I accidentally bought a potting bench a couple of weeks ago. You know how it is - you go to the garden centre to get some fungicide and some fat balls, and you come out with all sorts of stuff.
On Saturday, I cajoled Hubster into helping me build the bench. This was the brief moment where I felt a little guilty for getting him to help:
But Hubster did a cracking job (and I had just cooked him sausage and egg to help him recover from the hangover he had acquired on account of being out on the razz the previous night), and neither of us got splinters or a screwdriver through the hand (an improvement on the last time I attempted DIY).
Here it is in its final spot, where I've made myself a little utility area. It means I can concentrate Jurassic Park the other side of the steps.
On Saturday, I cajoled Hubster into helping me build the bench. This was the brief moment where I felt a little guilty for getting him to help:
But Hubster did a cracking job (and I had just cooked him sausage and egg to help him recover from the hangover he had acquired on account of being out on the razz the previous night), and neither of us got splinters or a screwdriver through the hand (an improvement on the last time I attempted DIY).
Here it is in its final spot, where I've made myself a little utility area. It means I can concentrate Jurassic Park the other side of the steps.
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