Simon has been moaning and groaning about how much he wants a little shed of his own, where he can get away from it all. (Us, I suppose he means.) After much debate (read: heated disagreement), we settled on this back corner of our yard. The pond and tree stump will stay, the compost will have to resettle elsewhere. (No problem, Thomas is too creeped out to go there to drop off our kitchen garbage anyway. I think a big pile right next to the house will be much more convenient and educational, given the variety of lifeforms we support with that heap.)
But here is the problem: While Simon is strong of back and arm, he lacks the, shall we say, wisdom and insight to pull this project off by himself. If ONLY we knew someone with years of experience in shed/shelf/workshop building who could DIRECTLY supervise the project...
But here is the problem: While Simon is strong of back and arm, he lacks the, shall we say, wisdom and insight to pull this project off by himself. If ONLY we knew someone with years of experience in shed/shelf/workshop building who could DIRECTLY supervise the project...
2 comments:
If only we could get his Dad to read the blog...
I do try.
xM
Wisdom and insight, my arse (excuse the language). One visit to Home Depot would do it. Strongly recommend buying a kit shed rather than (as I did) trying to manufacture one from the start. Or get one off the Internet like Sophy and Karl did. Must say would love to come and supervise, if I could (a) work out what to do with Mary and (b) suppress my extreme irritation at US Immigration practices. Probably would have to rely on Simon's strong back to do all the work, though. I've established a firm position that my back isn't strong (Margaret actually bought me a corset: it's black and made of rubber and Velcro, very sexy) so I can't possibly do any hard physical labour. Unless I get interested and forget what I'm doing, of course.
Re not reading the blog: as you can see I am, and it is true that Margaret has been putting me under heavy pressure. What mystifies me is why I am reluctant. There must be a disease, weblogphobia or something. I have known for years that I have a powerful and totally irrational dislike of the telephone. This is because if you telephone somebody it's like turning up unexpectedly: they have to answer you whether they want to or not so you get the uncensored immediate reaction. What if they don't want to talk to you just then? There is the awful possibility that they might say so ... Whereas email is marvellous: you can send it off any time you like but the recipient (a) can see who it is before they open the message and (b) can choose whether, or when, to read it. And (c) you're not part of the transaction. They can still respond by crafting a hostile reply, of course, but then I can choose whether to open it. Why am I so worried about the possibility of hostile replies? God knows. Goes with hiding in the under-stair cupboards at children's parties, I suppose.
How all this applies to blogs I don't know. But I seem to suffer from a two-stage reluctance: (a) to read it and (b) to respond. I can easily explain (b), as I was taught that self-centredness is the worst sin in the universe and replying to blogs is putting myself forward. (I can just see Horace getting restless in case I disgraced him.) But (a) is still a mystery. I've got my next appointment with my psychotherapist already booked.
Anyway I will struggle to overcome this terrible disease. You may regret it.
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