fingers on fire

I can write three chapters in three weeks, can't I? I mean, it's only about thirty thousand words, right? The only problem is that the other chapters have averaged a month each so far. Hmm, I suppose so long as nobody gets ill, I don't have a social life, and I don't watch any telly at all, I might be able to do it. I feel like  I really ought to put my heroine out of her misery and give her her life back before the summer hols, just worried that I might get a bit stressy in the process.
At the moment, we are due to leave Nepal in about seven weeks. School here finishes in three. Back in Blighty, still no news on house or school places. At least we have found a home for Meena and Mani and Gary and the Landrover.
But I'm not worried. No I'm not, I'm calm and serene and philosophical and taking every day as it comes and really absolutely sure that everything is going to be just fine (when, oh when is the Bach Rescue Remedy going to arrive?)
The only good thing thing is that Hubby won't be bothered at all if I spend all my evenings for the next few weeks hunched over the laptop with my fingertips on fire, because he'll be busy with his new mistress, Jocasta. Jocasta is slim, sleek and a mine of useful information. Oh alright then, she's an HTC tablet (yes, I made up the name, because she may as well be a mistress - between Jocasta and the box set of the Wire, I doubt Hubby even knows I still live here).
Right, well, I guess I should stop banging on to you, get the children to bed, and get on with chapter eleven...