Recently my laptop was contaminated with a virus and now it seems that there are hidden organisms slowly taking over all life in the house as well.. No wonder I had a flu and all sorts of oto-rhino-laryngal problems about 26 times last winter. I know from my previous doctor, who is Kongolese and specialized in sports medecine, that there are all sorts of fungi around us all the time and only the more vulnerable of us create a more intimate relationship with them. In my case the fungi had neatly settled between my toes and because I had most likely got it from the same gym in which my doctor too was a member, he was not able to hide his disgust very well. When I wanted to show him my athlete’s foot he quickly shouted no! no! no! and took a book from the shelve and showed me pictures of other victims that the medicine had catalogued. I pointed out from the book which one of the fungi in impressive colours looked closest to what I had – and got a prescription. In a week’s time the thing was beaten.

But what is the medicine against mold in the house? There are hundreds if not thousands of discussion groups and help forums on the topic. I almost forgot that my sister – who lives 3000 kms further North - has herself trained her dogs to professionally sniff dangerous humidity and fungi in buildings. Well, there is no longer need for fungologist dogs or any other specialists – the evidence is in front of you and our remedy against it is to move house, the packing starts tomorrow.

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At the age of 25 to 30 I think at times I was somewhat frustrated with the fact that when I had to look for a job, I had to squeeze my CV to look like an orderly cronological presentation of achievements and important events. My life certainly had not followed any linear pattern – and still doesn’t - and ever since the secondary school I had done many things simultaneously and in no particular order. Trying this and that job and being undecided whether to study or not was not good marketing in job interviews and the strange gaps in the chronology of my past always required further explanations to anyone who wanted to see a personal history in neat lumps.

I have no other explanation for this than perhaps my being subconsciously influenced by and drawn to actions that can be defined better by Kairos, at the expense of Kronos. The former is a non-time that absorbs you, a dimension in which you can experience your passion for something. The latter then is left-brained and analytical, ordinary time that is measured by clocks and calendars and builds on schedules.

Kairos was the Greek god of the “fleeting moment”, an opportunity offered to anyone who was able to see him and grasp him “by the forelock”. Lysippos carved Kairos in bronze with the following  epigram by Poseidippos:

“Who and whence was the sculptor?  – From Sikyon.

And his name?  – Lysippos.

And who are you?  – Time who subdues all things.

Why do you stand on tip-toe?  – I am ever running.

And why you have a pair of wings on your feet?  – I fly with the wind.

And why do you hold a razor in your right hand?  – As a sign to men that I am sharper than any sharp edge.

And why does your hair hang over your face?  – For him who meets me to take me by the forelock.

And why, in Heaven’s name, is the back of your head bald?  – Because none whom I have once raced by on my winged feet will now, though he wishes it sore, take hold of me from behind.

Why did the artist fashion you?  – For your sake, stranger, and he set me up in the porch as a lesson”.