Monday, September 22, 2025

Conference morning, break time and memory.

1. Waking up in a huge snow-crisp hotel bed, rather keyed up, but ready for a day in the company of other editors.

2. I take a moment to sit alone in the sunshine, catching some daylight and letting the learning settle in. 


3. During a quiz, I love to see people's faces when they suddenly recall the fact we were seeking. Memory is a marvel of inefficiency.

Friday, September 19, 2025

Let go, underfoot and pie.

1. Technical difficulties. I let go of having working earbuds for this walk. Then I have one last try, and they switch on.

2. Acorns crunching underfoot.

3. I note that Nick's pride and pleasure in the cottage pie he has made make it taste even more delicious.

Thursday, September 18, 2025

Instead, autumn colour and the fruit we have.

1. This morning is too wet and windy for walking. Instead, a hot bath and a good book.

2. She comes home with a decorative pumpkin made in sewing club -- I'm secretly hoping this means we'll end up going full cucurbit with our house look this autumn.

3. A couple of apricots -- velvet soft and very sweet -- and two slices of watermelon gnawed down to the rind.

Wednesday, September 17, 2025

Book cupboard, haws and dinner.

1. My walk over the park takes me past a blue cupboard full of books, free for anyone to take.

2. This year the hawthorn boughs are bent, weighed down with clusters of hard crimson berries.

3. I am so hungry when I get home that I chase Nick off when he wants to re-warm my dinner.

Tuesday, September 16, 2025

Cep, what next and yellow spine.

1. He sees that I'm carrying a large and tasty mushroom that I have found on the common, and I see that he sees, and we both smile.

2. We come to the end of our book, and spend some time speculating about loose threads and whether there might be a sequel.

3. The plot of the book I'm reading (to myself) twists suddenly in my hands: a quiet side character acts with unexpected agency, and puts herself in peril. Now I'm desperate to keep reading, and my eyes keep getting drawn to the book's yellow spine.

Monday, September 15, 2025

Stored, share and collecting.

1. When I turn out a pot, I find fat worms writhing in the soil, and a bright gold centipede, and a handful of bulbs waiting for next year.

2. He's been quite secretive about his plans, and then I get a message with a location share.

3. I like being the one to collect the takeaway part of the meal because it means I'm not the one striding around the kitchen with table mats and water jugs and raw vegetables while persuading everyone to come to the table.

Friday, September 12, 2025

Shelter, arisen and pub.

1. We are sheltered under the garden centre's great barn roof. There is a rush of sound and air as the rain comes down.

2. A mushroom, come from apparently nowhere, has risen up in the dry dark of the compost heap.

3. I just show up to travel well drinks, knowing no-one, and over a swift half I learn some useful things and hear some good stories.

Wednesday, September 10, 2025

Lolly, from the past and folk night.

1. I later discover that she took seriously my passing comment about picking up an ice lolly for her brother.

2. ...and strolling through the door, there's a face from the past remembered with gladness, and a face I thought was in Scotland. 

3. We walk briskly home under the stars, feeling very pleased that we've been out for a swift pint and a hour or so of live music.

Tuesday, September 09, 2025

Spider work, salts and bickering.

 1. Cobwebs gleam where they catch the low-angled sun -- polygonal nets strung from brambles; gauzy dancefloors in the gorse.


2. Tipping the rest of the bag of epsom salts into the bath with a rainy swish.


3. The children bickering across me about things that just don't matter.

Monday, September 08, 2025

Juice, afternoon in the pub and eclipse.

1. There is pink grapefruit juice at breakfast, which no one likes apart from me.

2. Sunday afternoon, and there's musicians sitting in the corner of the pub playing Irish tunes for us.

3. The moon isn't high enough during the eclipse, so we miss out on the spectacle of a blood-red moon with a bite taken out of it -- but we enjoy looking at the sky in hope, nonetheless.

Friday, September 05, 2025

Crust, donuts and wait.

 1. Stirring the brewing coffee to break the floating crust and bring up the crema.

2. We have donuts to give the children at teatime.

3. The times when I have to pause in my reading aloud to explain the story.

Thursday, September 04, 2025

Gale, fallen and ready for school.

1. The wind is thumping the rain against the house, but we don't have to go anywhere today. 

2. In the park after supper I pick up a handful of conkers -- some still mottled and patched milk white.

3. Small dark bundle: she has put her dance clothes ready for tomorrow.

Tuesday, September 02, 2025

As needed, forgotten cake and syrup.

1. I promised myself I wouldn't moan and grumble about it -- but I do. And as if by magic, a very kind friend produces the required blazer (and also the next size up).

2. I'd forgotten that I'd added a tiramisu cake to the shopping order.

3. The elderberry syrup is now so thick that it coats the spoon.

Monday, September 01, 2025

Slow worm, peacock butterfly and striations.

1. A slow worm backs into his burrow, his mild resentful gaze holding ours.

2. Peacock butterfly -- Persian rug colours -- rests open in the afternoon sun.

3. Our vegetable curry has an autumn look to it -- the striations and speckles of marrow and graffiti aubergine, and constellations of sweetcorn.

Conference morning, break time and memory.

1. Waking up in a huge snow-crisp hotel bed, rather keyed up, but ready for a day in the company of other editors. 2. I take a moment to sit...