Lovely shed, Dave – but 7 years too late

WELL, I like David Cameron’s shed, or shepherd’s hut, expensive paintwork and all.

I long to have one of my own. The only pity is that he didn’t buy it years ago, before he forced his oily charms on the country and became one of the worst prime ministers in history. A good shed could have saved him, and us, from all of that.

I have spent some of the happiest hours of my life in sheds of various kinds, and hope to spend many more.

I don’t know what their magic is, but it is beyond doubt.

When I lived in communist Moscow, I noticed how many people fled from the cares and oppressions of that vast and overpowering city to dachas, a fancy word for sheds, to which they would hurry every weekend, to grow cucumbers, scorch meat and drink vodka around the fire.

In fact, if they hadn’t been able to do this, I expect the system would have exploded in wrath much sooner than it did. A small space in the woods, perfumed with creosote and earth, untidy but private, is balm to the soul.

Jeremy Corbyn must surely have begun to realise that time spent on his allotment (another form of shed therapy) is far more satisfying and productive than hours spent trying to lead the dead Labour Party.

If I were him, I’d spend the next month tending my vegetables, and perhaps giving slow-moving, pensive interviews about tomatoes, while leaning on a spade. He might even win if he did, but if (as is more likely) he lost, at least he’d have kept the weeds under control.