It started over a glass of wine. The spring weather was giving us the chance to sit in the garden and feel the sun on our faces. We were both really happy. Smiling. Laughing. Feeling good. Then I ruined it all by suggesting we spent the Easter weekend clearing all the shit out of the garden shed.
Goodness me! You’d have thought I’d suggested something really outrageous, like trying a roast beef dinner without Yorkshire puddings. Mr SJB was horrified at my suggestion, stood up, waved his arms about the place and muttered about how the shed was not full of crap and rubbish, but contained all the tools and materials needed for the jobs I made him do around the house.
Of course, I had to then point out that he rarely does any jobs around the house unless I threaten to ‘get a man in’, so we clearly didn’t need half the stuff in the shed at all.
So there we were, scowling at each other over the rims of our wine glasses. Me determined to make some space amongst junk stacked like a form of ‘shed jenga’, him determined to protect his bounty like some sort of Shed King.
For those of you who might not get what the fuss is about, a man’s shed is apparently sacred. That small outbuilding that’s usually located in one’s back garden, often used to store tools, gardening equipment, and other outdoor gear is, according to Mr SJB, a special place where he connects with nature, converses with his fellow man and explores his creativity.
What utter bollocks. I pointed out that a few broken pots and an empty compost bag is not nature, the conversations with his fellow man is him asking his brother to pass him a bottle opener, and a stack of crusty half empty paint pots does not make him Bob bloody Ross.
You see, my husband has turned his shed into his own personal museum of weird and wonderful things. From rusty old tools to ‘vintage’ beer bottles (more like stuff he’s forgotten to take to the bottle bank), he’s got it all. And the best part? He refuses to throw anything away!
That’s right, folks. My husband has reached a point where he can’t bear to part with any of his shed’s treasures. Even if they’re broken, outdated or just plain useless.
Heres just some of the stuff stacked up in there at the moment:
- A vintage wall light he insists is valuable
- A broken lawn mower he picked up at a car boot sale that he insists he can fix
- An old toilet cistern
- A collection of old car magazines that he claims are “historical documents”
My husband’s obsession with his shed is a constant source of amusement for our friends and family. They love to come over and browse his collection, wondering what he’ll come up with next.
I suppose some would find it kind of endearing and think there’s something heartwarming about the passion this man has for his shed and its contents. Sadly, I really can’t cope much longer with being able to see towers of crap and random old Christmas decorations through the shed window, let alone struggle to get through the door.
I know I should be content to let him keep collecting and organising his oddities in his ‘backyard sanctuary’, and I should get over his stubborn refusal to part with anything.
What I really need is a plan! And the opening times of the local dump. Ah, the joys of marriage!
SJB
So Just Be 