WHAT is it with men and sheds? Henpecked husbands are flocking to the garden shed as a haven from their demanding other halves, according to a survey.

That's nothing new. For decades, blokes have seen sheds as a sanctuary, a place to go and do the sort of things they wouldn't get away with at home.

Like smoking, reading the sports pages for hours on end, and fiddling about with bits of wood.

And, of course, perusing saucy magazines. Ask any woman what men keep in their sheds and they'd be bound to mention those.

More than a quarter of men questioned in the survey, by the DIY chain B&Q confessed to using their shed as a refuge, while a third admitted to visiting it more than the bathroom.

Which brings me on to another male haven: My husband is deprived in not having a shed, but he makes up for this by spending half his life in the bathroom.

I have friends whose partners do the same "What do they do in there?" we ask ourselves. "They look exactly the same when they come out as they did when they went in."

In my husband's case it's even more of a mystery, as he hasn't got more than a couple of cheap male grooming products to his name. It must be those saucy mags again.

One of these days I'll probably need to call the plumber, and discover the pipes blocked with roll upon roll of them, carefully inserted into watertight tubes.

As a male refuge, I have to say, the kitchen does come a close second for my husband.

When he's cooking -- every evening for a good two hours -- I'm not allowed anywhere near it, and even when he's washing up I can sense his irritation when I come in even momentarily.

For us women, the sanctuary has to be the bathroom. A hot bath filled with scented oils, a couple of candles and a locked door.

But unlike men -- who think nothing of retreating to this room for at least half an hour at any time of day -- this is something we can only get away with late at night. Any earlier and we would be summoned either by our partners or children or both, and told to hurry up for some reason or other.

You would imagine that, for women, the bedroom would be another oasis of calm. Sadly, that doesn't include mine.

When I was a little girl I would imagine myself as a woman, sitting on a fluffy pink stool in front of a dressing table littered with expensive perfumes, spending hours combing my hair.

But, in our half-decorated house, the 'master' bedroom resembles the warehouse at Ikea, with boxes and clutter all over the place. The only dressing table in our home belongs to Barbie.

Bizarrely, I see my car as a bit of a haven -- a warm, dry place I can retreat to when my husband's bickering gets too much.

I suppose its my equivalent of a garden shed -- somewhere private, away from home where you can be yourself.

And, as I'm all for equality so my husband has somewhere to go as well, beyond the four walls of our house, I've rented an allotment -- a little plot where he can go to do what men do.

There's no shed -- I want to lose him for a couple of hours a week, not for ever. After all there's a house to maintain, meals to cook and two children to look after.