Aren’t words funny?!

Take ‘shed’ for example.

I have a shed in my garden at home. It’s about 8 feet square, made of wood, and full of assorted junk and boxes that are gradually going mouldy because of the damp air.

That’s what a shed is. The last refuge for hen-pecked husbands, if you believe the sitcoms. A place for a man to tinker, dawdle, and generally get away from the other half or whoever else might be causing grief in the house (again, if you believe the sitcoms). Or to build a home-made rocket, do wood turning or create a time machine, if you’re the creative type.

But the absolutely huge Victorian canopied area at St Pancras Station is also a shed. The Barlow Train Shed, to be precise.

When it was built, in 1867, it was the largest single-span structure in the world, with a width of 245 ft 6 inches and a length of 689 feet.

You could build a Saturn V rocket and a half in that shed.

Or invite all the hen-pecked husbands round from an entire city to join you for a chin wag and mutual commiseration session and still have room to spare.

I’m sorry, but why is that a shed?