Escape, tulips and samosa.

1. This morning, I'm piling into a car with friends to escape into the Weald, where we will visit a garden planted with 45,000 tulips.

2. Slender white 'Triumphator' tulips still carrying drops from the shower we have just missed.

3. Nick and I split a samosa from the corner shop across the park -- they really are very good, but have to be an occasional treat because fried pastry is not a key food group in middle age. The children have one each because they're growing almost faster than we can feed them.

Done, moon and Irish fairy tales.

1. A meeting that is over by 9.30am.

2. A big full moon is stuck on next door's chimney pots.

3. By my bed is a large and comforting book of Irish fairy tales that I can use to read myself into sleep. The last two stories involved heroes whose values or physical needs clashed with their quest so they failed -- but one got more chances; and the other was forgiven entirely.

Eggshell, turkey oak and grateful.

1. Smacking a hardboiled egg to break the shell.

2. Pale green leaves on the huge oak tree at the corner of The Grove.

3. There is nothing quite like hearing about the history of diseases to make you feel grateful for living in the twenty-first century. I'm listening to Crypt by Dr Alice Roberts, and I've reached the chapter on leprosy.

Filler, thirsty and in the north.

1. Smearing a bit of filler into the holes in Alec's bedroom wall where we've taken out screws and fixings. We're summoning the energy to redecorate, so I thought I might as well do the filling.

2. I only realise when I have a cup of tea in my hands how thirsty I am. 

3. The wind has been in the north for a few days, and that side of the house is noticeably cooler. I'm glad I can escape into the warmer rooms on the south west side.

Morning, errands and entertainment.

1. I murmur an acknowledging greeting to a passing bin man.

He is a well brought-up African and replies with eye contact and a warm 'Good morning. How are you?'

I then have to respond with information about my wellness, and a polite inquiry about his. For me as a well brought-up woman from south east England, this is terribly awkward; but I value the disruption and  I appreciate the warmth.

2. A new tube of toothpaste and a birthday card -- these are not difficult errands. 

3. I discover that Is it Cake? is a real thing, not just invented for a gag on Ghosts. I only know this because my husband and daughter are fans.

3b. The episode of Successville in which Martin Kemp gets so confused that he forgets his own name will never, ever get old.

In the pond, spotted leaves and better kind of chocolate spread.

1. No tadpoles that I can see -- but something flips in the water just beyond my field of focus.

2. I take the muddy path so I can check on the orchids -- their spotted leaves are present among fine new grass blades.

3. Nick has bought the better kind of chocolate spread -- the one with loads of hazelnuts in it.

Before, filler and in the recycling.

1. Getting back just before the rain.

2. Smearing filler into wall holes.

3. We have had a collection of empty Prime bottles for a while now because when this influencer-powered energy drink first came out, the children were sure they would be valuable one day. But now thinking has changed, and I get permission to put the lot in the recycling.

Coffee, just passing and flowers on the bank.

1. Unexpectedly, a chance for a coffee and a gossip. Our slower times have converged again.

2. I make a short (and rapid so I'm not noticed) diversion through the park and to see Bettany and friends playing on the swings.

3. In my absence, the bank has become covered in spring flowers -- violets, primroses in various shades of yellow and ochre, and anemones, and even some early bluebells.

Squirrel, spring flowers and tracks.

1. Squirrel! Little skinny thing with a bottle brush of a tail crossing the snow to a twisted latch.

2. Where the snow was yesterday, among the bruised winter grass are yellow genapy flowers and white anemones and others that I don't know. 

3. Up high where there's nothing but snow, rabbit tracks.

Weather, translation and acoustics.

1. Today the ski instructors are wearing greatcoats against the falling snow.

2. At the food market, an English man without much French explains to the cashier that he is leaving tonight and that he is grateful for all her help.

2b. We go home a rather long way, despite the rain, wandering among the chalets. I catch the scents of wood smoke and of goats.

