A couple of weeks ago, some good friends offered us the W House at the foot of their garden. I nearly bit their hand off.
Last weekend, while the sun shone, a group effort was undertaken to paint the house that will be played with to destruction by our kids over the next… ooo… maybe 6 years (just doing some mental arithmatic based on our 4 year old). It nestles between the trees halfway down our garden, where a garage once stood. Don’t ask why we had a garage in our garden - we knocked it down shortly after moving in, but have never got rid of the base.
It’s all rather fitting actually - a W house, named after the house built for W in Peter Pan. My other half is of course called W too, and “Peter and W” is my favourite book.