Good for you though; despite the aches and pains the body feels like it's functioning a bit better. Dad starts doing his back exercises whilst I survey how bad it's pissed it down in the night.
Not as bad as it could have been, but the tarpaulin has big puddles of rain weighing it down. I sweep enough of these off so the rest can be dumped by lifting one edge of the tarpaulin.
The water flows into the
pit sunken garden feature and I fear for all the stuff I've got stored down there whilst the shed is being built - lawnmowers and hedgetrimmers and the like.
Checking they're OK I notice that all my trough planters have been knocked off the wall a day or two previously and are smashed on the concrete below. Bye bye two rosemary bushes and all of my mint.
Fucksticks. One more thing to make good, one more thing that needs money spent to make it right. I've already got a 3 lists of double sided A4 of things to do to the house and it'll be three bastard years by the start of September.
I have another little flash of hatred for the shed at this point which escalates again as I tip water over my workboots as I move another tarp. Soggy socks at the start of the day. Shoulders sag a little.
The old bloke bounds out of the back door with the misinstructions in his hands and we go over what needs doing today.
He senses I've got the dog and jollies me along a bit. This pisses me off even further but I don't bite him; I know what he's doing and I do appreciate it.
Eventually this appreciation and the old bloke's irrepressably good natured yet terribly bad Dadjokes lift me out of this self indulgent whining. At the end of the day there's a job to be done so do the bloody job in front of you and quit the fucking internal whining narrative.
Pick your lip off the floor and put some graft in.
Me Dad's good at lifting people like that, he has a knack of making you want to do better so he won't be disappointed. Not that you'll ever see that disappointment in him, mind, which makes it worse.
Looking at the plans it'll make sense to get the roof on before the floor and partition wall. It'll give us shelter from the sun, and if we put the tarpaulin over it it'll keep the rain out.
The roof is tongue and groove planks, so we lift them up to the roof and begin hammering the nails in:
This is pretty hard going; not for the first time do I wish I had a big fuckoff nailgun.
The evaporating rainfall makes the atmosphere very humid. I go into the kitchen to fill our water bottles and make Dad have a ten minute blow for a cup of tea and a biscuit. He's crap at keeping his fluid levels up so I always force feed him liquid, especially when we're sweating bullets like this.
The roof is up and we then consult the plans and misinstructions. Looks like the floor needs to go down before we can put the partition wall in.
The floor is made of the thinnest planks of all and they are twisted the most. "It's the natural beauty of wood" we chant together. This is the tagline for the project so far; the side logs were twisted and chipped - "it's the natural beauty of wood" - poorly place knots leaving gaps "it's the natural beauty of wood". We also reckon it's the manufacturer shaving margins by not inspecting timber before it's shipped and making sure there's no bad planks, but there you go.
The floor eventually goes in, with some serious battering from the clubhammers to slide the tongues into the grooves (fnarr).
The partition wall goes up, again with some heavy duty clubhammering required, due to the natural beauty of wood.
Seeing how big the shedshed part is (as opposed to the studioshed part) I'm a little disappointed. There's no way we could have put the partition wall anywhere else without seriously rejigging the entire frontage and on a back of a fag packet calculation we'd not have enough logs to do it anyway.
Another kick in the teeth from the shed, and I feel the shedhate grow. This is checked soonest as it's getting on in the afternoon and we have too much to do for me to waste time on shedhate.
The last bit of the partition wall is a heavy section, already put together with the pitch of the roof cut in. The misinstructions tell is to cut the channels down further for this type of shed and we follow their diagram to the letter.
Lifting the top piece on it is clear that we've cut the channels wrong. Checking the plans, we have cut at exactly the right place for the right depth and it is the plans that are in fact wrong. Dad starts measuring and marking out and
I get on with the partition wall supports.
We cut the grooves in the top piece and put it in place. The central groove is now 3cm too deep.
Me Dad is extremely apologetic for the error, which I dismiss instantly. This is a bit of a blow as it's on the central purlin and pretty visible. I can fix it up, I know I can fix it up and I don't mind the one more thing to the list as Dad seems pretty annoyed at himself. Those aren't the rules though; whenever we work together his mistakes are my mistakes and mine his.
No one wants to make a mistake but by definition it's not deliberate. There's no use berating people unless they were wilfully stupid. It's late in the day, we're both tired and this is when mistakes happen. Working together, we mark out the remainder of the grooves and check each others work.
Aside from one bad cut the rest fit well and we fight the top piece into place. During this I find myself drifting into piss poor Sonjokes to distract him, and me Dad cheers up a bit.
We put a few more floorboards down and get to about halfway across. The floor insulation needs cutting to size and fitting, and it gets in the way of the boards sometimes. It's slow going and we're starting to be short with each other.
That's usually the time to down tools because we don't do biting each other when we're working.
Then, the joy of tidying up. Today has seen over a hundred boards nailed down and almost a kilo bag of nails hammered in.
Our knees are sagging by the time the site is cleared up, but at least we have somewhere to store the ceiling and floor insulation - in the shedshed!
Tomorrow I have to return to work as I was denied the 4 days off this week.
Looking at the plans, the floor needs to be finished before anything else can be done. This is going to be a nightmare for my Dad to do alone so luckily A (who helped us unload the truck) agrees to help, bless his cottons.
I'm still bloody angry at not being able to carry on working on the shed this week; my Dad and I work very well together. I see when he needs a handful of nails; he'll hand me a clubhammer just when I need it so I don't have to come down the ladder.
Little things, but they are cumulative and bring the job on.
Now that the days work is done I permit myself a small amount of shedhate, which slowly ebbs as the tiredness kicks in.
Tomorrow at work I'll be unable to concentrate wondering how the work's progressing.
Idly I wonder if the bloke who founded the sportswear brand was in fact thinking All Day I Dream About Sheds.
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