3. There is a spot from where, by some quirk of mountain acoustics, I can hear the piste bashers working far above us and over the valley.

Falling, icicles and sleepy song.

1. To look up and see snowflakes falling from a blue sky.

2. Among the dark pine branches icicles shine, thawing and freezing, thawing and freezing.

3. My niece tells me about sleepily listening to my sister sing 'Feed the birds, feed the bag, tuppence a bird.'

Dusting of snow, familiar face and tracks.

 1. Waking up to a dusting of snow down in the village -- just enough to brighten the drab winter grass and the pines up the mountain.

2. To find that the children have the same instructor as last year and that he remembers us. 

3. We take the passage facile, still covered in powder snow, cut only by pair of ski tracks.

Book treasure, worn and speaker.

1. Finding treasure in the Oxfam bookshop. I only popped in to look for a card.

2. Bettany doesn't wear makeup out and about, but nonetheless her palettes are worn to holes from practice, practice, practice.

3. The change in sound quality when Nick switches on the Bluetooth speaker.

Poached egg, acer and bramble.

1. Carefully opening my poached egg so the yolk runs on to the toast.

2. The acer tree -- lime green edged with crimson.

3. Bramble shoots, tender green, point straight up at the changeable sky.

Due, birthday cards and just a trial.

1. We're due a delivery... but are we really? I haven't had any of the promised notifications and I can't find it on my account. I've got so much to do, and I don't want to be chasing through an automated contact system or waiting for a phone call. To hand the emails and reference numbers over to Nick and let him deal with it. 

2.  In my family at this time of year, it's reasonable to buy birthday cards in bulk and do a mass mailout. I stack them up and hand them over to Bettany with her special pens.

3. A horse chestnut tree essays a just few new leaves -- testing the air with languid green fingers.

Grape hyacinths, snake's head and chimes.

1. On this road, it seems as if intense blue grape hyacinths have forced their way out of every crack.

2. Under a garden hedge, the basket-weave bells of snake's head fritillaries.

3. We keep hearing the chimes of the ice cream van, sometimes near, sometimes far in the serpentine suburban ways and parks and avenues and drives. Our paths never cross, though. So we go home the long way to pass a shop with a freezer and we get something for Alec, too.

Mary Oliver, cowslip and kulfi.

1. To have a slim blue Mary Oliver book.

2. On the bank by the road, one cowslip, rather dazed. 

3. Remembering that there is a kulfi lolly in the freezer.

Forsythia, twos and on telly.

1. The yellow stars are working their way along the forsythia hedge.

2. Two magpies playing in a puddle. Two squirrels chasing round a sycamore. Two rabbits with orange fur on the backs of their necks.

3. We are giving Zena Warrior Princess a try, Bettany and me, cuddled up on the sofa to watch fantasy wars fought across Iron Age Greece.

Gift plants, hospital pyjamas and no charisma.

1. Plants which were gifts months ago have bloomed -- a paperwhite narcissus and pale yellow wallflowers. Both are scented if you care to bend down and try.

2. The bus picks up a man wearing hospital pyjamas. The driver knows him and spends the entire journey encouraging him to keep on with the work of turning his life around. As he gets off, he calls, 'No surrendah, big man!' and the driver agrees: 'I like the sound of that.'

3. Tim brings out some miniatures to represent our characters in his new game. The dice gave me an elf magic user with low charisma, and I'd imagined a scruffy, ill-favoured sort with rather rigid morals. But Tim finds a looming, creepy figure with an unhealthy pale face and an eerie white cloak. He looks like he has spent too long over his books in poor lighting, and perhaps made some bad bargains with unholy entities.

Box of books, lighter coat and child asleep.

1. There is a heavy box of new books waiting on the stairs.

2.  There's a warmth to the air that makes me wonder if I should have put on a lighter coat. 

3. There's a child asleep on my bed as I am working this evening. 

Bud vase, tomato and the poem I needed to hear.

