It is a myth that an Englishman's home is his castle. Even an Englishman's castle is not his castle. Not really. In fact, the DIY industry flourishes because of a pervasive feeling that the pinnacle of architecture is an edifice constructed by oneself, unfettered by blueprints, builders or budget. We report today that a new prize is to be awarded for the smaller gems among the panoply of global buildings. And so, a nation holds its breath and hopes that its shed, its over-garage extension, its patio, lean-to or gazebo, will be the winner. Just in case their own labour of love triumphs, amateur builders should prepare acceptance speeches. Speeches like this:

“Thank you all. This recognition has been a long time in coming, but it's all the sweeter for it. I would commend the judges for realising, at long last, the triumph of rationalist architecture that is my rustic yet functional garden room. Or, as some might call it, my shed. We need not quibble over terminology. Rather, let us celebrate that we agree that no one should need a flying buttress, when these three rakes (you call them rusty, I call them heirlooms), wedged between the structure and the fence, support the eastern side so beautifully. On a soothing Sunday afternoon contemplating seed packets and fiddling with the lawn mower, what water feature could be more relaxing, more Zen, than that bucket of rainwater? The spacehopper abandoned here in 1978 lends the playful insouciance of “found art” to the ambiance, and, with similar serendipity, slipped tiles have become skylights. St Paul's? You can keep it. This award is for everyone whose Wren is at the bottom of their garden.”