The last of the apartment walls that need to be removed is a pile of rubble, opening the apartment onto the new terrace above the garage. The tiling has started and the kitchen extension is sorted. We visited our cupboards, which are still shells. The craftsmanship, remarkable. Unlikely that they will be ready when we move in the middle of Oct.

A small painting of the Forest. Escapist as the daunting 1.7 m canvas I ordered confronts me each time I walk down the stairs. No idea what I will use it for and I feel a bit like Michelangelo starring at a block of marble waiting for the figure to emerge. “The best artist has that thought alone which is contained within the marble shell; The sculptor’s hand can only break the spell to free the figures slumbering in the stone.”

I stumbled across the work of the American Impressionist artist, John Henry Twachman, which so breathtaking. His seascapes feel as though they have the key elements of what I have been trying to capture in my paintings. His wildflowers, stunning works.

Storm tossed surf breaking at the Heads. Salt laden air. Roads flooded. Fireplaces, red wine and wet dogs. I did manage to break another of our few picnic Riedel glasses. Not clever, but no blood.

Awake in the early hours, something I can’t even blame on the red wine monsters. Being the driver, saved me from compounding the overindulgence the previous evening at Mario’s. In all fairness, the additional wine was a result of the salt grinder top breaking (not me this time) over Craig’s meal and he had to wait for a new dish to be prepared. Terry drove us home.

‘Beacon’, oil on canvas 60cmx90cm. Sunset from the Heads. The beacon that marks the entrance for ships. Phosphorus waves lapping at the beach.