1. Among the faded cut daffodils that I'm putting on the compost heap there is one that will do for another day in a bud vase.

2. For the burger that Alec has cooked me, slices of tomato with the seeds discarded.

3. Tonight, I hear a poem that I really needed to hear, in which the teenagers in someone else's house sleep long and deep, just like my son.

Puzzles, tea time and the new rug.

1. This morning, while we are still lying in bed waiting for the bathroom to come free, I share my morning New York Times puzzles with Bettany.

2. At tea time, a dark chocolate biscuit and hot mug appear at my elbow.

3.  I'm still enjoying the give of the new rug under my feet.

Using up that cauliflower, sunset and a bit of a moon.

1. For lunch, there is a particularly good cauliflower and chickpea curry that Nick has made.

2. On my way over the common, I come across the place where people dawdle so they can watch the sunset tangling in the trees to the west. I stop for a moment, too.

3. High above us is a bit of a moon, veiled in the mist.

Avocado, in the rain and supper smells.

1. I didn't expect this: the avocado is perfectly ripe.

2. The world runs with water today -- all about me in the woods, there is movement.

3. I come downstairs before Nick calls supper because the spicy scents are so enticing, and I'm curious to see what he's making.

Locked away, milkshake and last stitch.

1. Halfway through the afternoon, I spot the builder carrying his power saw across the car park so he can lock it away in his truck.

2. Making a milkshake for Alec when he comes in from school.

3. Pulling the cut yarn through the final knitted stitch.

Pinks, robin and not dead.

1. Waiting for me at breakfast is a pot of pinks, just perfect for the front garden.

2. Later in the day, Alec produces a card he has made for me -- a drawing of a robin in oil pastels, made from a photo he took on a day out we had together in the autumn.

3. I go to take out a dead fern to make room for my pinks, but find close to the soil, tight furled fronds, waiting for next week, or the week after.

Wallflowers, birdseed and tinkering.

1. I have been waiting since before Christmas, recently without much hope, for my wallflowers to bloom. And now there are bobbly little buds in the rosettes of leaves at the top of the stems.

2. At coffee time, Nick throws a cup of seed out for the birds.

3. Last thing at night I go in to check on Alec and find him tinkering with the poem he is writing for his English homework.

Stars, move on and late.

1. It's just handful of the very brightest celestial bodies scattered across a smeary sky -- but after weeks of flat orange night cloud, they seem quite precious.

2. Sarah Millican makes a particularly earthy observation and comments about our response, 'That was a move-on laugh.' 

3. I have a piece of gravel in my hand when Alec, in his dressing gown, unbolts the front door.

Apple, end and almanac.

1. The trick of slopping bottled lemon juice over apple slices to stop them browning.

2. In the hedge, withered sloes. Winter will end soon.

3. A few days late -- but we make time to look over the almanac for the month to see what to look out for in the sky and in the garden this month.

Phone, Sunday walk and new rug.

1. A leisurely chat on the phone.

2. On a sunny afternoon at the end of winter to walk around the market picking out cakes for tea.

3. Now, at last, I have time to roll up the old worn rug in the front room and put down a new one. The room immediately feels tidier and brighter and more intended.

At the table, night at the theatre and part way home.

1. We've had to hurry a bit because our train was delayed -- the relief of seeing our friends at the cafe table.

2. Sitting high up in the Barbican theatre to watch the magical production of My Neighbour Totoro. It has the gentle feeling on the original, and the sense of a modern world overlaid on a very, very old and mysterious world.

3. We took a gamble and jumped on a train that was going part of way, rather than wait for the very delayed and probably extremely crowded service that was going all the way home. Now we are standing on a cold platform at close to midnight, I have my doubts. But then connecting train -- the one we should have caught -- arrives. There are almost no seats, even this far down the line, and the air is a fuggy mess of beer and frustration. I feel like we made the right choice.

Dawn early, self-care and last of the sunset.

