I'm sitting amongst a mess of stones, old birds' nests, and rubble. Hovering above me is a wide cloud of dust. A cyclone of bluestone and sandstone lay around our feet. As my fingers tap the keyboard, they find all the dust - as fine as chalk - settling around me, and I'm breathing in a smell of something that was cooked in the fireplace circa 1856.
But wait... I can hear the ocean.
The renovation of our beach cottage has commenced.