Tears in the morning

You'll think I've gone a bit mad if I tell you that entering my garden office (The Crabbit Hutch) this morning made me cry. It was caused by two things. Well, three but let me tell you the first two first. Astrantia Masterwort and Stimulus Generalisation.

Let me explain.

Back in May, you may remember that I was lucky enough to acquire my amazing garden office. From day one, it revolutionised my working life. (I'll talk about that in more detail one day soon.)

In June, I went to visit a friend called Jane, at her home in Edinburgh. Jane was very unwell, but she and her husband and my husband had a lovely afternoon discussing lots of things, some of which were about her illness and some of which weren't. We stayed much longer than we'd planned, because a) we were all having a nice time and b) Jane and Ian were adamant that we were not outstaying our welcome.

Astrantia Masterwort from the garden

I took with me some flowers from our garden, which included some which we didn't know the name for. They grow outside my Crabbit Hutch, and I can see them as I sit at my desk. We discussed why it is that Jane and I were usually able to remember the names of plants when we'd heard them once, and our husbands usually couldn't. Jane was a highly experienced clinical psychologist and I'm interested in the brain, so there was lots to discuss here.

Another thing we discussed was how my new office had instantly changed my whole working life. Jane said, "Ah, that's Stimulus Generalisation," and she explained some more and suddenly everything made sense, in deep and clever ways that I've come to understand more and more. In very short, it describes how our brains link the cues around us to our behaviour and if we want to change our behaviour we need to change the cues around us. There's much more to it than that, but that's the essence.

The day after that lovely afternoon, Jane emailed. She'd identified the flowers. Astrantia Masterwort. Neither of us would forget the name.

So, why the tears when I entered my Crabbit Hutch today? And why the tears as I type this?

Jane died at the weekend. We knew she was going to and we knew it would be soon. I hadn't seen her since that afternoon, though we had emailed quite a lot, until she wasn't able to. She had been quite incredibly brave. I got the news while I was at the York Festival of Writing for the whole weekend and, because I had to do a load of really exhausting events and one-to-one sessions, I couldn't process this information. I guess I blocked it. That makes me feel bad.

When I walked into my office for the first time this morning, a new manifestation of Stimulus Generalisation kicked in because a part of how I understand how my Crabbit Hutch works for me is linked to Jane. So I cried. As I look out of the window, the Astrantia Masterwort are still flowering. And I'm just really, really sad.

(I've disabled comments, because I don't want everyone to feel they have to say something. I hope you understand.)

The Crabbit Hutch in pics

As you know, unless you naughtily haven't been listening to me at all, I now have a shed. No, I have a garden office. It's far too glorious to be called a shed. I was going to have a competition to name it but Mike Jarman christened it the Crabbit Hutch and that's what's stuck. I have to say it's nothing like a hutch but never mind!

Anyway, here is the journey from nothing to Splendiferous Garden Office, aka Crabbit Hutch.

First, there was this:

Then, it rained, and the men from Booths Garden Studios arrived. They didn't complain even once, but got on and constructed a huge tent, under which to build. I was mildly amused at the thought that my neighbours would be thinking THIS was going to be the size of the shed.

Things began to look, frankly, unprepossessing:

But soon the Crabbit Hutch was standing forlornly in a sea of mud:

And the lovely men from Booths were looking well-pleased with their job. 

An electrician came and used a HUGE drill bit to drill through my kitchen wall. His comment afterwards: "That was epic."

I began to put some shelves up and bring the stuff up from the flat to the hutch, box by box by box.

And I had my first cup of coffee, in a very appropriate mug.

Soon, things were beginning to look both homely and businesslike, because, of course, 

much crabbit business must be done in the Crabbit Hutch. Behind my desk, you can even see the board on which I'm plotting a novel, so that's good.

At first, Mr M and I were concerned that the hutch wrecked the view up the garden and that the neighbours would be cross about the in-your-faceness, though we had got planning permission. 

But I went out and bought some VERY tall bamboo plants and I think you'll agree it is now very discreet. In fact, we could play Where's the Crabbit Hutch?! And yes, really, it is in this picture:

Only one family member is not looking too happy. She refuses to come in because she hates walkiing on bark. Stupid dog: we taught her not to bark, not to not go ON bark.

And there you have it! I've had one day working in it and it was just wonderful. With the door open, I could hear nothing but birdsong and see nothing but flowering rhodies, azalea, pieris, and a castor oil palm. I've planted dwarf lilac outside and the breeze wafts the smell in. With the door shut it's entirely soundproof so I can listen to loud music and sing at the top of my voice. It is incredibly well insulated so it's cosy and comfortable. I have installed wifi, so I can still use Twitter and be distracted. And I can walk to work with a briefcase.

I love it!

If you're interested in doing the same, Booths Garden Studios are just fab.

And look what Mr M bought me:

Awwwww.