1. When the alarm goes, it's daylight, and my phone has turned off the blue light filter.

2. Early on, Bettany told me she hadn't slept well and asked if she could walk with me. I had to tell her that I've got meetings all day, so I won't have time to walk. But the call ends just before darkness falls, and we get out quickly before supper and walk around the park.

3. From the top of the park, I can view the last streaks and washes of the sunset.

Grape hyacinths, there he is and buttered.

1. Spotting the waxy blue tops of grape hyacinths among the tiny daffodils in my tiny back garden. They are a very welcome sight.

2. Before Nick even gets home, I can see him in social media coverage of the wargaming event he's at.

3. Alec puts butter and honey on a crumpet for me. Then he makes hot honey and lemon for Nick, who is still suffering with that cough. 

Late home, warming up and Letters from a Long Marriage.

1. A polite message from Alec to say that he may be late home from school because he is exploring with a friend.

2. When I come downstairs to the kitchen for my teatime break, I find two damp boys drinking cocoa and eating banana bread.

3. Last thing at night, when I'm always ready to wind down with some lightweight entertainment, discovering that a new series of Letters from a Long Marriage has dropped.

Interview, gloves and pancakes.

1. Interviewing tasks have been just outside my comfort zone, even when I was doing two or three a week. But now today's is done, and I have a recording that I can draw on for the article.

2. There's an edge to the air, and I do not regret picking up my gloves as I left the house.

3. For supper, everyone has a go at making savoury pancakes. They are delicious with ham and slices of Emmental.

Banana bread, knitting and from the fridge.

1. Through the magic of baking, we swap a backlog of rapidly ripening bananas for two loaves of banana bread.

2. When your child asks for a thing that is easy to agree to. We sit side by side knitting and half listening to YouTube commentary about Stardew Valley.

3. Alec spends some time confessing to the things he ate from the fridge when he felt hungry overnight. 'I opened that smoked salmon. And I had some of the pasta, which was delicious. And some cottage cheese, which I didn't like.'

Rise, black tea pirates and gelatinous.

1. Coming to the end of the uphill section of my walk.

2. Rumours suggest that there is a shortage of black tea. One proposed reason is pirates in the Red Sea, which seems like something from history. I expect the reality is more along the lines of new sources speculating about a bad season in the tea gardens have caused shoppers to buy more than usual, which has amplified supply chain issues. Anyway, Nick has managed to get a box of tea, so we'll be okay for a while. 

3. I think the GM is miffed that we dispatch his boss enemy with a single (rather enhanced) shot, but it does splatter everywhere in a very satisfying gelatinous manner, and we're pleased with our haul of experience points.

Bench in the sun, afternoon up town and westering sun.

1. The dentist was mostly pleased with us so we walk across the common to the coffee van for hot drinks. We have them seated on a bench in the sun on what is probably the only fine day of half term.

2. Alec and I have a poke around in Waterstones, and then we buy a cake for tea. He picks one that he thinks Bettany will enjoy decorating.

3. We take the long way home to enjoy the 4pm sun on the sandstone houses.

Late, early spring flowers and winter scented.

1. I wake late and only when Bettany gets into bed beside me. We already have in the house one teenager keen to protect his space. So I try to be present for all these moments when Bettany wants me.

2. Today my snowdrops are properly out; and in another pot, deep purple crocuses stand tall, waiting for a their moment to open.

3. At this time of year, scented things with unseen flowers lie in wait on the cold street corners 

Longer walk, the find and herbal tea.

1. There is time today for a longer walk than usual. I've set out early, and I've got a quiet day ahead.

2. I vacuum the sofa and find 20p.

3. Nick comments that he is starting to get used to the taste of the herbal tea I am making him drink for his cold.

Not fade away, sheet music and Christmas chocolate.

1. There is a wild grass on the common that died and dried at the end of the summer. It is still standing in this season of faded greys and duns and drabs, shining bright as sunlight.

