EASEDOWN week three. I think someone needs some anger management therapy.

I suppose tempers are bound to get a little frayed in trying times such as these. Things came to something of a boiling point in the Quarter Master’s Kitchen last Sunday when we were listening to the special requests broadcast of Radio Scotland’s Take The Floor on the QM’s wireless.

Relaxing easy-listening, you might think. What could cause a stir, other than a frisky Dashing White Sergeant?

But there’s a backstory. For the previous three weeks, the QM had been trying to get a wee mention played for our mothers and an old friend. Just the one song, mind, not three. He wasn’t being greedy. Week one: The Tay Boat Song by The Corries, please? Week two: The Tay Boat Song by The Corries, pretty please? Week three: Anything by The Corries please?

No joy. Our lonely loved-ones in lockdown were not getting a mensh.

Week four: Any song ever written. By anyone. Please?

It worked. A tune was duly played and much happiness spread. Fortunately, I had managed to talk down the QM before he did damage to the wireless.

For a bit of R&R, the next day he turned his attention to his shed.

Unfortunately, the QM’s shed had seen better days. It had experienced a bad start in life. When it arrived in bits from Argos, it looked nothing like the version in the catalogue, which was all nice and built and standing upright in a garden. Now the Quarter Master likes his drill … but not the DIY version. So the poor shed was despatched to lean against the side of the house for a couple of months. Or maybe years. It was a while, during which time it earned the moniker The Side-Shed, but let’s not mention hair-dos till the salons are open.

Eventually, when it became clear that the QM’s DIY skills were not forthcoming, a joiner was called and the shed made it into an upright position at the bottom of the garden.

But there was something amiss. For some reason, still unfathomable after all these years, the bolt had been secured to the inside of the door. Hardly high security. I alerted the QM and suggested we ask the joiner to return and fix this strange design feature. The QM said no. He’d fix it. After all, it was “only a two-minute job”.

Two-Minute Job is now the term used to refer to all the DIY jobs which we know will never get done. Ever.

On reflection, I now wonder if the strange locking mechanism was designed so that QM would never run the risk of becoming locked in his shed. But how would that ever happen? Anyway, the years took their toll on our quirkily put-together shed. It started to lean ever southwards. The roof started to dip, eventually becoming a giant bird bath. It had to come down before it fell down.

This was an ideal distraction for a stir-crazy QM, and a welcome alternative to shouting at the radio.

So instead of an unsightly derelict shed at the bottom of the garden, we now have a pile of wood and a roof at ground level.

I’m hoping this scene of destruction will be cleared soon

and the remnants of the shed disposed of.

Alas, I fear it may be a Two-Minute Job.