For later, barbecue and little dog.

1. There is a cheesecake in the fridge for later.

2. I can smell various things being used as kindling, and then charcoal smoke, and then supper cooking.

3. A little dog under the table licks my knee.

Up and out, ice lollies and barbecue.

1. Being the first one up and out of the house.

2. It's hot, and later Sainsbury's will bring some ice lollies.

3. Nick announces that he's going to buy a barbecue (Bettany has told him we need one). I walk out with him for the company and to supervise. And because I want to have a poke around in Le Petit Jardin.

Small worlds, cheering and upstairs.

1. No matter what is happening in the  news, I can always slip away to the shrunken, petty world of Tilling, or listen to Stephen Fry recounting Bertie Wooster's problems. High stakes for them, low stakes for me. 

2. I can hear Nick and Bettany cheering something to do with the Olympics.

3. Quite late, while we're listening to the radio, each child comes upstairs to sit with us.

Last time, tea and no trouble.

1. To applause and a bit of music, Year 6 come out of school for the last time.

2. Bringing a cup of tea and a biscuit up to my desk.

3. The way my troubles melt away as games night begins. My character's troubles -- not so much. We've drawn the attention of an eldritch horror; and to get the Romani to advise us on dealing with said eldritch horror, we had to give them our client's farm. I had to roleplay right up to eleven to get us through that awkward phone call.

Self-heal, swans and willows.

1. Where the grass has worn away, purple self-heal flowers have filled the space.

2. We spend a while watching swans and their six grey cygnets upending themselves in the lake.

3. Through the fine rain, the silver/green flicker of willow leaves.

On the way, squash and plausible.

1. Remembering that a supermarket order is coming, with all the ice lollies.

2. On a hot day, a long drink of orange and ginger squash from one of Nana's summer-coloured tumblers. 

3. Sitting quietly towards the back of the hall (near the open doors) and thinking that my child (playing one of Darwin's chums) has the most plausible Victorian costume. 

Indian, jasmine and tomato shoots.

1. The curries we have excavated from the freezer for our supper are particularly good -- a railway lamb, a supermarket chicken tikka and an unidentified one made with roasted aubergine and sweet potato. Nick thinks he made it; but did he follow a recipe, and do we still have it?

2. The jasmine by the back door is in full flower, a little beaten by the rain, but still doing its best to make the world smell and look better. 

3. Pinching out tomato shoots -- there's always one that I don't spot, though. One year, I let them grow in a sprawling mess. It didn't end well, with broken stems and impenetrable foliage. So I'm always careful to do my tomato admin every few days.

School rock bands, emergency biscuits and exercises.

1. Probably the highlight for me (sorry, Bettany, yours was great, too) was our neighbour's youngest belting out Final Countdown. She has a tiny little girl voice that somehow fills the entire hall. But I enjoyed the school's happy, welcoming reaction to the song Bettany's band performed -- George Ezra's Green Green Grass. 

2. Fortunately, there is a packet of French salted butter biscuits in the back of the cupboard.

3. The exercises the physio left me with have become rather easy. Luckily, she also left me with some ideas for making them more interesting.

Gravel, last piece and roll with it.

1. The recent heavy rain has scoured the sandy dust from the path. The crunch of gravel underfoot.

2. There is a bit of a scrap over the last piece of tenderstem broccoli, which is almost as welcome as asparagus, though cheaper and easier to obtain.

3. The BBC Sounds app turns up a documentary about Oasis, which is exactly what I want to hear about this evening.

Liverworts, last dance and before the result.

1. On the sandstone pavement where we are waiting, liverwort (marchantiophyta) has put up tiny palmtrees. I discover now that these are archegonial heads, holding the female reproductive organs.

2. Bettany's dance teacher has a rose for every single performer. This is the end of our time with the wonderful Do4Kids dance school, and it hits me in the finale -- 'Hey Baby', which Bettany has been dancing since she was in Early Years. The traditional Loony Toons theme that closes every class nearly (but not quite) floors me. I would like it very much if we could stay safe in primary school forever and ever (but Bettany would 100% strangle me for wishing that). 