2. For Christmas, I got Alec access to a digital sheet music website so he can download any songs he fancies trying to play. It suddenly occurs to me that I, too, can use it. And within five minutes I'm picking out Peter Maxwell Davies' Farewell to Stromness.

3. Nick halves the last of the crazy expensive chocolate he bought me for Christmas and we eat it very slowly.

Startle, Traitors and art book.

1. I go to wake Alec and he does a startley thing that I recognise from when he was a baby.

2. Bettany complains that everyone at school is playing Traitors and that she feels left out because she hasn't seen it. I tell her that in my meeting people were saying how entertaining it is and I felt a bit sad that I couldn't join in the conversation. So we agree to watch half an episode a night.

3. I still have an art book from Christmas that I haven't looked at yet. So as I have a spare evening, I spend it enjoying the pictures.

Speaking up , through the woods and frozen raspberries.

1. Sitting in the school hall and feeling quietly proud at my child's clear, firm voice.

2. To walk home across the common rather than along the road.

3. A chocolate tart with plenty of raspberries.

Shaking tails, chocolate bombe and practice.

1. In the bushes to the side of the path, I catch movement. First one wren then a second shake their stubby tails at us.

2. It never gets old, seeing the waiter pour hot chocolate sauce over Bettany's favourite dessert. And I like getting a taste of the chocolate mousse hidden beneath.

3. At last -- right at the very end of the day -- I can sit down and listen to Alec's music practice.

Coming up, saved and task completed.

1. To find snowdrops shouldering their way to the surface in one of my containers.

2. A few of the daisy leaves have frost scorched tips, but right down in the centre of the rosettes there are tight fists of flower buds.

3. ...and that's my tax return done.

Poached egg, early and difficult episodes.

1. My poached egg comes out neat and complete in the slotted spoon.

2. I'm not feeling great -- so I send myself home at 4pm. 

3. We're down to the last few episodes of Gravity Falls -- the ones that make Bettany feel frightened or embarrassed for the characters. We watch them, though, because they're great episodes. We can hide under the blanket when it gets scary, and we can safely see how people might handle risky conversations and awkward social situations.

Fierce, citrus and reading.

1. A robin on the path, his chest a fierce bright, bright scarlet among the duns and tired greens of the winter woods.

2. The fruit bowl is full of blood oranges, which I look forward to every year because nothing tastes quite like them, and there are Seville oranges in the shops, so we could -- if we felt like it -- make marmalade.

3. At the end of the day, there's a new Fortean Times waiting for me.

Getting ready, playing for real and sleep track.

1. There's a storm coming in the middle of the day, and though it's grey, drizzly and Sunday, the park is busy with urgent people exercising dogs and toddlers and themselves so they can bear twelve hours confined.

2. I am playing for real and Bettany wins.

3. For Christmas, I asked for and received a set of headphones in a stretchy band that is much more comfortable for sleeping than over-ear or in-ear arrangements. Tonight, I'm very pleased to block out the noise of the storm with a long and serene hypnosis track.

In the sun, staying warm and extended.

1. Where I wait to cross the road I can see the woods at the top of the bank. On the leaf litter, two pigeons rest in the sun.

2. At coffee time, Nick suggests I sit on the other side of the table to take advantage of the winter sun's warmth.

3. I miss the moment the sun goes under the horizon -- but the sky is stained pink to orange to blue for at least twenty minutes after.

Lunch without the children, paperbacks and video call.

1. At lunch, we look in the fridge and find leftover pasta, and some mince, and some mushrooms (which the children hate). Pasta always tastes better when reheated -- and I've seen somewhere a research paper that suggests it's more nutritious, too.

2. To drop some books off at Oxfam, and to treat myself to a couple of paperbacks, which will go straight back there when I've finished with them.

3. I still occasionally startle at the miracle of getting a client on a video call to go through some edits.

Shorts, catching the light and frozen city.

