1. Alec is up early, unlike his poor old dad. I dress quickly and take him out for breakfast at a cafe that I like very much but normally avoid because it's not baby-appropriate. Since it's so early for a Saturday, we're the only people in. Alec sits on my knee and we share my porridge -- I feed him using the vintage teaspoon from my hot chocolate.
2. There music on the Pantiles this weekend -- Local and Live organised by Paul Dunton, who is like Beau Nash for the 21st century -- and we go along to enjoy the spectacle. We park Alec up in his pushchair and while his attention is elsewhere, do some kissing -- it is a festival, after all.
3. I hear Alec cry, and I go upstairs, meaning to soothe him back to sleep. But he won't go and he won't go and he won't go. So I bring him down and feed him on the sofa in front of the TV. It's bright and noisy, but he settles and relaxes in a way that he couldn't upstairs in the quiet dark, and finally falls asleep.