Some years ago, our decrepit brick fence keeled over completely when a delivery man bringing firewood backed his truck into it. He was pretty embarrassed and kept trying to offer me money for the repairs, which I declined.
I pointed out that the fence had been on a lean for years and the sandy mortar wouldn't have held up much longer anyway. So - time for a new fence.
"I'd like a picket fence," my wife said.
Why not? Well, I'd never built a fence before and I had conniptions - just one picket out of place and I'd be the talk of the neighbourhood for years: Poor Hamblyn, once tried to build a fence. But I soon found myself down at my local DIY store, sorting timber and buying pickets.
A word on DIY stores. They're wonderful. All men, even accountants and librarians (like me) stand a little straighter when they enter these modern temples of DIY-dom.
We survey the mind-numbing variety of tools, smell the sweet mineral oil, admire ourselves in the polished faces of shiny machinery.
Mind you, there are DIY stores and DIY stores. Some are run by old-timers who still speak without moving their lips, their eyes imitating General Freyberg's "thousand-yard stare" and you know they're quietly amused when they realise you haven't a clue about the 1001 varieties of wood and their properties.
Others are as talkative as me though, and will merrily chat about your needs, all the while aware that the novice just knows he needs an entirely new outfit of tools.
Speaking of tools, the first thing I bought was a builder's apron. It was the most sensible thing I ever purchased. Although my wife couldn't help smiling when she first saw it, an apron is all-important, even if only to sling your hammer in its loop.
Otherwise, you walk between two points, reach for your all-important nail-driver, only to find it's not to hand.
So, having ordered the wood, it was delivered the following week. And here's the next lesson. Always inspect the timber and pick your own.
The wood I had dropped off for the posts and pickets was fine, but the timber for the railings was warped and several pieces had knots close together. Therefore, I had to cut the offending portions out, which led to headaches, but all turned out well.
Then, having consulted a couple of library books on fence construction, and with heart beating, I began.
I sank four holes to the requisite depth, put in posts (double stringline) and used the sort of faux ready-mixed cement that you drop into the hole and then just add water.
I subsequently found that among real builders, this pretend cement is like being caught using a tea bag at a tea-tasters convention!Posts in place, I then used my new brace and bit to drill holes for the bolts which would hold the railings in place.
By now, I had attracted the attention of neighbours and passers-by. All asked: "So, building a fence?" to which I replied laconically, "Yup!"
Having got this far, my confidence soared and work slowed down as people began stopping by for a chat.
Indeed, my wife said that every time she glanced out the front window, I would be standing there, one foot on a crate, arms crossed, eyes half-closed al la Freyberg's thousand-yard stare, my lips barely moving as I chatted.
In turn, the visitors needed somewhere to put their feet and so I provided a courtesy crate so they would feel at home.
I revelled in being a guy and so did they and we observed certain blokey courtesies. One was that the visitor didn't bend down and put their hands on their knees and squint while they ascertained that one's posts were straight by comparing them to the side of the neighbour's house.
No, one kept one's arms crossed but rocked back and forth slightly as, one eye discreetly closed, they tried to make sure the palings were up and down.
If, however, the passer-by felt they knew the builder sufficiently well, they could grab the nearest post and give it a good wrench, to make sure it was securely anchored in the ground (it was).
So why do fences make for good neighbours? Fences, before, during and after construction, provide endless opportunities for talking and socialising.
The fence is neat and tidy (not a paling out of place) and it's an asset to the burg and a credit to my wife and me. Now, five years later, having been primed, all it needs is a coat of paint.
The next challenge is a gate. But that requires a new level of expertise and, anyway, it's another story.
