Guess, greens and going again.

1. Our neighbour sees the mud spatters drying on my over trousers and says, 'You've been on the common, haven't you.'

2. Snipping parsley into my soup.

3. We find that we are enjoying our stories so much that we need a third round of drinks.

Posy, supper and planets.

1. Through the rain over the road outside the florist, a posy of bright blue and pink flowers.

2. With our supper, pale pink wine in crystal glasses. Sound of the rain outside.

3. Since sunset, we've been glancing outside between tasks and messaging back and forth up and down the house because we hope to see the parade of planets. Mercury and Saturn, in our sky for just a short while after sunset, are hidden behind a bank of cloud; and Neptune is too distant and mysterious for anyone to see with their own eyes; but Jupiter, Mars and Venus are there for us.

Presents, kitchen flowers and critique of capitalism.

1. I slide birthday presents for Nick into the children's desk drawers. 

2. The tulips I gave her last week are still giving joy. At home, the last lot of supermarket daffodils are still bright and yellow and cheerfully brave.

3. Tim and I have a nice little Monopoly ecosystem: he has eaten the other players and owns everything except for six well developed properties of mine. He lands on them just often enough that I can survive another turn around the board. I feel constantly off balance, though, and I'm only really coping because of some lucky rolls, a few turns in jail so I don't have to land on his properties, and some helpful chance cards. We end with a draw, because it's getting very late.

See, spa and blank pages.

1. While looking for something else in the back of the garden, I finally see that a pot of crocuses has put purple spikes through the compost.

2. When I come down, the sitting room is transformed to shut out the world, with candle light and rolled towels and a spa crate so we can sit wearing face masks and watch relaxing television.

3. New notebook.

In and out, cool skid and peppercorns.

1. Love to catch sight of our children running in and out of the soft play frame.

2. He falls to his knees in a slide across the floor to express his displeasure at the wrong kind of sweet. Once his mum has calmed  him down, I tell him he did a cool footballer skid, and he smiles slyly.

3. Peppercorns fall and bounce as I fill the grinder. I think there must be a better sort of mill that is easier to fill, but then I remember this one was a wedding present, and that from his highchair Alec used to call it Bub and imagine it on adventures with a jar of Maldon crystals, named Salt.

Not disappointing, night park and that winter flowering thing.

1. Apparently, the disappointing biscuits are not disappointing to the menfolk. 

2. The shadows of children in the night park. A late run-out that might make bed and sleep more enticing.

3. The cold air of the whole dark street is perfumed by that winter flowering thing a few doors down from us.

Still cake, plate and corrective powers.

1. There is still some homemade cake in the tin.

2. He is very tall, with a voice that sometimes makes me think a visitor has come to the house, but he is still quite pleased to be given a cold collation plate.

3. During the course of our game, I zap a neo-nazi with my emotion control power to make him feel embarrassed. He starts crying, gives us plenty of information, and then walks off to start a new life with better choices.

Still early, snowdrops and Outnumbered.

1. I've already been in a taxi and had an MRI, and it is still so early that no-one is up at home, so I stop in the park cafe to drink coffee, eat a shortbread and read an Edith Wharton ghost story.

2. Nick wonders about the little white flowers outside the back door. They're snowdrops, and they mean spring will soon be here. Earlier I saw a planting of giant snowdrops, cyclamen and hellebores at the gates of Dunorlan -- all good friends when the rest of the park looks like it has been left outside all winter and then sat on.

3. Bettany has been asking about Outnumbered, which originally broadcast before she was born. We watch an episode (me through my fingers because well observed sitcoms about family life are just a bit too close to home; and her round her phone, occasionally laughing or asking a question).

Beyond the barriers, going home and half term.

1. At the station, a friendly face waiting beyond the ticket barriers.

2. I walk on to the platform in time to see the destination on the front of the train just arriving: it's on its way to Tunbridge Wells.

3. Our lovely child -- just a little bad tempered -- is home for half term.

Fruit bowl, plans and resonate.

1. I come down to a fruit bowl full of bright new oranges and apples -- veg box arrived while I was sleeping.

2. She asks for a hug so she can lie next to me and tell me all about her plans for own clothes day.

3. The Folk Show is particularly good this evening. Most of the tracks seem to speak right to us, and for an hour then show holds our attention so that we listen, rather than seeking other things to do while it plays.

Jam, an hour later and gothic.

1. My mother brings us two jars of blackcurrant jam -- perfect timing, because it's hot cross bun season.

2. When I look up, it's an hour later and I'm 1,000 words in.

3. To marvel at the set before the production starts. This is Dracula -- so of course there are ruins and high windows and disconcerting stairways.

Clean-up, remembering and winning at chess.

1. Brushing mud off my waterproofs -- much easier to clean them dry than wet.

2. We've been throwing out some old school books. I find Nick sitting on the floor among the recycling reminiscing over photos the teacher has stuck in among the worksheets.

3. I win at chess against my son -- but only because he helps me.

Questions, chocolate mousse and steady rain.

1. As we make pudding for the evening, she is still asking questions about The Sound of Music. I've found a playlist and the songs are streaming straight into the kitchen.

2. Dipping spoons through the bubbly surfaces of our chocolate mousses.

3. Out there in the dark, the sound of steady rain. This is my best kind of rain: steady, and not happening where I am.

Obscure, reminiscing and own suppers.

1. The satisfaction of finding a nice obscure news story that not many other people are talking about.

2. The little glint in Nick's eye as he talks about the young men behind the names on the honours boards at Alec's school.

3. From the empty containers in the sink, we can see that the children have done as we asked and got their own suppers out of the freezer.

Disposal, winter scent and start again.

1. I hand over three broken laptops for recycling and walk home with nothing in my bag.

2. In our street somewhere, there is a winter-flowering thing that keeps catching my attention with its scent.

3. An embroidery project -- a pair of gloves -- has been waiting resentfully in the corner for more than a month. I take it up from where I left off. But I can't love the way it looks, and don't think I can replicate it on the second glove. I unpick what I've just done. I try a different approach that should be easier to replicate. Still not happy. I unpick the lot, put the threads in the bin and begin again with a new colour and a new design.

Drop-off, straight home and resting.

1. As we get closer to the school, we find ourselves walking into a stream of bigger boys heading out to buy their break snack. I feel him shift beside me like a fish twisting out of my hands, and I tell him to have a good morning and he swims away into the dark cool water.

2. I said I wanted to go straight home after my appointment, but I'm feeling better with every step in the before-spring sunshine, and I'm quietly pleased when Nick wonders if I want coffee out.

3. When he gets home, he joins me resting in bed for the afternoon. Both of us waiting to recover.

Magazines, sunlight and braised pork.

1. Some magazines, and a quiet hour in which to read them.

2. Following the sunlight around the house -- looking for the brightest, warmest spots.

3. We finally get to eat the pork that's been cooking slowly for most of day in a broth with star anise, ginger and cinnamon. It is very tender and delicious.