thebustedknuckleaus

A little over a decade ago we had one of those days which inevitably turned into a very long week, where everything that could go wrong, did go wrong. Threads stripped, drills broke, spanners slipped and last but not least, our knuckles ended up bloodied and busted.  

Frustrated and sore while reaching into the fridge to get a few cold beers to share with a couple of mates that had arrived to investigate my progress, and drown my sorrows, I sarcastically commented that my shed was nothing but a 'busted knuckle garage'.