As a gardener my shed is entirely functional... no stove, no bookshelf, no biscuits, just the tools of the trade.
Where would you be without a shed? I know you hear a lot about men (well, it is usually men) using their shed as a retreat, as a sanctuary, but I can't say I fall into that category.
Some do claim their shed is somewhere to escape to, especially at Christmas when relatives out-stay their welcome. But as a gardener my shed is entirely functional... no stove, no bookshelf, no biscuits, just the tools of the trade.
One of the previous owners of my house was an Italian family, and Gino, the father, certainly knew a thing or two about sheds. His was a pre-fabricated affair, but big... enormous... with a large concrete floor and all manner of panels and doors used to build the sides. But his shed held a secret. Pieces of old carpet on the floor folded back to reveal a deep pit. What would I discover inside? A body?
No, this was Gino's wine store. And going by its size and depth, Gino was a thirsty man!
Trucks laden with grapes turned up each autumn at the Italian deli at the end of the road, quickly carted off by residents to be made into wine. By all accounts this was a family affair, probably trodden the traditional way to give the wine its full flavour.
Sadly the wine store was empty when I moved in, and his dilapidated shed has now been replaced with something more substantial. There must be lots of 'tales from the potting shed' out there about exciting things taking place in sheds up and down the land... far more exciting than my rack of spade, fork, loppers...
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