1. The bus driver exclaims as we pass a man in shorts. 'How can he do it? Is he proud of his legs?'

2. To cheer up a very cold week, Bettany and I hang a few ice decorations on a tree in the garden. They sparkle in the last of the daylight, and then later, in the glow of the street lamps.

3. At games night we push further and further into the frozen city we've been exploring, finding an unexpected ally and many, many zombies. 

Tongue, bargain and photos.

1. He is watching me with a little pink tongue tip poking out.

2. In a charity shop -- for a Sunday, busy and alive with customers and volunteers -- two blue and white bowls of the kind we use a lot, £1 each.

3. The photos of the day out at Hastings Aquarium come home before Nick and Bettany do.

Yellow light, last run out and wind down.

1. I wasn't expecting any sort of sun set because grey cloud has been lying over most of the afternoon -- but on the horizon, there's flash of pale yellow light.

2. While I'm going round the park at nightfall, I cross paths with a mother jogging. Her small boy is on a scooter with light-up wheels. 

3. It's been a long working day, but now I'm lying in bed with a very innocuous radio comedy.

Cracking ice, passing through and process.

1. Cracking the ice on a puddle, and crunching across mud that is crusted with ice.

2. A robin glares at me as I pass through his territory.

3. Listening to musicians talking hesitantly about their process and getting a sense of the faith that goes into any act of creation.

Snow, sun on my face and new shirt.

1. Most leaves are cupping snow.

2. The sun in my face as I turn the corner.

3. Nick comes home with a new padded flannel lumberjack shirt, and he is very pleased with it. It makes me think of the grungy boys at my school who were not allowed to wear flannel shirts over their blazers instead of coats.

Going out, socks and apricots.

1. I did not particularly want to walk out this morning -- but here I am, and it's cold and there's wet snow in my face, but it is unusual, and it's fun to see people's faces scrunched against the cold, and to see school boys without coats hurrying to the shops for their breaktime snack.

2. My friends take great pleasure in comparing their socks -- bees and seagulls, both on an eau de nil ground. I'm disappointed that I put on plain black socks that do not spoil the line of my plain black tights and plain black slippers.

3. Tinned apricots with a few amaretto biscuits left over from Christmas.

Soother, white space and blankets on the sofa.

1. Showing Alec how to make hot lemon and honey.

2. After the decorations are put away, an empty shelf.

3. We draw the blanket around ourselves against the cold from the open door.

Drama, lichen and wash.

1. I find myself laughing out loud at the melodrama as the voice actors depict a violent, gory scene -- but later, the implications of the rescue party's impossible, hopeless situation slips me into the narrative's emotional groove.

2. The recent storms have shaken down broken twigs covered with lichen from the trees. I like the creeping scales and the pallid greenish grey and greyish blues tendrils reaching for the world, so I pick up a few and bring them home.

3. The rain has washed much of the mud off my waterproof trousers.

Hallo moon, pair of biscuits and myth atlas.

1. It's before dawn when we open the blind, and a half moon is looking back at us.

2. At coffee time, I find a pair of Fox's chocolate ring biscuits in the bottom of the tin. One for each of us.

3. Bettany brings her myth atlas upstairs and we spend half an hour reading about Yoruba creation myths and Polynesian volcano goddesses.

Nest, coffee and out of the wind.

1. Nick has made Bettany a nest of red blankets on the sofa where she can rest and get well.

2. We dart through the pouring rain to Caffe Nero for our morning break. 

3. The wind in the park buffets me roughly. So I take my walk away down narrow paths and along the valley.

Walk, mud and fossil.

1. Today, Alec would like to walk with me.

2. To brush mud off my waterproof trousers so the dust blows away across the garden.

3. We watch David Attenborough telling the story of how fossil hunters dug the skull of a pliosaur out of a cliff. It is a study in natural history at is most joyful; but also in British people repressing their emotions. Everyone controls their excitement to a dignified, scholarly level; and at one point fossil collector Steve Etches releases himself from his colleagues' ecstatic celebratory hug with a, 'Now, now, none of that.'