Written by Gordon Aspey
10 November 2016
We have a nice sunny corner in our back garden and whilst dragging a deck chair down there I had this eureka moment. A SHED! That’s what I wanted, somewhere to escape with a glass of wine and uninterrupted oblivion. Somewhere I could dream and scribble the hours away.
I expected opposition because that’s how things work in our family. It’s like a House of Commons debate with frenzied cries of disbelief and arm waving that would challenge ‘The last night of the Proms’. ‘It’ll ruin the garden – an absolute eye sore – a white elephant – it’s crazy’, were the cries. ‘Not so’, I argued and then delivered my trump card. ‘Well, according to a university professor in Leeds having a shed in the garden can prolong your life. There are other health benefits too. Relaxing and avoiding stress, general pottering around enables men to keep fit, lowers blood pressure’. I pressed home my advantage by announcing I would be picking up the tab. Of course that element will win any argument. So, I proceeded with my new venture eagerly scanning the web for a bargain. I settled on a nine feet square shed manufactured in the Midlands. The proprietor had been in the business for forty years apprenticed straight from school and all his workers were master craftsmen. He was making a first time special offer with a 20% discount for one day only. I was hooked! I love a bargain, with a longer life chucked in.
One thing the professor from Leeds forgot to mention in his thesis, assembling a shed in your garden can kill. Quite apart from the structure toppling over and crushing you there is all the stress and anxiety involved. Of course professors aren’t really involved in building sheds in their gardens, they are too busy giving expert information to yawning students who are really more focussed on sex and student fees. You might wonder, how the subject got into the curriculum of a costly degree course in the first place.
I relate this experience to enable Professors to expand their knowledge base and present a more balanced argument. I ordered the product online. The discount gets eaten up with mysterious extras, essential for holding the structure together. No matter, you want a proper job, monkeys and peanuts are mentioned disdainfully. Half the money up front the, remaining balance on collection. ‘You don’t deliver?’ ‘Well that would be extra sir you’re outside our 20 mile delivery zone. The shed would be much cheaper for you to collect. ‘Uh-huh, and how long?’ ‘2 weeks sir.’ 2 weeks developed into 3-4-5 weeks until I’d almost forgotten I’d placed the order. At this point you need to hold your nerve and stay calm. There is little to be gained with name calling and bad behaviour. I listened to the shed loads of excuses with an understanding and sympathetic ear. Eventually I receive the email telling me my shed is ready and can be collected. I liaise with the carrier to arrange a mutually convenient time for the collection. The carrier called me in the evening to say he was really fed up. He told me the shed factory had closed midday because the entire workforce were engaged upon installing a large Summer House in the country.
He couldn’t afford to hang about until tomorrow, he was self employed and living below the minimum wage and he would have to charge extra for all the hanging around. I responded in negative fashion saying it wasn’t my fault and I would stick to the agreed price. He was very rude and told me to stuff my shed up my… (Stress levels were mounting).
After some sharp words with the shed builder another carrier was found who successfully delivered the shed to the front of the house. The driver refused to take it to the back of the house saying, ‘Who jer fink I am, bloody Atlas?’ The size of a 9’x9’ shed is formidable. You need very long arms to stretch across the panels and trying to lift them puts you in hernia territory. I made several attempts staggering back and forth in ungainly fashion.
‘Be careful, that’s too heavy for you dear‘, said Babs as I collided with next door’s brick wall. (stress is building).
The concrete base had been sorted earlier with two Polish workers after the original builder had failed to turn up. Tradesmen never turn up. With further deep thought I decided to try a new approach. Where do builders congregate? I asked myself. Well of course, builder’s merchants. So I drove to the nearest builders yard and watched them loading and unloading their vans and lorries. I settled on a well used white Ford Transit with two chunky muscle bound men. I was impressed with the large array of tools inside. They obviously knew what they were about. ‘Excuse me’ I said, ‘would you blokes be interested in putting up my shed in the garden?’ They paused and stared at me. ‘I’ll pay £60 cash.’ I knew I’d pressed the right button their faces glowed with rising interest. ‘Where is it mate?’ Said one, eagerly scratching his groin. ’Just up the road’, I said, ’hardly shouting distance from here.’ ‘When d’yer want it done’ Said the other. ‘Err now’, I said hopefully. ‘No problem mate, we’ll follow you.’
Two hours later they had completed the task with infinite ease. One of them astonished me by answering his mobile whilst carrying the roof section. They looked strong enough to move the Eiffel Tower. I was most impressed. They also informed me some of the timber capping and half of the main bolts were missing. The shed builder apologised and told me to get the missing bits from any builders merchants and he would deduct a tenner from the remaining account. After paying his account the cost of the bits came to £25.00 – groan.
