The breeze grew to a gale which, within 10 minutes had become a hurricane (maybe I’m exaggerating just a little).
Colin is a strong bloke, but not very tall and I’m quite tall, but not very strong. Between us we were having a bit of difficulty. I held down the shed as best I could while he hammered and screwed. The air was quite blue (from me – not Colin) until I decided I’d had enough! I simply let go of the blasted thing and the whole lot caved in. Colin was not happy. I rushed off to phone his pals to ask for help.
While Colin held on for dear life to his precious shed, two hefty mates hurried over and took over. With their brawn and enviable translation skills, they managed to fathom the instructions and get the job finished quickly.
I doubt that Colin will ask me to help again in a hurry. Thank Goodness!
Lynda Taylor
