Stitched up, silky and red coat.

1. It occurs to me that for several days now I have been coughing and blowing my nose without worrying about my stitches, and for this I feel very grateful.

2. "Is his hair very soft and silky?" wonders Cat. I tell her yes it is. Would she like to stroke it? She would, very much.

3. Daniel and Ellie run ahead down the path in the winter park. In her new long red coat she looks like something out of a French film. "It does look rather French," says Alan. "I think that's why I like it." He adds that he had gone out with her to buy some tights, but saw the coat and...

First warmth, the opportunity and she's reading.

1. For the first time this year, it's warm enough to walk around the flat in bare feet in the early morning.

2. We grab a cup of coffee and a sit in the sun -- the home-worker and the mother with a new baby.

3. Catherine and I talk on the phone. She says that my goddaughter is reading now: "You know the little letter you wrote in her birthday card? She read most of that." Ellie has been identifying letters since she was tiny, so I've always taken care to print clearly in her cards so she can do just that -- but to hear that she's reading tickled me very much.

Talk talk, bang on the door and I'm a writer.

1. Sitting on trains and buses listening to snippets of conversations: "Listen, mum, don't give people my number. I'm sortin' myself out. You know how it is when you are tryin' to sort yourself out." And "Lou, man, she 'ad a tache, like she'd just finished a cappucino." And "...that's the trouble with going to a posh school: always trying to be better than you are. Not like us working class."

2. Ellie likes knock-knock jokes, and has a creaky Scottish voice for the 'Who's there?' line. My stock is soon exhausted, but that's OK, because she thinks they're just as funny the second time round. I also heard a new one:

Knock knock!
Who's there?
Mandy.
Mandy who?
Mandy lifeboats: we're sinking.

3. Ellie, Niamh and I are talking about a hornbeam in the garden, and Niamh asks me: "Are you the one who's got a book coming out?"

Muuu-um, hand-in-hand and apple.

1. She tells her mother not to embarrass her, then asks if she can press the button to open the train door.

2. I like holding my goddaughter's very small hand as we walk to the tube.

3. For a couple of weeks I've been testing the apples on the branches hanging over the wall between the solicitors' car park and the street. Tonight, one falls off in my hand.

Story teller, better with two and read to me.

1. The podiatrist offers a fistful of stories about miracle cure anxiety, lost and found dogs and a bag of swag stashed under the roots of an oak tree.

2. On the train: A lady talks anxiously into her phone about how to get to the passport office. 'I left in such a hurry this morning I didn't have time to check the details. It's near Victoria, isn't it? Globe House?' There's no help for her at the end of the phone, though, and the conversation ends. Then a voice pipes up from the seat behind: 'Sorry to listen in, but are you going to the passport office? I'm going there, too.'

3. Cat hands me my favourite goddaughter and a book called The Smartest Giant in Town. She says: 'I always hear this in your voice for some reason.'

The ribbon, making friends and blue star.

Nick and I are delighted by the kind messages coming in -- thanks, everyone.

To the Anonymous who wanted the whole Nick story, post-by-post, I do mean to sit down and do it at some point: you're not the only one who has asked.

To Rashmi about My Family and Other Animals: Buy it, buy it, buy it! It's a wonderful account of an eccentric family's extended stay on a Greek island. Gerald Durrell's style and joyful eye for detail are a huge influence on me (The New Noah was one of the first 'grown-up' mostly-words books I ever read). You can read the beginning of My Family here.

1. A Christmas present from my cousins comes wrapped in a thick piece of gold ribbon spotted with jewelly red, green and purple. Later, Ellie and Daniel laugh like loons as we play peek-a-boo along its length -- it's just wide enough to hide our eyes.

2. Ellie has been solemn and silent up until now, turning away from eye contact. 'She likes to be ignored at first,' says Cat. But just before we leave for lunch, I find Ellie standing in the hall in front of her blue boots. She lets me help her on with them, and we step outside together to scrunch in the gravel up the drive.

3. Daniel, packed into an all-in-one padded puddle suit, sets off on a private expedition, lurching, almost over-balancing as he hurries towards the road. I pick him up and turn him round to face a safer direction, and he spins away -- a determined blue wandering star.

