From as early as I can remember, my father would spend his time in his shed building model boats. I think the main attraction for him was subconsciously getting high on the smell of varnish. Bloody boats - I hated them.

Extract from my childhood -

Mum: Pop down to the shed and tell Dad that dinner will be ready in five minutes.

[I walk down to the shed, usually in the rain.]

Me: Dad, Mum says dinner will be ready in five minutes.

Dad: Tell her I won’t be long.

Unfortunately, “won’t be long” translated in to “won’t be coming in until I have finished everything that I want to do because I am a selfish git.”

We built ours as a “potting shed” for D. Unlike my father, she never used it, and it became an untidy storage area. I hate it - you can just see it on the left.