My Husbands Vice by Kerry Ashwin - “Just hold this darling.” “Yeah right!” – the author with her husband.

It all started when we bought a boat.
Previously in another life, we had a house and the all important shed.
The shed was underneath our high set house in Townsville.
A huge bench, enough power tools to rival Bunnings (’cause a man can never have too many power tools), clamps, vices and inherited implements that looked like something from the torture chambers of the conquistadors, plus the all important beer fridge completed the ensemble.
Happy was he in his domain, fixing things, making things and generally doin’ bloke stuff.
But bring a boat into the equation and he was in heaven. Now he had a boat to do up and “I knew those power tools would come in handy one day,” was all the justification he needed.
That big steel doer-up-er turned out to be a lemon (“learning curve,” he called it), so we stepped up the ante and went for an aluminium boat instead. The interior is American oak and lots of it. Absolutely dying to be rubbed back and oiled.
This one was bought with all the lessons learnt from the previous one. So nice was she that we decided to live aboard and chuck in the house and so that inevitably meant his shed went too.
The power tools and my things went to the lock-up storage facility. There were a few signs of withdrawal, in the line of a gnashing of teeth and wringing of hands, but having a boat was the sweetener to the whole thing.
Plans and dreams and “can we fix it? Yes we can” were discussed over the galley table, with the list of new improved power tools needed growing exponentially. Not that the new boat needed a lot of fixing, but “we can make it our own with one or two improvements,” and “just a few small jobs here and there” would get us started.
Then we had to economize and rationalize and agonize.
What works for steel will not do for aluminium I was told.
I put the welder on ebay with the drop saw. Parting was painful for my husband and when I did the dastardly transaction the new owner assured me he would take care of it and look after it. I swear I caught him stroking the welder as he loaded it into his ute.
Was there something I was missing with these power tools? A secret, women aren’t privy to. I felt cowardly handing it over and wondered should I have given adoption papers at the same time.
Without a shed a man flounders. It’s just one of the laws of the natural world.
My husband flapped about a bit; then when we made room in the bilge for his tools he was a happy man again.
Woodwork was the new game, and chisels, saws, belt sanders were “absolutely necessary if you want the job done properly.” What a persuasive argument for buying those things we needed or the tools that fell into the “how did we ever manage without one” category. I scored a mouse sander for those fiddley bits that require patience.
Phrases that are essential to the working man were bandied about like, nice work dear, good job, and the all important, that would have cost a fortune if we got a handyman in to do it.
I use the tools too, when the need arises, but it is mainly secret men’s business.
But I do come in useful, because now I am my husband’s vice.
“Grab that and keep it still honey.”
“Just push on that and lift.”
And my all time favourite …
 “Hold this darling.”
“Yeah right!”