Good day to you, everyone!
I thought you might like a picture of the west-facing window in my shed. That's an old bedstead you can see, plus the wooden cart on the left is actually a turf barrow - a real heritage object, now. There's a box of rusty old nails that I don't know what to do with, some adventurous ivy, plus, as you can see, the plaster is falling off the walls and the window frame has seen better days.
Hold on a minute! Who ever plastered and whitewashed the inside of a shed? Or put a wooden frame around a well proportioned window? I'm not saying that cattle haven't got finer feelings, or an aesthetic sense, but this was built when most people in rural Ireland had nothing. The stones for the walls had to be dug out of the ground, manhandled into place and fitted with skill, so that the walls stood straight and sturdy. When there was barely enough to eat, beautifying a shed wasn't a priority.
Of course, it wasn't built as a shed. I'll get back to you soon to tell you more.
AND do I need to add that if you are reading this, you are one of my pledgers, one of my sponsors, one of that fine band of patrons of the arts, and I am so happy you are there! I promise that the book you've pledged to buy (and perhaps a reward you've splurged out for, too) will be worth it. I reckon it's a lively read, chock full of fascination and wonder, and I put my heart into it. More anon....
An