As the globe warms, everything runs out and people become the willing slaves of small electronic machines, we have our response: the Golden Age of Sheds. We can look out from our sheds and see those unfortunates, the slaves in question, the ones who would rather be stripped naked and whipped through the market square than be separated, for one nanosecond, from their portable telephones and I-thingies, and we can smile.
This book is where the smilers are. Here, you can find the man who reinvigorates the entente cordiale in wood, the woman who boils kettles, the woman who says 'I'm Nicola from In the Shed', the man who says 'What's yours?', the dooket that Jock built, the blockhouse that Noah built, a neoclassical stately home, and all manner of things musical, yogic, animalcular, roguish, ockerish and cloudy. Whether we see our shed as a place of work, a place of fun, a welcome refuge from normality, a shaded pool of tranquility, a realization of a secret yearning, a place to put up the geraniums, or a little bit of all those things combined, we Sheddies, tribesfolk of the mighty Sheddici, hold one truth to be undeniable. We have our sheds, and the others haven't.
