a room of one's own

More like a shed.
I've seen beautiful photographs and flickr pages full of beautiful studios. Bookcases full of colour matched fabrics, ribbons on rolls, clean as a whistle.
Well live isn't really like that, is it.
So welcome to my shed.
And I mean shed.
It's a 1940s vintage shed. When I ripped out the workbench we discovered that the garage and bench was in place well before the concrete was laid down. The walls don't meet the ceiling and it's cold in winter and hot in summer.
But it's mine.
I've lined a fair bit of it, but keep everything in plastic bags and boxes. Well, again, some of it.
Out there is also a huge table, plenty of sewing machines and overlockers, enough wool to stock a shop, half a dozen knitting machines that work, several that don't and patterns and patterns galore.
And the best thing, it's mine. And I can lock myself inside and no-one can get in.
It's surrounded by bushes, trees and a palm, with a side window overgrown, and a window at the back that I can open up for air.