Thick clothes, a smile and sleep.

1. The cold lashes at my face, and I'm glad of my warm outer layers. They are mostly presents: my coat was a Christmas present from my mother. My hat was a gift from a colleague. My thick knitted mittens were a present from Christine. And my scarf was a present from myself.

2. Katie comes back from lunch to find me on the phone. 'Who were you talking to that's made you smile?' It's Cat and goddaughter Ellie.

3. Going to bed early, and settling down to sleep while Nick is still reading.

Kicking off, musical interlude and a strange request.

1. Watching Daniel trying to push himself up into a crawling position. Cat gives him loads of cheers for this, but he looks slightly puzzled: all he wanted was the toy that was just out of reach.

2. Drumming with Ellie. I am told off for not doing 'middle middle edge edge' and for pitter pattering in an unsatisfactory manner. Later we hang out with a story book and she switches on her father's stereo. It's Beethoven's Ode to Joy. She can already spot the swells that come at the end of each movement: 'Finish.' I tell her about the twiddly-twiddly-dee bits, and how they sound like people riding horses. She laughs.

3. A man on a mobile phone is demanding: 'Really bright light... yeah, like moonlight. Smear a load of grease on it.'

Amusements, babies and roasties.

1. Ellie and Nick peeking at each other between the rungs of a chair. And reading my favourite book ever to Ellie -- Each Peach Pear Plum.

2. Daniel is a lovely, portable size. He loves being picked up and sits cheerfully on my lap taking in the world.

3. Shaking a pan of parboiled potatoes so they make fluffy roasties.

Some space, no rush and alphabet.

1. My guests are late, which means I get a little extra time cuddling Nick on the sofa.

2. Cat takes a no hurry attitude with her children. There is no rush to get up the stairs, so Ellie can climb by herself without being carried.

3. Although she is not yet two, Ellie recognises letters, even in an unfamiliar font. Cat has taught her using people's names and a cushion embroidered with the alphabet. A shopping bag suddenly becomes a family album, as Ellie shouts out the names.

4. Nick and I are caught Alan admiring the baby who has been left lying on the sofa for a moment. 'You're communing with Daniel,' says Alan, seeing that Daniel has one of our fingers in each of his fists.

5. Cat excuses herself to feed a fussy Daniel in my room 'The bed might be a more familiar set-up'. When I go in to check she is all right, she has snuggled herself under the covers, and is looking at my slightly disordered quarters with the sort of new-eye attitude that I ought to use all the time. Later Ellie comes in and stands at the side of the bed, her head just above the level of the mattress. I lift her up so she can admire the metalwork flowers and leaves at the foot of the bed. She counts them. 'Number one, number two...'

6. Ellie knows Each Peach Pear Plum, just like her godmother.

That smells good, a meeting of minds and something to laugh about.

1. There's something in the air today that makes everyone snuff and say: 'Something's changed' and 'You can almost taste the moisture' and 'I love this time a year'.

2. I meet a real live writer for a drink. I was a bit in awe of her the first time we met, but she is so kind and encouraging that this time, I anticipate our drink with hardly any nervousness. And again, she is interesting and charming and passes on tips and shares a little gossip. See Sarah's other project here.

3. My bed is so warm and welcoming that as I get in, I giggle to myself in a way that reminds me of my goddaughter Ellie (nearly two) giggling when we played some game or other.

Quietly, squirmer and gaggle of girls.

1. Holding the very placid baby Daniel while his mother cuddled her other baby, my giggly goddaughter Ellie.

2. Holding the feisty and wriggly Rory and watching him suck on his bottle.

3. At the top of the hill is a bench. There are three teenage girls sitting on it, and two sitting in front of it. They are surrounded by bottles and bags. 'So we're gonna meet them there. They're not going to the meal.'
'Can we skip the meal too?'
'Yeah, let's.'
'Can we eat something cheap?'

Hats off, baby talk and castle of cards.

Lauren Bergold writes more about her 3BT experience -- check out the pictures of the journal she made to keep her beautiful things in.

1. A large square box containing a bowler hat and a top hat. My father says as we bring them down from the attic: 'I don't know what your grandfather would think of you using his hats for a burlesque course.'

