I moved into the garden shed two years ago at the age of 16. It was a combination of my parents' idea to try to give me a bit of independance and a longing to fulfil a Peter Pan-like childhood fantasy of playing House that created the shed known to many teenagers across London (and other areas of England) as 'Shedlands', named after Keith Richards' country house (Redlands).
It started off as the ultimate party den, it didn't matter how many friends I had over, how late we got back or how loud the music was; we were in the garden and couldn't be heard from the house! After a while it started to sink in that this was supposed to be my room rather than a crash pad - at one point my father visited the shed and retreated back into the house in horror: 'If the Young Ones' set and flat from the Withnail and I were combined, that would still look like the Ritz compared to this place!'
For my 17th birthday, Mum and Dad bought me a beautiful 1940s dressing table and I started to take pride in my shed, cutting down on the parties and tidying up for a start! I kept the movie quotes, song lyrics and cartoons graffitied on the ceiling by my friends, but collaged over the walls with posters, postcards and photographs. I also collected a 1960s French armchair, a leopard print pouffe and was recently blessed with a fantastic turntable our neighbour was throwing out. Today, Shedlands is part Aladdin's cave of bizarre collections, part bohemian boudoir. I still have my friends over, but now I make them take their shoes off first!
Former Victorian wash house, I have made my shed dwell-able in with a great many cushions and blankets, enduring the last two winters outside with thick rugs and a single small oil heater. The most has been made of the high ceiling by a mezzannine bed for me with the space beneath becoming a dressing room, complete with vintage dressing table and clothes rail, enlarging the space with mirrors. A double mattress rolls out on the floor as a cozy chill-out space by day or a spare bed for sleepovers by night.