44 days, 24

There is a square stone in the wall of the bathroom: blue granite, rough. It sticks out a lot and doesn't go with any present or future bathroom design. In short: it must go or, at the very least, it needs to have a drastic shave. I ask the labourers to do it. Despite impressive physiques (a belly IS part of one's physique, isn't it?) and a vast array of tools, they come back shaking their heads: it's impossible! The hardest rock they've ever seen in their lives. I go down to the bathroom. It's full of stone dust and rubble. They've knocked back every stone in that wall except the blue, with the result that now it sticks out even more.

And today I think: no, I don't want to see THAT stone every time I walk into the bathroom. Mocking from the wall, na-na-naaah, I wo-on, etc. There must be a way. I proceed, armed with chisel and hammer.

(Among the lofty thoughts going through my brain at this point: Michelangelo facing huge blocks of marble, with a hammer and chisel; man against nature; it's only a pebble; yesterday I was a teacher, today a sculptor; easy; could be a fresco by the time I'm finished with it; feeling goooood!)

I'm here, blue granite stone in my face. OK, here we go. I give it an experimental swing of the hammer. Nothing happens. Place the chisel strategically, give it a good hit. Sparks fly, but nothing. Now I'm incensed. Try to discern a crack in the stone, place the chisel there. Go in at an angle. Deep breath, focus the strength.

A tremendous blow of the hammer. Success! One sole shard of stone shoots up and straight into my eye.