2. A phone call from Cat in which I can hear Ellie in the background saying 'Clare'. I also hear Daniel noises.

3. Curling up with Italo Calvino's Castle of Crossed Destinies and comparing the stories to the tarot spread.

Whistler, read to me and platform alteration.

We've got a garden, everybody!

I had a meeting with Jessica at Long Barn Books about the 300 Beautiful Things book. We seem to be on the same wavelength, which makes me feel even more excited about the project (if that's possible!). They have a graphic designer on board, and we're looking at a few small illustrations, too. It'll be available in spring 2008. If you would like to be kept updated, please send an email to: book at threebeautifulthings dot co dot uk -- addresses supplied will not be sold or passed on, but will be used by me, or by Long Barn, to contact you about the book and other 3BT projects.

1. Jessica's pink whistling stovetop kettle.

2. Ellie climbing up on to my lap for a story. She stops me halfway through Green Eggs and Ham, firmly closing the book. Cat explains: 'She does that to me, too. She likes to see other people's interpretations.'

3. At London Bridge, I am sent a platform that is not normal for Tunbridge Wells trains. With some misgivings, I dig in for the twenty minute wait. Two minutes before the train is due, they announce 'a platform alteration.' I sigh, get to my feet and expect a frantic dash down to the subway and up again on a hot day with uncomfortable shoes and heavy bags. Then the announcement continues, directing me to turn around and get on the train pulling in right behind me.

Small person, bridesmaid, creatives, rain, gathering and sacrifices.

1. Ellie giggling like crazy at a blue balloon; standing still to have her photo taken; babbling to her father about a stroll we've just had round the garden, complete with squelchy grass sound effects; dancing in the garden room; offering the rose on her dress so that I could smell it; feeding me spoonfuls of her yoghurt; and walking round clutching a piece of ice.

2. Realising that all the people that have been bridesmaids to are in the same room -- my two aunts, Cat and Fenella.

3. The beautiful things that people created for my birthday. The magical cake that Janey decorated with 30 beautiful things; and the wonderful picture of 10cm squares collected from my friends and family by Katie and Fenella; the psychodelic birthday card from my cousin Amy; the unfinished picture that my cousin Laura very kindly showed me; and the welcome created by my parents.

4. It rained, but it was interesting, thundery, downpouring rain interspersed with sunny periods, rather than a full day of drizzle.

5. A party small enough that I could talk with almost everyone.

6. Caroline came despite having a bad back. Other people arrived safely despite the rubbish directions I gave (I'm so sorry). Rosey missed a lift to Germany so she could be there. Robert took a day off work and missed a trip to the Alps. Cat, Alan and Ellie hired a car to come down. My aunts, uncles and cousins battled round the M25. My mother organised a party knowing it would probably wipe her out for the next few days. And my father let her do it.

Try and try again, copy, pattern recognition and bricks.

1. Watching Ellie -- she's now 16 months old -- negotiating the step from the path to the lawn. She practises again and again until she can do it.

2. She is at the copying stage -- at lunch I catch her resting her face on her hand like I am. And she pretends to re-fill our glasses from an empty bottle. She also walks up and down the garden 'sniffing' at flowers -- she hasn't quite got sniffing yet; she blows instead. Alan and Cat say that she got this idea from her grandmother.

3. It is remarkable to see Ellie starting to make sense of the world. She points at the green man on the street crossing; and she spots and identifies a stencilled graffiti cat. And she recognises that her toy lion, a lion in a picture book and the Lion King logo are all lions -- which is quite an achievement to my mind.

4. Ellie's wicked laugh as she destroys my towers of bricks. 'That's a new laugh,' comments Cat. 'Where did she get the bending double from?' But even more pleasing is Ellie starting to build her own towers. At first, she's rubbish at it and they fall down because she doesn't balance the blocks properly, and tries to pile things on the orange curved brick; but after a few tries she gets it, and her tower begins to grow -- although she gets excited and knocks it down before it is very tall.

Speech, creamy and pirates.

1. I ring Cat and Ellie for a chat. Ellie is persuaded to share some of her first words -- 'orange juice'. Cat doesn't know where she gets it from -- 'she doesn't even have orange juice that often. It's obviously important to her, though.'

