My thoughts gradually drifted away from the accusation that I was helping someone play God with artistic expression as I made a mental checklist of what, amongst the ransacked junk that was left, I needed to bring from my flat. I thought of all this as being an open-ended working holiday, while simultaneously lying low in case I wasn’t being paranoid. I initially figured it was pure coincidence that I’d been beaten up and burgled within the space of a couple of days, but certain people around me were of the opinion that bad luck comes in threes. Or, if you were a bit more pragmatic about it, there was a pattern developing and its course wasn’t a pleasant one. My companion was pretty persuasive when she wanted to be, but there was also a feeling in my gut that I hadn’t seen the last of it.