There is nothing more essential to the British way of life, than a man’s right to tinker in his shed.
This is my shed. There are many like it, but this one is mine.
Without me, my shed is useless. Without my shed, I am useless.
But, face it, I’m useless anyway.
So, what occurs in the shed?
Well, in winter, not a lot. but in summer I sit out there in my battered chair, smoking my Inventing Pipe while wearing my Inventing Hat. Drinking Brown Ale.