It's been a weekend of sheds and chickens. The kind of weekend that starts with swimming, planting a hedge and then yelling to the world, 'Let's destroy a shed'. Okay, maybe not the world but certainly our neighbour but one heard us and replied, 'Can't it be salvaged?' Sadly, no. As winter has progressed the roof has sagged even further, it became apparent after one two many times of falling through the floor that the shed had come to the end of its life. The corners were rotten, the eaves were rotten, the screws were rotten and the only thing holding it together was the lichen. So, bye-bye shed, let me introduce you to my little friend, the crowbar.
Yet, before all the violence and gore, here's the intermission, a proud boy and his egg. This egg he has harvested on his own. Opening the hen house carefully. Cradling the egg into a plastic cup and then locking the hen house back up. In that time though, Bertie the Cockerel has wandered out and taken a fancy to Little D's red patch on his trousers. This red swirly design on Little D's bum. You can predict what happens next. Little D shoots off towards the orchard being chased by a cockerel in love with that red swirly patch, it looks like a worm, it moves like a worm but makes some odd noises for a worm. Peck. Scream. Peck. No-no-no! Peck. Tears. I hate you! All the way to the orchard and back again. Now, we're not bad parents, we didn't film it because we were laughing too much, we kept croaking for him to stop running which just spurred Bertie on more. Little D has a bruise on his bum, cockerel beak shaped.That cockerel can't half nip. He has since been sent to Coventry or as we have threatened, one train stop from the casserole dish. Little D is fine and after a cry, a cuddle and ice cream was back to himself. Just shows that even in his misery he finds an ice cream lining.
You'd think the chaos would end there but no, we're the Oldhams, chaos follows us in one shape or another. No one ever told you when you have a kid that it is constant deluge of running around, going on a hunt for shoes (like a bear hunt but with much more shit-shit than swishy-swashy grass); finding one shoe where it should be and finding another at the end of a journey that would make Indiana Jones age a decade only for a small child to point out that that was the obvious place to put a shoe: think Lego box, think under a table on a seat or in one case, the fridge. So, running around like headless chickens is our default setting. Sorry, Little D. So, as Little D gets over his fear of Bertie the Cockerel, Andrew mutters that he'd best take out the new posts that he put in for the green roof and we all promptly hear a cracking noise, like a ship hitting the rocks or a new post hitting a grown man straight on the head. He was okay, slightly stunned, then nauseous and then back to stunned, and then declaring the importance of hard hats, and then saying things like, 'You wouldn't think a new post would do that'. No, posts concreted in rarely snap when swung on by a seventeen stone, six foot four man, it says so on the label - tested by idiots.
Here's the offending post. Mutter. Mutter. Mutter. Post etc. Shouldn't do that. Typical man. Typical grump. Then it's just a case or tearing down the shed. Should be doddle after the cockerel-snapping-post gate. Andrew starts to take the roof off with the crowbar, from the inside of the shed and the roof promptly collapses on him. Thankfully the roof is largely dust, held together by felt and we drag it up the hill to the bonfire. Then the sides largely fall over in that Buster Keaton 'oww that's my foot that landed on' skit. In the end all that is left our the doors leaning against the fence. The only non-rotten part of the shed. Andrew will make these into tables for the new garden by the new shed - further up the hill and project that we will reveal soon.
Still slightly dazed, but trust us, very okay; Andrew walks around dazed most days. He decides he wants to finish off planting the hornbeam hedge that is going here. You can't really see them in the image below because they're just whips and Andrew has pruned them back to bush them out but you can see in the photo above that in less than six years they have reached six feet, so not bad going.
So, Little D has a bruised bum, Andrew has a bruised head but as you can see from the before and after it was worth moving the shed. At least the chickens will get more room when we build their run meaning Little D can slam a gate behind him as they chase him up to the orchard and back again. Expect any run building to include more damage to health, heart and tongue in that post.
Let's not talk about posts.