Prince Philip, in search of a quiet office.....

My brother's got a huge one.  We've got a small one, and it's leaky. David Cameron has got one on wheels.  Let me shed some light on the subject. I see, I already have. Yes, sheds are big in the news again. It's a seasonal thing. The first whiff of spring and women decide that the best place for a man is his shed. I am not sure it's coincidence.
Dearest doesn't have a shed. I have a shed. It sounds as though I am being possessive here. I assure you, I am not. It is just that my darling husband has absolutely no interest in shed-play whatsoveryever.
I make occasional reference to the need to upgrade this gently dilapidating construction at the side of our house. My playful sallies are met with a querulous brow. My mother's voice in my head reminds me, A man needs a shed. So occasionally, I press on.
"We have to plan ahead for your retirement," I say, a little too brightly.
"Who's retiring?" Newspaper lowered, but only briefly.
Truth to tell, Philip, Duke of Edinburgh, has buggered things for me, by retiring at the age of 95. 95?  By which token, he makes me look like a laggard, retiring in her early sixties, whilst reinforcing the notion that Dearest has got plenty of miles left on the treadmill. I have an unquiet suspicion that the prospect of spending hours gently potting with his Ever Devoted, scares him shed-less.
However, ever since I came across  The Ladybird Book of The Shed, I have gone quiet on my renovation plans.
It reminds me,
Be careful what you wish for... It may start with organising the shed but I've heard tell that sometimes it transfers to the kitchen. Oh Lordy.

The Man-ual

Inspirational extract, if you are looking for a Bag for Fluff...