Wow. I feel guilty. The axe was in my hand and what could I do? The shed had to go!
There's something strangely liberating about destruction. Is this a man thing? Is it because I may have Viking genes? The moment I started tearing into the shed, ripping it apart with a crow bar and smashing rotten planks with an axe, I felt like a marauding Mongol in one of Genghis Khan's armies. I should do this more often. The only problem is - there is only 1 shed left in my garden. Strangely, I sense that tremor each time I walk past. That didn't save the last shed though!
Shed murderer, I hear you say. Bring it on!