Dear Letter Writing Shed,
I’m not sure about writing to inanimate objects but well, I felt you deserved a special mention in all this mayhem, madness and sadness because you really have been like a lovely friend throughout.
Mainly thank you for saving my sanity by being a little refuge away from it all. You have properly felt like a safe harbour away from pings and news and all that malarkey. I do feel a bit bad that I’ve rather commandeered you for my Society. I know I have a whole corner of the living room too but you are by far much more appealing (don’t tell the living room that!). I can’t remember when we bought you. It might’ve been BC (Before Children, not Before Coronavirus) but without a doubt I absolutely love you! The writing desk from our local junk shop which I got for just £20 is perfect, together with the green Lloyd’s Loom Lusty chair, the same colour as your walls. As you know I’ve filled you with treasured trinkets and festival gubbins and photos of Alan Titchmarsh (actually just the two) and motivational plaques and some beautiful Hamish Murray prints we got for our wedding nearly 20 (what!) years ago. Their gold frames make you look rather stately. You are completely and utterly my little letter writing den. I like that your clocks that stopped working ages ago are set to 11am (elevenses) and 3pm (afternoon tea and cake).
Above all I have loved hiding away up here writing letters to whomever takes my fancy. Right at the beginning of lockdown I tidied you up so we could all get in, do you remember? It feels an actual life time ago. Horatio Nelson can’t believe all the company he’s had nor my little Morris Mouse bear. What adventures those two have to tell! For another time maybe. But I sorted all the letters I’d got, in the brick mould letter rack, that have been waiting patiently for a reply (some since December 2018!). I felt uber-organised at long last. I’m not sure I’ve made much headway but letter writing is a continuous occupation isn’t it, much like gardening. I like that you never get to the end.
Even your mild fustiness I don’t mind. I like that you leave your mark on me when I return indoors – “Eww, you smell like the shed, Mum!” It makes me chuckle that the smell of fusty old sheds will forever evoke memories for the kids of their eccentric mother. But this time in lockdown you have been my sanctuary. We’ve watched the garden grow together haven’t we, and nature do its thing. We’ve seen all the blossoms come and go, and enjoyed the little birds on the feeder. We’ve got a glimpse of the sea and Ballard Down and Swanage Town, but we can go anywhere we like can’t we, via our letters.
I know it hasn’t been under ideal circumstances but I wanted you to know we’ve had a bit of giggle too haven’t we, especially making you into a pub for hubby’s 50th (with disco lights!) and the ginorous Union Jack I hoisted above you for the 75th Anniversary of VE Day. Oh, and that very special evening of lanterns and a campfire for an absent friend right back at the beginning of April.
So for now I’ll keep sticking the stickers on my Farms for City Children calendar for each day that passes, dream of far flung places (town), picture a time when friends can come and drink tea and eat cake with me right here in my shed heaven, and carry on writing letters.
Thanks everso, little Letter Writing Shed. I owe you one.