The first time we revisit England after moving to Ireland, we get stuck in weekend traffic going west out of London.

Last summer in Lefkada, I took a photograph of a pair of window shutters; double-panel, hardwood, painted palest sunbleached olive.

Aida Austin illustrates how unpredictable and yet comical travelling can be once the plans are out of your hands.

Monday morning and I’m at home, returning a Whatsapp call from my mother that kept dropping earlier this morning.

10am Saturday. I’m about to wake my husband in order to put to him my plans for the day. Best to do this with fresh coffee; I’m expecting an oppositional response.

8pm. My brother and mother are flying from London to see our new home tomorrow. I’m Whatsapping them photographic evidence of refurbishments to set their minds at rest.

8pm. My husband and I are running inexcusably late for a dinner party; he’s half-in, half-out of a pair of crumpled trousers in one bedroom, while I’m half-in, half-out of a barely-worn pair in another.

London. 4 pm. I’m on my way to meet James, the man I lived with before I met my husband.

I am in my London sister’s flat, on my best behaviour after doing handstands in her bedroom.

I am in the Victoria and Albert museum with my brother who is just back from Kabul.