Paloma, Capuchi and Oscar are in the living room discussing Buddhist philosophy while I try to edit the video of Ira Sachs and Daniel Burman. I arrived last night from Mexico, my body is aching of tiredness, my nose is bleeding and I somehow regret drinking a glass of red wine. Paloma switched the subject and is now talking about mental disorders and how easy you can suddenly loose it and wake-up in “lala-land”. It scares me. The last time Paloma came to visit was almost four years ago when she was in transit from London. We had both experienced panic attacks without knowing how to name them. Sharing our stories made us feel better; I haven't felt one ever since.

My body is still aching; probably I’m getting a cold. A few days ago we were driving the 1959 Karmann along the Chapala Lake Riviera, I was wearing a long silk scarf and sunglasses, feeling like Isadora Duncan but drinking cold Mexican beer and sightseeing small huts selling fried trout and tiny fish called charales.

I found my weekly philosophy from a list of ten banking principles: what is fragile should break early while it is still small. Nothing should ever become too big to fail. (I love the Financial Times)