A not-so-old adage runs that when life gives you lemons, make lemonade.

I might venture at this point that when Iceland gives you volcanic ash, make sandcastles, for I shall be remaining in Tunisia for the foreseeable future as all flights have been cancelled.

Ordinarily, this is exactly the situation I would envy of others: toiling in my mist-ensconced office, I would glare at their Facebook status and turn varying shades of green.

Oddly, despite the incredible delightfulness that surrounds, I am heedless to the cajoling heckles of “extended holidays!” and instead beset by the familiar guilty gnawing of “but… deadlines… no books! Argh!”.

I am not sure which is more terrifying: going a week without work or the dwindling pages of Frankenstein – an utterly delightful holiday read – that draw one inexorably closer to curly-paged hotel copies of Mills & Boon.

I knew I should have braved the baggage limit and accompanied Shelley with Chekhov and Turgenev.

Otherwise, the sun is beaming relentlessly and my consumption of brik has been curtailed for fear of no longer fitting into jeans once home.

I shall construct a makeshift office, thank the God of Technology for Google Docs and that heavenly Goliath that is WiFi and plod on.

Today: sun, swimming, archery, and perhaps some work.

Of course, I would be loathe to leave – I just wish I had come more prepared.