1. Red kite with pie-slice tail and wing fingers splayed wheels over aluminium roofs on an industrial estate.
2. Chatting idly across the train aisle with my cousin -- we note that the journey is so much better than we expected.
3. When we arrive home at dusk under the light of a high roundish moon, the shops are still open with cracked open doors, enticing lights and clean new year displays.
1. Walking out of the theatre, I hold his hand so he's not tempted to bolt across the swirly carpet into the forest of legs. We agree that the best bit was the bit where the dame took off her dress to reveal another dress and another and another and then ANOTHER.
2. We don't fancy the noise and the crowds and the scuffling for seats in the pub. So we come home to share part of a bottle of red.
3. It's been busy. Packed with cushions and a thick red blanket, we catch up with The Dark is Rising on the BBC World Service by the soft light of a few days' worth of advent candle and the Christmas tree.
1. An alarm goes off in Nick's pocket to let us know that it's the moment of the winter solstice.
2. The rain is falling in steady columns from a darkening sky, and we are no longer out in it.
3. We throw scraps of dark blue wrapping paper into the stove to see the flames change colour.
1. The vacuum cleaner lifts the dust and shines the surface of the floor.
2. The tacky circular sound that happens when I peel off a generous strip of washi tape for present wrapping. It's difficult to describe sounds, and even with recording technology, these workaday noises will one day be lost.
3. Each stitch, though small by itself, brings me closer.
1. I realise later -- much, much later -- that the lady in Lush handing me perfume samples was a very effective grounding exercise.
2. The crunchy feel of splitting sticks of leggy green winter celery.
3. Reaching under the tree to find the end of the Christmas lights.
1. Goldfinches, painted like they're going to war, crowd the bird feeders.
2. We meet my cousin's partner for the first time, and it feels like she will fit right in.
3. I was pretty pleased to find the fishmonger selling whole smoked mackerel at the weekend. Now I strip off the oily skin, pick out the bones and break the meat into my pasta.
1. While I catch up with the advent candle I begin to clean the sitting room ready for the tree.
2. A smaller embroidery hoop came in the post. That's better.
3. I have to admit that this is not a joke I understand -- but hearing that is just as useful to her as the explanations of the references I do get but she does not.
1. Soft voice from under his hoodie, telling me about Yahtzee strategies and tactics.
2. Lunch with coffee and editorial chatter -- we lay out our hopes and wants and needs for 2026.
3. She is very insistent that she's going to wrap my purchase in royal purple tissue -- even though I say there's no need as I'm not going far.
1. Much that I would like to sit and visit for longer packed in with red and crimson cushions and blankets, lit by a bright window and drinking good coffee, eating snacks and hearing news and wise council, I have to go back to work. But I am delayed in the hall (as usual) by a print of the garden of Eden. It's a rare one, I discover, because the set was lost in the Great Fire of London in 1666.
2. I drop fistfuls of dice into my pockets, ready for this evening's game -- we've had a long health break to overcome sickness and injury, but as soon as we could, we got back to the table.
3. Like hobbits, even though we are comfortably full, we are taking just one last taste of our favourites.
1. In the small hours, I finish the e-book I've borrowed from the library and change it for the next one in the series.
2. We finish the persimmons, which are almost glowing they are so ripe and juicy.
3. The sound of my children squabbling gently over a game.
1. We wake to the sound of heavy rain -- just right for a simple Sunday.
2. I put my dough in a bowl to rest, and take a quiet half-hour myself, sitting in bed listening to a radio show.
3. Needle goes in, needle comes out. Re-doing everything I unpicked last night.
1. We've got water of some kind -- the sound of the loo cistern filling is pretty good to hear this morning.
2. Susan has invited to us a concert in her London club. It's glorious, with high ceilings, a vast marble staircase and ornate tiling and stately, lumbering old-fashioned furniture. Past members look down on us from larger-than-life formal portraits -- some do seem to be challenging our presence, but others seem more benign.
3. A passing French man tells us that we should walk past the no entry sign and look at the pictures if that's what we want to do.
1. I flee Tunbridge Wells and its water woes for a day of wandering London with my aunt. A bit of Turner, a bit of Constable and some miscellaneous pre-Raphaelites. Turner's gift to the nation truly does give me a break from the treadmill cares of carrying bottled water and kettles and permanently feeling slightly grubby.
2. We come past the Isle of Effra with its bronze loo sculptures, which we're told mark the nearby Royal Doulton ceramics works, but could just as well nod to the River Effra's time as a sewer.
3. There are concerns about the whiteness and the quantity of butter icing. I walk away and leave the pastry chef to her work. When I come back, things are much more cheerful.
1. For the last few weeks, polling company YouGov has been wondering how Christmassy I feel. Today, I can answer honestly that I'm now feeling fairly Christmassy.
2. Because we are on foot, we can walk past all the cars to the front of the water queue. But then we have to carry all our bottles home again.
3. We have an advent calendar on the computer to play with this evening, with tiny low-stakes games and little surprises.
1. The softness of rainwater -- unthinking I lather my hands with the usual amount of soap, and then find I can't rinse it off.
2. I dive into the cupboard we call Narnia and half-stifled by garment bags and suitcases, I heave and pull and drag the early decorations out into the house.
3. Bettany and I wait a little after supper before eating our pudding -- in fact, we wait until she's got ready for bed. It makes our bowls of tiramisu seem... I don't know, sort of festive, luxe and maybe slightly illicit.