The shed has come from Estonia, which makes me chuckle a little as that was where I had my stag do. A frantic call from the manufacturer tells me I'm missing a door (but not the door frame), and it'll be with me Wednesday next week.
Shed arrives at about 11 am on the Friday.
The driver is a friendly Polish bloke, with an interesting perspective on why Poland is crap and Englandland is teh bestest. I ask him why he's left Poland as the chixxors are hotter over there; he beams widely and tells me all the hottest chixxors from Poland are already in England. And some in Ireland, but they don't like it so much because it rains all the time.
He's also not too helpful getting the wood off the truck, tinkering with his variable suspension at every opportunity whilst my good mate A (currently still laid off) cycles over to give me a hand getting the shed off the truck.
Fuck me that's a lot of wood.
During this, my Dad turns up unexpectedly. I might have mentioned this before, but if your Dad isn't my Dad, I feel sorry for you.
My Dad is the bestest Dad, EVAR. He's got an awayday pass from Mum, which turns into a few day awayday pass. Until he goes on holiday next Thursday, for which he is apologetic.
Me, I'm just glad to see him. Everything's always better when my Dad is around, it's like he always rolls a 20 on the dice of happiness and positivity.
Have I ever mentioned that if your Dad isn't my Dad, I feel sorry for you?
All day the three of us carry wood from the pavement to the back yard. I was hoping to get started building on this day, but it's not going to happen. MBW carries the lighter and smaller parts through, then goes all OCD by labelling each piece with a part number from the building plan.
We carry each piece of wood through the house on a hot day. Eventually it is all in the back yard, and the truck driver tells us his truck is now 1.3 tonnes lighter.
1.3 fucking tonnes!
The wood is stacked in the back garden, ready for tomorrow. It's all cedarwood, and it smells great.
MBW cooks us a nice dinner and my Dad and I repair to to the pub for some gentlemanly discourse and some pool. Unfortunately my eye is not in and he whips me 5-2. He's been playing snooker a lot of late, he explains. Ever since I whipped him 9-0, 9-0, 9-0, 9-0, 9-0 at squash when I was 15 it has been no quarter given between us when playing head to head. I like that.
The shed is here, my Dad has come up trumps by coming up without telling me, and we look forward to tomorrow's hangover, and the beginning of the building of the shed.
Have I ever mentioned, if your Dad isn't my Dad, I feel sorry for you?
Tomorrow, we begin to build the SHED OF POWAH!
If you voted £1000 in Shedyssey part 3, you were right. How the fuck the builder makes money on that is beyond me; his team were skilled and all the materials were delivered rather than bought at the builders merchants. As a low tax fancier, when he offered 17.5% off the price for the work if I paid in cash, I went to the bank that day.
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