Sitting here in snowy Stratford, doing my best to stop stressing and get on with life.

Marco the painter will start work next week, so I have been preoccupied with planning his access to the walls of the music room. I have to shift six full-height bookcases — and their contents — into the middle of the room. I think the neatest way to accomplish this task is to unload each bookcase onto the work table, move the empty bookcase, then load the books back in. When Marco has finished, I will simply — but not without considerable effort! — reverse the process.

Yes, labour-intensive. But that’s what I have to do if I am to get that room redecorated without spreading stacks of books all over the house, which would take just as much work and make the place unlivable for a week. And no, I’m not prepared to “just get rid of” the books, as many people would advise. Not people who hang out here, I hasten to add.

Barbara the real estate agent will return from her holiday next week. She suggested looking at the house in the first week of February. With any luck, I’ll have the music room back to rights by then.

Meanwhile, my level of anxiety bobs about the threshold of intolerable, which is very distracting.