One man and his shed in Kildare Town

The Shed is fast becoming a local attraction in Kildare Town. It all came about because a friend’s husband unemployed husband decided to get creative in the garden. After months of debate, he made the point to his wife that the tired old garden shed could be emptied of its contents and made into something special. Rather than leave it rotting and bursting with rusty bikes, old toys, dilapidated fridges and broken tools (sound familiar?) he wanted to renovate it and turn it into something spectacular. 

After a few days of planning, work began. She didn’t see much of him for the first few weeks. Full days and nights were put in, and the sound of drilling, digging and bashing kept the two teenage girls amused as they went down with regular cups of tea. But Shed-Dad didn’t work alone. With a team of equally skilled friends, he had soon insulated, soundproofed, fireproofed, damp-proofed and dry-lined the beloved shed. He put in heating and lights and soon the blood, sweat and tears had paid off. The final task was the decorating and details, and then it was finished, taking just two months and five hundred Euros.

Friday night arrived and we got ready. “What are you wearing?” asked my husband. I had not given it one bit of thought having never been to a shed party in my life. “Thermals?” I offered. Our garden shed leaks like a sieve and has gaping holes where the local cats get in, so taking inspiration I went for practical and warm. He opted for jeans and a thick coat. It was winter and bitterly cold, and we could be there for a long time.

Arriving at the house, all was quiet. Typically when friends invite you round, you knock at the front door and wait to be welcomed into the front room. But this night was different. The house was in virtual darkness and, ignoring it altogether, we went up the side path with not a sound to be heard. We saw the shed at the end of the garden and approached in silence.

We knocked three times (not that there is a code but it felt appropriate). We were greeted by the sound of two bolts being unlocked and the door opened. Light and sound burst into the garden and our friends welcomed us in. My football obsessed husband stood in silence, awestruck, staring from floor to ceiling and back again. Manchester United shirts and memorabilia on every spare bit of wall. A sofa, two chairs and a low table in the middle. To the left, a well stocked bar (with optics on the wall behind), complete with a full fridge and kettle.

The bar itself was made from reclaimed timber and wouldn’t look out of place in Lillie’s Bordello. On the bar, a music system (surround sound of course) and a fully operational laptop with Internet connection. As if this wasn’t enough, to the right, Sky Sports (with sound off, showing a match) on a TV set in the corner. My husband sat down and took in the game as I took in the details around.

This was every sports obsessed man’s dream. A TV showing twenty-four hour sport, Beer, Darts, Football, a guitar and even a Bob Dylan poster. I don’t want to sound like an estate agent but it also features I Tunes on tap and commemorative beer bottles from around the world. What didn’t feature was children’s toys, frilly cushions, draped curtains or pot pourri.

Fifty years ago, the man of the house would have nipped down to the potting shed to read the paper, have a doze and perhaps, if he had the energy, pot up a tomato plant or two. Now this little gem of a hideaway proves that as far as the humble shed goes, there is plenty of life in the old dog yet. The potting shed had been made over to suit the twenty first century. The difference is that broadband has replaced broad beans and there’s not a whiff of compost.

We played cards and listened to music until the early hours. The only interruption was when I needed a toilet break. Fearing a freezing trip up to the house, I reached for my coat. I didn’t need it. There, discreetly in the corner, was a small but perfectly formed toilet cubicle complete with lock and wash hand basin. Could it get any better? Well yes actually. At midnight, a knock at the door and our hosts’ two daughters appeared with freshly prepared hot nibbles. Their mother had thoughtfully phoned them through the order to the house earlier.

It was very simply ‘SHEDTASTIC’. I am hoping that my husband will strive to do the same to ours. I have already begun to clear it out and maybe he’ll begin to get excited soon. A neighbour listened to me babbling on enthusiastically about it recently and gave her opinion. “It’s really a crèche for men isn’t it?” A crèche for men? Now there’s an idea for the next series of Dragons Den.