3. The cheering from the pubs and houses with open windows is so loud that I can feel it.

Lolly, rabbits and fairy festival.

1. As we walk, the grinding, crunching sound of Bettany working on a chalky double lolly.

2. Midsummer afternoon on the common -- rabbits grazing. We pretend not to notice them, and they pretend not to notice us.

3. hacking through the front garden with my clippers and twine, I find fairies lying face to the stars and face to the soil like over-refreshed festival goers.

Rain in the night, overgrowth and sit.

1. It rained in the night (it's been raining for weeks) and the grassy paths on the common have an enticing scent -- flowers, wet dust, broken vegetation.

2. After supper, it isn't raining and I don't have any work, so I jump in with my gloves and secateurs, canes and string. I come face to face with an gorgeously blue agapanthus which looks rather offended to find itself in a pot beside the compost heap. I hack it free and bring it round to a spot where it can be seen.

3. To sit with Nick and a beer watching the sky grow dark.

Milk, borage and saucers.

1. Even at the top of the house, I can smell the milk warming for Alec's porridge.

2. The bristly blue stars of borage flowers.

3. Nick and Bettany bring home a large bag of flying saucer sweets -- bland and papery with a dab of sherbet in the middle.

Raspberry, popcorn and peachy.

1. Running a spoonful of deep red raspberry coulis through my breakfast yoghurt.

2. I slip a box of popcorn into a schoolbag as a treat for later.

3. The peachy scent of this flavoured tea really lingers.

Freewriting, at the bus stop and boxes.

1. The ritual of freewriting at the start of a workshop. For me, it's like pushing open the door to a wonderful garden -- never quite know what I'm going to find.

2. From the crossing I can see two people waiting at the bus stop, which means there will be one along in a minute.

3. Aunt Sarah's boxes from Lush just keep on giving -- bubble bars, bath bombs, badges, a string of bright bears.

Earlier, my X and abandoned.

As part of the 3BT celebrations, Sarah Salway presented me with a poem, which is the most wonderful gift. Here it is, received with many, many thanks:

1. We get up earlier than usual, and I am pleased to have the extra hours -- like finding a fiver in the pocket of an out-of-season coat.

2. Making my X on a ballot paper and hoping hard that it will help to improve matters.

3. I open Canva and find an old project that I'd abandoned because it seemed like too much work for a result that wasn't quite what I wanted. It doesn't take much to finish it, and when it's done, I honestly can't remember why I wasn't happy with it.

Stolen away, seeds and waiting.

1. Anna and Sarah steal me away for what turns out to be a celebration of this blog at Scotney Castle. It's a chance to talk and reflect and think about what I've achieved here. I didn't know I needed that space, but I am so grateful that they organised it and thought about it and made it happen. I feel like I have let out a long breath in a safe, caring place, tucked away in the lush midsummer Weald countryside.

2. The rattle of seeds in a paper packet.

3. Waiting in the drizzle for the coach that is bringing Alec home. Spotting his case coming out of the luggage store, and through the windscreen catching sight of his lanky figure between the seats.

4. Sarah and I head up to Flit and Folio's Summer Splash for an evening of silly songs and poetry. I think my favourite moment was during the song about Dunorlan Park when I spotted a man leaning round his table to whisper to his girlfriend an explanation of the term of 'dogging'. But close second is my favourite of Folio's works, 'I Wish I had a Voice Like John Cooper Clarke'.

Organise, bag of chips and denouement.

1. Full of hope, I buy a few boxes and baskets to help organise the house.

2. With our supper, a bag of chips.

3. At the very end of the day I have the last few chapters of a romance novel to enjoy.

Silence, outside and not dark yet.

1. There is a moment when, even walking along the top of Mount Ephraim, I cannot hear the traffic.

2. The hiss of heavy rain outside the tent we are in.

3. We are deep inside a car park, and though it's only mid afternoon, I've been up for so long that I keep thinking it's dark outside.