A place to plot

Some people dream of Palladian mansions in Wiltshire, of third homes in undiscovered parts of Puglia, of ozone pools in the basement. Others dream less majestically of mansards and conservatories and allotments. I, however, have a more modest fantasy.

I work from home: a semi-detached dwelling I share with three children, an au pair, a husband and a dog. If I did not need an au pair, I could work in her romantic top-floor bedroom with its sweet verdant views over the communal garden. If I did not need a husband, I could take over his office, which he has carved out for himself by unilaterally occupying half of our ground-floor sitting room (while I perch with a laptop in the other half, using a sofa as a desk extension, or retire to my mother’s flat where there is a desk, to try to work).

But I need both — for the moment, anyway — so I have steamy, wild fantasies about garden sheds.