The Toddy Times

In the sprawling, slightly damp kingdom of the Back Garden, there exists a particular type of magic. It isn’t the flashy, ‘turning-your-neighbour-into-a-newt’ kind of magic. No, this is the much rarer, much sweatier sort known as Civic Engineering (Domestic).

At the heart of this magical upheaval stands Rob, a man who looks at a slope and sees not an invitation to slip and fall, but a personal insult from the geography itself.

The campaign began in a piece of woodland at Rake a place where trees apparently grow with the express ambition of being re - purposed. Rob gathered timber with the

Grand-ish Designs

Having conquered the earth, Rob turned his attention to the Ducks. Now, ducks are essentially liquid wrapped in feathers, and housing them requires the tactical planning of a minor siege.

Phase One: A temporary enclosure on the lower terrace, occupying two-thirds of the enclosure’s final space. The ducks accepted this with the suspicious quacking of those who know they’re being managed.

The Final Frontier: The ultimate duck-palace was established at the far end of the garden, reinforced, safe from possible rodent invasion from below and birds (with Avian flu) from above.

The Great Tank Manoeuvre: Two water tanks were relocated, a task that involved the kind of heavy lifting usually reserved for moving ancient monoliths, except these monoliths slosh and try to ruin your trousers.

eye of a man who knows that ‘retaining’ is a polite word for ‘stopping the entire hillside from visiting the kitchen.’ What followed was a feat of alchemy that would make a wizard weep:

• The Sieve of Destiny: Rob spent a significant portion of his mortal existence shaking soil through a mesh, a process that separates ‘dirt’ from ‘things that make your shovel go clink.’

• Mineral Recycling: Every stone and rock unearthed was immediately conscripted into the wall. In Rob’s world, no pebble is a passenger; every stone has a job, and that job is to stay exactly where it’s put.

The result? The ground was levelled. The earth was told, in no uncertain terms, to stop moving. And it listened.

practised

Once the outdoors was sufficiently subdued, Rob retreated inside, where the house was hiding its own architectural crimes. Once the long-awaited plastering was completed Rob donned the Special Shoes - legendary footwear designed for the specific, high-stakes art of floor levelling. To the uninitiated, he looked like a man trying to walk on stilts made of hope; to the floor, he looked like its new master. The interior campaign was swift and decisive:

• Floorboards and Skirting: new floor boarding was laid with the precision of a jigsaw puzzle, followed by skirting boards that actually met the wall (a feat often thought impossible by modern standards).

• The Silence of the Steps: the stairs, which had previously announced every midnight snack-run with a series of rhythmic shrieks, were finally silenced. The wood was persuaded to stop talking back.

• The Aesthetic Triumph: Finally, the Hall, the Stairs, and the Landing were decorated. This is the stage where the dust settles and the house realises it has been thoroughly improved, whether it liked it or not.

OB checking that the new floor is level

Epilogue

Rob stands now in a home that is flatter, quieter, and significantly more ‘duck-friendly’ than when he started. The hillside is held back by timber, the stairs are mute, and the soil is remarkably stone-free. It is a well-known fact that if you leave Rob alone for more than five minutes with a spirit level and a hammer, he will accidentally renovate the entire neighbourhood. For now, however, the garden remains exactly where he put it.