44 days, 33

Slowly coming back to my life of lists and labour. Ehm, and leisure actually, enforced by Kira who of course lives for it. We go to the park and I watch her and Inês play ping-pong. I love the bamboo hedge at the park – and sit in the shade of the long shoots, eyes half-open in the late sunshine. They sway above me like a vast and gentle fan.

I love it, still I stir a bit uneasy, with more and more nagging thoughts crowding at the back of my mind, rattling the bars. They all start with 'must'. 'Must order paint!', 'Must treat the wooden cabinets for the bathrooms!', 'Must sand some beams!', 'Must plant a million plants!', 'Must wash up a mountain of dishes!', 'Must read with Kira!', 'Must finish the grouting / tiling / cabinet doors / painting, etc'...

Leave me alone for a minute, you horrible, never-ending MUSTS! I know, I know and I know. It feels a bit like a kung-fu film, when the hero is surrounded by lots of lively and lethal adversaries and has to do these incredibly fast moves, turning round and round, to keep them all at bay. How long can he keep it up? Head hurts even at the thought of watching such a film, let alone acting in this dreaded domestic version.

It would be called something like: 'The Curse of the Dried Up Paintbrush', 'Lethal Carpentry – The Battle Begins' or 'The Tile of Terror' – and it would probably have an audience of one, namely a guy I happen to know in Pakistan. Need a clue?