The year after we moved to Damson Cottage, we took down the old asbestos garage and replaced it with a garden studio. The plan was I would have one end and Lord Malarkey would have the other end and we’d spend many a happy hour writing ‘n’ arting ‘n’ crafting together, and it would be great larks ‘n’ fun!
However, this utopian vision didn’t take into account the fact that I am a neat and tidy person and Lord Malarkey, well, he isn’t. Especially as his art and craft activities involve acrylic paint, glue, clay, printing inks, chopping things, carving things and setting fire to things. And mine require being kept clean.
Therefore, the use of the garden studio was sacrificed gifted by me to Lord M, who has since extended its use to small cinema, mini gym, snoozing space. It’s what I would call now a ‘proper artist studio’ with all the mess and chaos that goes with it. But it is GOOD that he has this space for himself and also GOOD that I never feel the urge to enter therein and tidy it up because, quite frankly, I wouldn’t know where to begin. In lieu of my sacrificed studio space, I took over the front bedroom, which was supposed to be a guest room but we don’t have overnight guests now, and it has morphed into a writing room.
However, (and this may sound selfish and/or greedy given I do actually have a writing room) I yearn for a space away from the house, where I can hide from the visitations of the cat and the dog, spam phone calls, road noise and sounds of the bathroom being used. A space that is mine, a space that is not shared. I’ve never had that remote island space but then I suppose not many people have. Until I was eleven, I shared a bedroom with my brother and sister. Until I was 14, I continued to share a bedroom with my sister. And ever since then I have shared a living space with other humans and a variety of pets. Other energies, other presences, have always been close by and sometimes, because I am a hermit at heart and spiritually sensitive to the vibes of others, I have found it discombobulating.
But there comes a time in a woman’s life when she reaches discombobulation overload and the urge to have a space that is WHOLLY hers, that will not be intruded upon by anyone else unless with her express permission, is suddenly VERY important. Don’t ask me to explain why. It’s an urge, an instinct. And I know I am not the only woman to feel this. I have a friend who sometimes says, ‘If I could go and live in a cave by myself tomorrow, I would. Think how lovely that would be. A space to be on my own.’
The Universe is sending me a lump sum of money on my 60th birthday. This isn’t a premonition - it’s a fact called ‘My Teacher’s Pension.’ Of course, I always knew I’d receive a monthly pension when I reached 60, but knowledge of the lump sum somehow passed me by until I actually bothered reading my annual pension statements a couple of years ago. I have opted to take the lump sum all in one hit rather than invest it in smaller increments. Live for the day, that’s what I say. Why save it ‘just in case’ for a tomorrow that might never come?
And that is why, today, Lord M and I are off to visit a small, family company who make these:
Oh yes! Shepherd Hut, here I come!
I’m not going to get too excited just yet (Liar! I am!!) because the logistics of a shepherd’s hut might not be suitable for our garden. Usually, huts are built in a workshop then transported to their final home via a large lorry where they are swung into place using an enormous crane. (Machine, not bird, though what a great image that is!) However, because we are surrounded by fields and the potential hut site is about as far away from the road as possible (deliberate choice) a lorry and crane combo isn’t an option. We are, what they call in the trade, ‘restricted access.’ The company we are visiting today offers the option to build the hut on site!
Initial site issues are being over-ridden by me looking at many pictures of shepherd hut interiors for inspiration which is possibly fool hardy and setting myself up for MAJOR disappointment. And yet I continue onwards. Sigh…
I know what I DON’T want, which is a mini bathroom and kitchenette. I do enough cleaning of those in the house. I don’t want another set to clean, thank you very much. What I DO want is a futon sofa that can flip into bed mode, built-in book cases, a monk’s bench and a table. And a small cupboard upon which to sit a kettle, tea pot, mug and cake tin. A big, wool floral rug. Underfloor heating. Possibly a solar panel. Shelves for house plants and a couple of cute ornaments. Cushions. An eiderdown. A free standing lamp for ambience. A novelty door mat with a witty greeting like ‘Sod Off’ on it. And I shall make it its own little garden, too. With a deck chair. And fairy lights.
The huts we are visiting come fully insulated, cladded and double glazed with electric hook-up, downlighting, plug sockets, a stable door and steps. Then they are designed exactly how you want to any size. I need to go armed with decisions.
I am trying to keep a steady nerve but in truth I feel like a six year who is getting her first Wendy house!
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KJ