We shoved a few things into that garage when we first bought this house almost 16 years ago, and then we realised:
1) that the garage was too narrow to conveniently get anything but a really small car into it
2) that it is semi-underground, unwaterproofed, and hence hideously damp
3) that the roof, made of asbestos cement (GREAT CHOICE HOUSEBUILDERS!!!) is not just toxic, but also *not even waterproof* so that whenever it rains, water sifts through the cement and carries a sort of asbestos soup onto anything beneath.
Later, these realisations were joined by another, that something that had been put into the garage was carrying woodworm. And that realisation led to a further one, some time later, that all wooden items in the garage, and the roof beams, and the wooden doorframe, were now absolutely riddled with woodworm.
So the door on the garage was closed, and we tried to forget its existence for, probably, about ten years.
But yesterday, we opened the door. And I entered the garage like the Wrath of God, and I attacked the enormous variety of monstrous arachnids that had taken up residence with all my courage, and a broom.
I broke the broom, but thankfully not until I had driven out the many, many Children of Ungoliant from their refuge. The big brown scuttling ones. The little brown hairy ones. The ones with black shiny bodies marked with strange runes. The big black ones that tried to hide, and the thin spindly ones that fled in all directions waving their legs. The ones that lurked darkly on the ceiling. The THOUSANDS that had taken up residence in the old bathroom cabinet that I had foolishly shoved in there and forgotten about. And all the other ones that I didn't get close enough to to really examine in detail.
And I became richly covered in the vast amount of dust that the woodworm had extracted from the various wooden objects, and spread everywhere, including behind my contact lenses.
But by the end of it all, we had removed everything that was inside, and either bagged it for removal by the binmen, taken it off to the recycling centre, or ( for a very small percentage of the contents, and definitely none of the wooden things) cleaned it thoroughly and stored it somewhere more suitable.
And now the garage is ready for a man to come and knock it down, so that we will NEVER EVER have to think about the garage again, except in the context of a defeated foe, and more to the point, will never again have to clean the inside of it.
Note to self: buy new broom.