In these troubled times of terrorism, towering infernos,
election bombshells and Brexits I sometimes feel like pulling the duvet over my
head and staying there until it’s all over.
I feel for
the mayor of London, poor Sadiq Khan, Every night he must go to bed thinking, ‘can’t
get sloshed, must have clean shirt and hair washed ready to face Sky news et al
for the morning’s latest London disaster.’
He’s busy at the moment, otherwise I’d think of
giving him a break and invite him to leave the angst - ridden metropolis and come down to join us in the sunny
Home Counties for a bit of joyous revelling,
a bit of sheer Freude.
You can forget coke-fuelled clubbing in some cool
West End venue - on a Saturday night in Hook, Hampshire, nothing beats a damn
good shed-in.
My Austrian friend, Maria, has a special dinner
party venue.
Her shed.
This is no cheap plastic construction but rather a
more civilised affair nicely decked out with tablecloths, photographs and pictures.
The calming double-skimmed wood cladding redolent of pine transports us, Zen
-like, to the Austrian Alps and forests.
Maria bursts into song as she serves us copious
supplies of wine, beer and good old German- style sausages with sauerkraut and
various robust, ethnic, substantial extras. No fancy pants canapés here. The variety
of comestibles reflects the nationalities in the group. Welsh (I forgot the laverbread), Polish,
Austrian and German, all with English partners and one pure Home Counties
couple. Generally, during these evenings natural English reserve is gradually tempered
by Celtic and European influences (I particularly blame Polish Kasia).The
transformation is further aided and abetted by several bottles of Côtes du
Rhône.
‘How much do you think it’ll cost for British
citizenship?’ asked Jurgen, who, like Maria, still has his birthplace
passport?’
‘Dunno?
Fifty quid?’
‘£1282.’
‘Oh
dear. Pass the wine over please.’
‘Come
on, cheer up. Leave your troubles outside. So- life is disappointing? Forget
it! I declare the shed an international zone. We’ll have no troubles here! Here life is beautiful and strangers are Willkommen,
bienvenue, welcome ♪♪♪!’
And
so the revelling continued. We were in our own little haven, safe from any exterior
malign influences.
‘We need a name for people like us who have a good
time in sheds!’
Quick as a flash Jurgen shouted-
‘Shedonists’!
Fantastic! And what are our shedvalues?’
We decided on tolerance, understanding, limitless
consumption i. e. lots of food and wine and some pretty hazy policies.
Darkness closed in but, lit up with joyous
camaraderie, we partied on. Though fully aware and commiserating with the
recent misfortunes of others, we put them behind us just for this evening and
continued to enjoy ourselves.
Eventually, our torches wobbling in front of us, we
staggered home. It had been a great evening for us shedonists, full of Freude and laughter.
But every Yin has its Yang I suppose. Every silver
lining has a cloud somewhere, lurking behind it.
The morning after the night before, as I pondered on
the German word Schaden, damage, my
hangover kicked in with a vengeance.
There’s always a price to pay.
Ah well, time for austerity.
*Schadenfreude, n. German: Pleasure derived from the misfortune of others
