A Room of One’s Own

The people who owned our house before us had annexed a room from the back of the garage.  The result is that the only type of car which would now fit in the front of the garage is a Smart Car. A Smart Car on a diet. 

However, Nigel has packed all his Man Things into the remaining garage and although its capacity is compromised, its masculinity is not.  If you need an adjustable spanner or a torque wrench, that is where you will find it.

But, having created the new room at the back of the garage our predecessors seemed unsure of what to do with it.  When we were prospective buyers, they didn’t really want to show it to us. 

They hedged. 

We insisted. 

The wooden door creaked open.  There was nothing except, against the opposite wall, an antique piano, and in the middle of the floor, a heap of straw and a live chicken.

Ourselves, we have no need of a Chicken-and-Piano Room, but we have not been short of ideas. 

Nigel dreamt of a still-room for his wine-making.  I yearned for a workshop for my enamelling.  Eventually I won on the grounds that his hobby can be pursued in the kitchen while each of my pots of enamel powder sports its own little skull and cross-bones label.

Magnanimously, Nigel built shelves and installed a beautiful workbench for me.

As Virginia Woolf once advocated, I now have a room of my own.