Olga had a wee accident with the stovetop: a pot boiled over and put out the gas flame, and she didn’t notice for a few minutes so the kitchen started smelling suspiciously gassy. We opened a window up wide to let it out.

That’s what some idiots in the park outside decided to take advantage of. They hurled an egg through the open window, so that it smashed against the wall and ceiling. Then they ran off.

We were lucky: the egg hit the ceiling above the bookcase, not the bookcase. It dripped down the wall behind the bookcase, but not onto the books. It just clipped my beautiful Book of Kells, but only one edge of the cover got eggy and nothing made its way into the pages.

Still, after taking all the books off the shelves and wiping up behind them, picking up the bits of eggshell and mopping the carpet, the apartment smells distinctly eggy. Tomorrow will be worse, I presume.