Miss C and I spent a good part of the weekend in our new garden (a rather generous term, it being currently a waste of weeds unrelieved by dragonflies, sparkling or otherwise). Regular readers will know it as the site for our expanding mouse cemetery.
This time, though, we were there with constructive purpose: not content with namby-pamby shed kits, we spent Saturday afternoon buying two car loads of wood, plus an assortment of fearsome-looking nails. The Day Of Rest we spent merrily sawing and hammering. By the time the moon rose, we had constructed an 8 by 10 foot base, with a stiff (and hopefully sturdy) floor.
Construction is tremendously satisfying: remarkably, we have sustained only light injuries and manageable levels of blood loss. The only cloud on the future of the project is Miss C’s glum prophecy that we are simply “building a house for the mice” – she believes the finished structure is sure to become a kind of mousy mansion, a cosy wooden home in which to raise more furry hordes. I am more sanguine: from dust they came, and to dust they shall swiftly be returned. They will make excellent fertilizer - for our weeds.