I stood there for several minutes, striking my head repeatedly against the bus timetable, before gathering up my stupidity in search of my own stop and the last bus home.

Saturday June 9th

The Nine O’Clock Water Shed

The NINE O’CLOCK WATER SHED

is the ULTIMATE solution for your ablutions!

Now YOU can ENJOY your showers

alongside NEW, FAST, AUTOMATIC daffodils

and OTHER flowers.

Why not SPONGE YOURSELF DOWN

while TRIMMING your PRIVET?

CEDAR-CLAD* to enable FULL NUDITY,

its DENSE ACOUSTIC QUILT allows

MAXIMUM SWEARING

and SCENES some neighbours

may find OFFENSIVE.

STURDY and RAUNCHY, this is a shed

with 18+ PERMISSIONS:

a shed in which to SHED

your INHIBITIONS.

* Also available in Pine, Beech and Quarter-Past Six.

Studio erectus! It took a team of four experienced shed-builders a whole day to assemble it. They didn’t finish it until nine o’clock this evening. I’m not surprised; it’s not so much a writing shed as un palais jardinière des lettres.

The crew turned up just as Sophie was arriving with Dylan. She had questions.

‘What’s going on?’

‘They’ve come to assemble a shed. Well, I say, shed. It’s more of a studio. Or un palais jardinière d—’

‘Is that what you’ve squandered your redundancy money on?’ she interrupted. I was sensing a little hostility in her tone.

‘I’ve not been squandering. If anything, I’ve been unsquandering. This is an investment.’

She snorted. It was not an attractive noise.

‘Did you not consider that it might be more prudent to save that money until you have some regular and reliable income?’

Sophie has considered herself an expert on personal finance ever since she once happened to catch an episode of Money Box on Radio 4.

‘Well, if I get hard up, perhaps Stuart can jump out of a plane for me. Preferably without a parachute.’

That went down as well as somebody jumping out of a plane without a parachute. Sophie made another unattractive snort and flounced off.

By the way, I should say that I am sitting in my shed as I write these words. I may be sitting on the floor but it still counts: I am actually writing in my writing shed! It is magnificent! A Wi-Fi-free oasis for literary endeavour. A cedar-clad creative hub! It is situated right at the bottom of the garden and the cat is yet to discover it. I wish I could say the same about Dave; he has already asked whether it’s available to hire for garden parties.

Sunday June 10th

Dave, Martin and Marvin helped me move my furniture into the shed along with the few other bits and pieces I’d assembled. Three hours later, I placed the final volume of Gibbon on the bookshelf and the job was done.