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I have a sad tale to tell, I feel it may just help me at long last to get over the traumatic event that occurred so many years ago.

Not long after moving into our first house, I persuaded the love of my life to allow me to invest in a garden shed.
I prepared the area where it would be constructed, a level and firm base was measured and lovingly prepared for it.
It arrived Saturday Morning and I spent that day constructing it.
The following day was spent giving it several coats of wood preserve and fitting it with a brand new padlock and hasp.

I sat back on that Sunday evening a can in hand admiring my new acquisition and imagining the adventures I would have inside it. I had even constructed a key rack in the kitchen so that I would always know that no matter how much chaos and clutter was happening within the house sanctuary would never be far away.

I went to work on the Monday a happy and contented man.

On returning home that evening I was slightly confused when I opened the front door and the usual clutter of kids bikes and other household items wasn't there to greet me, instead there was a happy smiling wife obviously very excited and bursting with pride unable to contain herself, she led me through the kitchen, picked up the key took me outside, opened the shed door and there to my utter dismay was my new love, it's insides absolutely jam packed with all the detritus of family life.

We lived in that house for another 10 years, I never did get the shed back!

The Moral of the story?
Never entrust the sheds key to the mercy of the family, always keep it on your keyring so that no-one but you can enter your little sanctuary and do to it what had befallen my little piece of England!

I lost interest in the shed, never again having any enthusiasm for it and after a few years was being nagged for neglecting it.
She just couldn't understand that I had no interest in protecting it with new coats of preserve, I just sat in the house slowly rotting on the inside as my shed slowly rotted on the outside.