I am going to talk cars in a moment, I promise, but it’s front of mind: the other week I had to put up a gatepost. Or rather two of them, joined back to back, at a pretty normal height of 1.5m but overall a hefty 20cm by 40cm thick.

I knew I’d need tools for this. In no definitive order, I needed a tape measure, T-square, spirit level, sledgehammer, ratchet strap, chainsaw, drill (with a very long bit), spanner (preferably ratchet), club hammer and crosshead screwdriver and coach bolts.

If I’d been missing any single item, the job would have gone, by varying degrees, from slightly more difficult to nearly impossible. And had I been missing anything, I wouldn’t have tried it, and the only tool I’d have used instead would have been a telephone.

If there’s something I find utterly exasperating (I’ll admit that’s quite a lot of things these days), it’s not being able to do a job because I’m missing the right kit.

And so as a result: I love tools. It’s not so much that I adore the tools themselves, not in the way I love cars. I don’t spend hours poring over the Screwfix or Machine Mart websites in the way I might the Caterham or Indian motorcycle configurators.

I don’t lovingly polish my trolley jack of an evening [I’ve tried various tools there to find one that doesn’t sound too much like a euphemism]. I just love what tools allow me to do.

Although, given that they’re tools, perhaps by definition that amounts to the same thing. If the feeling is analogous to the one I get from cars, it’s that tools provide a sense of freedom. I can make things, and I’ll enjoy it.

I can repair things, and while I might not enjoy it because it gets in the way of a cup of tea and an episode of Yellowstone, I have options on how, when and perhaps how affordably a fix will happen. And maybe I’ll learn something on the way, too.

And without tools, there are some things I simply wouldn’t have: a greenhouse, a stocked woodshed, a sim rig for Gran Turismo, a dining room table that will outlive me, two modified cars and a motorcycle that lives in a shelter I made for it.

I once saw a sign that said something to the effect that you have to be practical if you aren’t rich, because the other way to create or maintain nice things is to do the work yourself. Pretty cheesy. A sort of ‘live, love, laugh’ for the spiritual shed owner. But I kind of get it. 

Tools have given me countless days skinning knuckles, learning new swear words and undergoing serious self-esteem issues.

But the sense of satisfaction at the end when, finally, something works that didn’t, or something exists that didn’t, is unbeatable.