The new tin roof is leaking on Fiona’s garden shed, as is her mother’s kettle

And still the rain comes down. I know this, not least because of the puddles on the drive, or the water-logged lawn.

No, I realise how wet it is because of the potting shed at the bottom of the garden.

For five years we watched it fall into disrepair.

Each month another slate sliding off onto the path. The wood-wormed door barely hanging onto its rusted hinges…

Well, last year the chief bit the bullet and asked a builder to come and quote to repair the thing.

I ask you, have you tried to get a builder recently?! The price was accepted and he said he’ll be back. Soon.

Fourteen months later and he reappeared with a team of three.

Very efficiently the men removed the old slate roof. They filled all the cracks in the stonework and checked the coping stones.

They then placed a tin roof on the top. This, after all, is just a wee bothy, not a luxury pad.

Throughout the threeday operation they fed the Macnaughties bits of sandwich from their lunch.

Which made them very popular, as you can imagine.

Yes, for a good part of the week, the old potting shed was a fashionable venue…

They also hung a new door. Which shortly after they left swelled up and could not be opened.

Bless them, they came back – twice – to sort out the problem. But now there is another one.

The new tin roof is leaking. Water is coming in where it attaches to the wall.

And that, dear reader, is how I know it is raining hard.

I wonder how quickly they will come back this time?!

In the meantime, we are lucky enough to have another wee shed. Rather closer to the house. So, this week all the forks and spades, all the plant pots and canes are removed from the leaky lean-to and placed in the dry. It is one solution. Yet we all know that annoying things happen in threes…

Shortly after my mother rings to say her kettle is leaking. As luck has it, we happen to have a spare one and I take it round to her house on the loch.

On return I find the chief cursing and bent over the open bonnet of his old campervan. The one he sometimes uses to go photographing in.

For some reason, the vehicle will not start, and he is tinkering around with the engine. Not that he knows the slightest thing about anything mechanical.

There is much huffing and puffing. Finally, the car services are called. They come and we are told it needs a new battery.

They manage to start it and tell him to drive to the nearest garage. And not to stop on the way…

Of course, in the great scheme of things, these are all minor problems. Yet they are irritating all the same.

I hope your week has been a dry one – and that all your gadgets work well…

THERE IS MUCH HUFFING AND PUFFING. FINALLY, THE CAR SERVICES ARE CALLED. THEY COME AND IT NEEDS A NEW BATTERY

REPAIR: The failed slate roof on the potting shed has been replaced with one which now leaks in the rain.