You know those blokes that are so desperate for freedom, but just don’t have the balls to kill their wives and be done with it, that they escape from real life by turning their sheds into “Guildford’s smallest pub” or something, conveniently forgetting that the main thing that makes pubs nice places to be is that other people are there, so you don’t have to just sit there in solitude drinking heavily and thinking dark, dark thoughts. Although you still can if you want to of course…
Although I’m fairly happy with my life, as part of my mid life crisis (which I can feel accelerating towards me from beyond the horizon like a big fucking train) I’m going to go one step further and convert my shed into a nightclub. To make it fully authentic I’m going to approach local criminals for backing money, then deck out the shed with unpleasant sticky carpets, uncomfortable chairs and fucking awful wallpaper and install a glitter globe, then change myself £8 for a bottle of Blue WKD.
To maintain pretence of exclusivity some nights I will work on the door and prevent myself from gaining entry, claiming I have breached some preposterous unwritten dress code and then manufacturing lies about me starting fights the week before. I may even perhaps also occasionally beat the shit out of myself behind the bins if I deem myself “a bit fucking mouthy” for asking where the toilets are.
Those would be the bad nights though-on the good nights I would dance the night away to classic tunes, and I might even get lucky and suck myself off in the toilets…
