44 days, 13

If you have a profession, you spend most of your time doing the things largely associated with that profession. Those things, be they one or four or four dozen, become etched on your mind and muscles, and – if you're very lucky – your soul. You may occasionally get to do one or two other things, known as hobbies. The end.

Why was I thinking of that today? I was standing on a table, plastering a ceiling. A dull but enduring agony was flaring up in the back of my neck and then, in that awkward moment, trying to avoid blobs of falling plaster I thought: wow, I'm doing SO many things I never even knew EXISTED before... OK, nobody pays me for it, they take up a whole load of time, often they hurt, or go wrong, or both, and just when I've figured them out there's no more to do and they fall back into non-existence because, let's face it, I don't plan to renovate another old farmhouse. BUT the question remains: will doing all this change or improve me?

Maybe, but perhaps not today. Today the sum total of my considerable efforts was this: I stumbled, while carrying heavy objects, against every possible piece of wood or sack of lime or spare boot that happened in my trajectory. I produced four superb lines of plaster along the joints in the ceiling. I made a bamboo frame for the broad beans and stuck some sticks into the ground to help the peas climb. All these things (minus the stumbling) are 'first time ever'-s. The main accomplishment remains staying in one piece (despite the stumbling), but let's be fair: these activities may, just may, have improved my biceps (infinitesimally) and balance (especially the stumbling).

I certainly hope they've improved the broad beans.