I then set about ensuring my shed would enjoy the same longevity it was going to give me. I applied numerous coats of yacht varnish to the woodwork used heavy duty insulation panels on the inside. My shed would outlast the Pyramids. For the final touch some classy modern wallpaper. I completed three sides and discovered I needed another roll of paper. I dashed back to the builders, ‘Sorry sir, that’s end of line stock we don’t have any more’. More groan. By necessity the wallpapering became a bit of a botch. ‘Are you going to put some lighting in there?’, said Babs. ‘But of course, I’m waiting for the electrician to arrive.’
The electrician was busy and indicated he wouldn’t be able to do anything for another 3 weeks. I got the hump and cancelled the order. (Stress levels increasing.)
I then remembered a neighbour nearby who put on a magnificent display of Christmas lights at the front of his house. He must be an electrician. I knocked on his front door and enquired. ‘Excuse me are you an electrician?’ He looked me up and down warily ‘You’re not selling anything?’ ‘Good Lord no, I need some wiring done in my shed just down the road.’ ‘Yeah, I thought I recognised your face, you’re putting a shed in your garden ain’t you?’
He agreed to do the work for eight hours labour providing I supplied all the material. My budget was in tatters, the cost had quadrupled but I was excited to have the project nearly finished. He did a good job and I gave him an extra £10. ‘Just one thing’ he said. ‘Everything works except the courtesy light they didn’t supply the bulb.’ ‘No problem I can sort that.’
Three days later after the continuous rain I fitted the bulb. More groans, the light didn’t work. I went back to the builders and bought four bulbs of different power. Even louder groans, none of them worked. Electrician is very busy but insisted problem nothing to do with his work. I went back to builders. ‘Can I speak to an expert about a courtesy light I purchased from you. I don’t want to remove it because it would entail removing internal panels and spoiling the wallpaper. I just want an expert to tell me why it doesn’t work.’ Lady at the desk says, ‘One moment sir, I’ll get our lighting manager.’ Ten minutes later a gruffly spoken man arrives. ‘Wot’s yer problem mate?’ After listening to my explanation. He insisted if I return the product and it’s found to be defective they will replace it. I repeat my requirement of wanting some expert advice as to why it didn’t work and what I could do to make it work. I wanted to avoid taking it down. He repeated even more gruffly. ‘You’ll have to return it.’ More groans and a bit of foot stamping. I return with the lamp and lady at desk says, ‘That’s not in our brochure you couldn’t have bought it here.’ Me getting apoplectic. ‘I did buy it here’ Lady at desk, ‘Where’s the receipt?’ ‘I don’t know it was weeks ago.’ ‘Sorry sir can’t do anything without the receipt.
(Stress levels overflowing). I write to head office in Scotland and complain about the awful service. A nice lady telephones me and asked me to tell her about the problem. She is tut-tutting with disbelief and assures me the matter will receive her undivided attention. ‘I will telephone you Thursday morning and resolve your problem.’ She telephones as promised with precise instructions to go back to store and ask to speak to Mr Bright-head (not his real name) the company expert in all things electrical. I eventually find the receipt and take my bank statement for good measure. Also, with great reluctance I remove the courtesy light.
I return to the builder’s merchants determined to get things sorted this time. Lady at desk shows half smile of recognition on seeing me standing at the counter. You wrote to head office’ she said, with a mild look of disapproval. ‘Yes, I did, I’d like to speak with Mr. Bright-head please.’ She spoke into a microphone and her voice echoed around the store. ‘Will Mr Bright-head report to customer service ‘The request was repeated three times before Mr Bright-head appeared huffing and puffing twenty minutes later. ‘So wos-up now’ gasped a familiar voice. ‘Oh! it’s you again.’ ‘Here’s the receipt and my bank statement to prove I bought it here but what I want is your expert advice as to why it doesn’t work.’ ‘I ain’t no expert’ he said gruffly. ‘Head office says you are’ I replied. ‘I’m just a salesman in charge of the lighting department, I can’t be expected to know how blooming fings work or don’t work. It’s ridiculous.’ ‘Well your head office thinks you’re an expert’ I argued. ‘That’s like saying a hamburger bloke should be an expert on beef farming. Come to think of it, I know more about bloody Hamburgers than electrical stuff.’ There was further argument when he wanted to charge me another £4 for a replacement which he claimed to be a more expensive version. Fortunately the customer service lady stepped in and said that would be unfair after all the trouble I had experienced. The new unit gratifyingly had a bulb included. So, I had every confidence there would be no further problems. Not so – it still didn’t work!. I’m now suicidal.
On my way to bed that night contemplating a move into a monastery when I hear the whine of a helicopter overhead I opened the bathroom window to investigate, and the courtesy light comes on. Now, I can’t be positive whether it was the Helicopter or opening the bathroom window was responsible for activating my courtesy light, but I have to confess I’m totally miffed. Anyhow it now works fine and I finished writing my book which isn’t a best seller, Walking on the Brightside ISBN 9780956642417 (you have to slip these bits in where you can). Maybe that professor bloke in Leeds might be able to shed some light on the matter.