Tim Dowling: It's dark and humid - a perfect time for DIY in the garden

Winter falls like a curtain: a day comes when the sun never rises above the roof line of the house, leaving the back garden - and my office shed - in shadow . That same afternoon, clouds appear and a strong wind blows the remaining leaves off the cherry tree, giving me an uninterrupted view of a sky heavy with boiled wool. Then it gets dark.

Walking back to the kitchen at the end of the day, I stumble over a bird feeder lying on its side in the dark. Almost as soon as I regain my balance, I step on a rake. It's not as bad as it could be - the rake is leaning against the house, so the handle only has a short way to go before it hits me in the head - but when I look up, I see that none of our exterior lights are working. Someone I think rubbing my left temple is going to hurt themselves.

The next morning I'm woken up by the front door slamming - my wife has gone somewhere on business, gone before sunrise.

I get down in time to see the tortoise knock over the cat's bowl, then eat the few nuggets of food for cats that spread. All the animals in the house love cat food, except the cat who prefers dog food. The tortoise pushes the bowl aside and starts clawing at the back door.

"It's winter," I say. The turtle won't stop scratching.

"Good," I said. I open the door and put him on the wet grass. Next time I watch, after making coffee, he's gone.

After lunch, the sun rises briefly. When I look across the garden and see the rake still leaning against the house, I decide it would be a good time to replace the bulbs in the two exterior lights. But I'm distracted by an email that needs to be answered, and by the time I climb out the ladder, the sun has set. I'll have to work fast.

The lights, mounted on the back wall on either side of the garden door, are simple overhead lights with glass covers frosted protected by metal cages. As I unscrewed the first cage, tiny raindrops began to land on my glasses.

I go down the ladder, leave the cover of the lamp on the kitchen table and return to the ladder with a new bulb. As I screw it, the wind picks up and it starts to rain harder. I return to the kitchen to activate the switch. Nothing happens. I climb the ladder and wave the bulb: nothing.

I approach the problem logically: if I use the same bulb in the other light and that it works, then I will know the problem comes from the first assembly. The rain is getting heavy. It's not the right time for this chore anymore, but I'm already on my way.

I reposition the ladder, climb to the second light and remove the metal and the cover glass. I replace the bulb with the new one from my pocket. As I give it one last spin, the bulb lights up.

"A-ha!" I say, at the exact moment a gust of wind catches the garden door open, swinging it around until it hits the other light fixture, still uncaged, shattering its exposed interiors into pieces.

< p class="dcr-18sg7f2 ">I score the effort as a draw: one fire repaired, one completely destroyed. Yet I think to myself. How much easier it would have been to just move the rake.

An hour later I'm back in my office when I see my wife in the kitchen at home early. As I walk through the garden, I stumble over the bird feeder in the dark. Looking up, I notice the light I replaced is already off.

"I had the most appalling ride," my wife says as I open the door.

"Did you turn that light off or did it turn itself off?" " I say. My wife looks at me.

"What light?" she said.

"I replaced the bulb about an hour ago," I said.

"Hello, back so early? How was your day?" said my wife – her impersonation of a less attractive version of me. I flip the switch and look out the window.

"There you go!" I say. "He kept going, which proves you turned him off."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she said.

I can see my wife is exhausted from her day and we are talking against the grain. I'm trying to think of something that will save the day and cheer him up.

"I stepped on a rake," I say.

"What?" she said.

"I stepped on a rake, in the dark, and the handle hit me in the head." My wife turns away, but not before she sees the smile tug the corners of her mouth.

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