I’ve had some free time to rest lately and naturally decided to ruin it by attempting a DIY project. I wasn’t too ambitious. In fact, I chose a particularly simple task. Trivial, really. I was going to build a flower bed.

There were clear signs that this was going to be a disaster from the start. Nothing makes a cold chill run down my wife’s spine like hearing me say the phrase, “How hard can it be?” Over the coming weeks, I would discover just how hard it could be.

Now I don’t want to talk myself down too early. I am no fool. I watched a video on YouTube that provided a simple guide to the process which, to my understanding, seemed to take about four-and-a-half minutes to complete. While I only watched the first two and a half minutes of the clip (and honestly, I was pretty bored and checking my phone most of that time), I was supremely confident that this would be done and dusted by the end of the day.

My first task was to dig out a whole bunch of the ground. Absurd, I know, since the ground is the exact place where I planned to grow my plants in the first place, but you know how picky these green thumbs can get about dirt. This required a quick trip to the hardware store to pick up a shovel and remark how odd it was that I didn’t already own a shovel.

The hole dug, I found myself with two problems: a hole in my backyard that certainly would have attracted the attention of Jimmy Stewart and his telescopic lens, and a large pile of dirt. I had not anticipated when the dirt came out of the ground that it would have to go somewhere. Sometimes I wonder if I ever developed object permanence or did people just stop playing peek-a-boo with me?

From here, I was into the fun part – actually assembling the flower bed. What a simple task. All it required was a quick trip to the recycled brick centre, loading up all the bricks, unloading them, going back to the hardware store, getting the concrete and all the accoutrement required for laying bricks (real brickies also refer to these materials as “accoutrement”), and getting started.

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From there, I simply realised that I had the wrong concrete, that it wasn’t level anyway, and that the rain was coming in. I went back to the hardware store, got the right concrete, mixed it, laid the bricks, realised they were also not level, convinced myself that was part of the charm, realised I didn’t have enough bricks to finish the job, went back to the recycled brick centre, loaded the bricks, unloaded them, visited the hardware store since my concrete had all run out, finished the rest of the brick laying, realised I had too many bricks, and hid the rest of them so that I didn’t have to reveal that I can’t count.

At last, it was all complete. Well, that is to say, I had a series of wobbly brick boxes in the garden and a family fast losing confidence that I was the master tradesman I had claimed to be when this all began. The good news is that all I needed to do now was transfer the large pile of dirt into the garden beds and everything was sorted.