2. I turn round for a second and when I turn back Katie has put what appears to be half a dairy farm into the mashed potato -- butter, milk and creme fraiche. It tastes delicious.

3. Watching Captain Jack Sparrow sail The Black Pearl down a sand dune in Pirates of the Caribbean III. And the scene where they sail across the Milky Way.

Baby talk, degrees of separation and moves.

1. Ellie sitting in the washing basket laughing at her rattle appearing and disappearing. And also laughing when we were pretending to be Godzilla and Mothra smashing a Manhatten made of wooden blocks. And Cat reading a story about mouse and giraffe who are in love. And Ellie conducting for her father while he played the piano.

2. Cat's mother mentioned me and Sgt Dub in a talk at her Unitarian church this Sunday. She used us as an example of how people can lead very different lives in far flung parts of the world yet still affect each other.

3. A salsa class that gave me tonnes more confidence.

Mervyn Peake, artistic licence and little legs.

Yesterday was spent with Cat, Alan and my goddaughter Ellie. We were looking at pictures and eating dumplings.

1. Mervyn Peake's pictures. We went to Chris Beetle's Art Gallery which has an exhibition of Peake's work. We saw the original drawings he did for Quest for Sita, which I have loved since the moment I first saw them. They so far out of my reach it's not even worth considering them. But the gallery man chatted to us and assured me that one day, I would own a Peake. I have faith, and I have a 30th birthday coming up. The gallery always has some Peakes in stock and will pull a selection out of the archives with a bit of notice. I am very much looking forward to a trip up to town a bit nearer the time to go and choose my Peake. Also exciting was that Peake's son Sebastian had come in to see how the sale was going. There was another exhibition -- Ronald Searle, who I know and love from Gerald Willan's Moleworth. We were told that he correpsonds only by telephone or preferably fax. His faxes scroll out covered in little doodles, 'So we want to keep our fax machine!'

2. Sitting in the National Gallery I overheard a mother and her little boy's conversation. The boy was copying a detail from a portrait of the Capel family and I was making notes for one of my Other Projects. My occasional comments to Cat, who was leaning against my back, wove in and out of the mother and son's dialogue: 'Look at his green stockings,' 'They remind me of Malvolio's [in Twelfth Night] yellow stockings with cross garters.' 'That little girl on the right is holding something. I bet it's a mouse.' 'Did you hear what that lady said? She thinks the little girl is holding a mouse.' 'What's the baby got?' 'It's a chilli pepper.' 'I think it's something for it to chew on.' 'That portrait over there of the King of France has one too, look.' 'I've got every colour but red, I'm afraid. You'll have to do the chair in black and colour it later.' 'Only the baby is looking at the artist.' 'The girl on the right looks so sad. She looks as if she's about to burst into tears.' 'She has tummy ache and wants to go to the loo.' 'I think the mother is saying to the dad: can we have a break? She needs to go to the loo. But he's saying: no, just a bit longer.'

3. Obligatory Ellie Beautiful Things: She is trying to crawl, but can't quite work out how to get that second leg behind her. It's a tricky movement -- try sitting with your legs in front of you, knees akimbo, and see if you can tip forward on to all-fours. It helps if you imagine there is someting you are reaching for (probably something digusting that your parents don't want you to stuff in your mouth). It's funny to think that in a few weeks when she is scooting around clearing low shelves of books and poking things into electric sockets, Cat and Alan will be nostalgic for the time when she stayed where you put her.

And I love the way people respond to her. They say that Londoners are unfriendly, but the number of people who smiled at her sleeping in her pushchair with her hood pulled over her face was phenomenal.

Service, sisters and settling.

1. A mug of hot coffee being brought to my desk.

2. Hilary at work describing how her two daughters went off shopping together to get a birthday outfit for the youngest one. We often hear about their squabbles, and Hilary was obviously thrilled that they co-operated long enough to do this.

2. Last time I spoke to the mother of my goddaughter, she was a bit frayed because the little rascal wasn't sleeping for more than two hours at a stretch. But I phoned her yesterday and she sounded so relaxed and contented. The baby is sleeping eight hours at a go, and now has two little teeth.