It’s coming up on a year past the date our house extension was supposed to be finished. A pair of house-sized units have been built in a street nearby within that time, and the tollway tunnel – the multi-billion dollar TUNNEL for freak’s sake – is likely to be completed before our house is done. There’s nothing we can do but put up with this and wait however many years the builder wants to take to finish, or sign off on the job let him keep the money he’s got from us for unfinished work. It’s all very wrong.

Because of the stress and interruptions the book I’m writing is likely to miss its deadline and for the same reasons I’ve not been enjoying the writing process much at all. Which is also so very wrong. I have to keep reminding myself that I love writing, and I’ve never had these writing doldrums before, and that the reason for them is temporary.

To get the quiet, interruption free time to write, I’ve turned the week upside down. Weekends are now writing days, and any day we have no tradies here. Weekdays with tradies are days off. Swapping weekends and weekdays like this also feels wrong. I can hear my neighbours playing with their little daughter in the sunshine and suddenly it’s hard to stay hunched over the computer not enjoying trying to make the book a little less late than it might be.

In comparison, knitting is easy. Achievable. Relatively stress-free. No deadlines. No dust. Nobody ripping us off. No huge bills. Even when I get it wrong, it’s so right. I tell you, if I do finally crack they’ll find me huddled, knitting, in a nest of yarn, probably naked and giggling. And drooling. (Let’s not make the mental image too inviting to my subconscious.)

And the hand pain? Gone. I’m pleased to say a few days rest was all it took.