‘I looked around and lit a cigarette on a parking meter….it was a normal kinda day’.

(Bob Dylan Talking World War Three Blues, 1961)

This morning I rose at 6.45 and painted a small wardrobe and an even smaller cupboard in my newly-liberated bedroom. Then I took a shower and went outside to move some covered wood to a place where it wouldn’t be in the way. This wood – well-seasoned – is destined to become the work-surfaces of my equally newly liberated kitchen.

Then I drove over to a supermarket to bung 4kg of dirty washing into the laundromat, before heading for the nearest builders’ merchant to buy masking tape and metal paint for the two Polish guys working like Trojans to plaster, paint and generally transform the interior here. I’d just finished hanging out the washing when I got back, and then Marcus turned up with his digger to ask where I wanted the soil level at the back of the house to be, and at what level.

Christian the Polish plumber was meanwhile attacking the new range cooker unit with a view to attaching it to the gas citerne, while his plastering partner Daniel wanted to know what wood he could use to create a platform across the oak staircase in order to plasterboard the sloping ceiling above it.

I connected to the internet and posted about odd goings-on involving the NSPCC and Home Office ‘paedophile’ enquiries, following which I tackled the steps up to the pool with special anti-weed covers before sieving the stone pebbles to be placed on top of the covers. I ate a banana, felt tired, and went upstairs for a siesta.

I awoke to find that the oven’s gas connection wasn’t the correct size, and wood primer was needed for three beams upstairs….so I went to the DIY store and came back with the spoils. The paint was fine, but the gas connection needed a supply regulator.

It looked like rain, so I dashed outside to bring in all the washing. My mobile rang to say the US radio station I was due to broadcast to on the subject of Paedophile UK couldn’t establish a Skype connection, so we’d have to use my mobile phone. Considering the technology shotgun-weddings required, the result was amazingly good.

I then phoned a central European number and spoke for two hours about how to create financial stimulus for small creative businesses. I ate a bacon and avocado sandwich and posted the above. Now I’m off up the spiral staircase to pick my way carefully through painted furniture to bed.

It was a normal kinda day.