50 golden years, adding to the family and a transformation.

My small sister has been at it again with the camera. She found a smirking grasshopper, which we both think is superb.

1. Nick's parents are celebrating a grand achievement: their Golden Wedding.

2. Meeting Nick's sister, neice and great nephew for the first time. It's great to be able to put faces to names and voices heard on the phone.

3. The risotto's orange colour warms and deepens with every slosh of stock.

Soundtrack to a nap, vegetable dyes and an achievement.

1. I have a nap in the middle of the morning and drift in and out of sleep. The joiner fixing the window next door is whistling and ocassionally singing: 'A girl like you'

2. The colour of grated carrot -- it's such a bright, juicy orange on a wintery day.

3. I was once the child whose colouring went over the edge; whose samplers were speckled with blood and tears; whose cutting out was jagged and torn and whose handwriting was a constant worry to teachers. I used to feel very ashamed of my art and crafts and still burn to remember the headmaster pronouncing my paper curl chicken 'a mess'. But last night, I was looking at a box I'd decorated with a cut-out, and an embroidery I'm mounting, and I felt quite pleased and proud. It must be partly experience and practice; partly acceptance of my own limitations and partly better tools. I think my motor skills have improved with age -- I'd never have imagined I'd achieve the things I've done in my drawing for beginners class, and with my embroidery.

Milestone, pudding and film night.

1. Hearing that Ellie is now potty trained.

2. Blackberry crumble.

3. Lying beside Nick to watch a film that involves ballerinas, Loch Ness, Queen Victoria and six acrobatic dwarfs.

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.'

Jiggery pokery, oatcakes and finished.

1. I like calling a tech support line and being taught a cunning trick -- ordinary buttons and switches can be made to do something magic if pressed in the right way.

2. An oatcake and honey.

3. Tying off the loose threads in my first typing glove. Can't wait to start work on the second one. It will be a lot better because I'll know what mistakes to avoid. It's made from Aragon Yarns, by the way.

End of the line, hard carbon and the man behind the legend.

1. As the train pulls into Charing Cross, I finish knitting my scarf and put it on.

2. In the Natural History Museum is a collection of coloured diamonds. The display cycles between normal light and UV light, revealing magical colour changes and strange fluorescence.

3. We finally get to meet Rosey's mysterious boyfriend -- Matt has been mentioned an awful lot and appears frequently in photographs, but so far he has kept his head down. As a dutiful big sister, I have been nearly eaten up with curiosity, so it was a relief to meet him at last.

Morale, art and a new skill.

1. A hot Cornish pastie and cup of tea on a very wet day.

2. We stand in front of a painting at the Tate Modern. It looks as if someone has thrown green and orange paint at a canvas and smeared it around. My aunt says: 'Does this remind you of something?' I nod slowly and say: 'Yes. Monet's waterlilies.' 'Me too.' But we don't know why.

3. My aunt teaches me crochet -- I 'discover' several 'new stitches' before I get it right.

Decorations, look what I can do and a good match.

1. Katie comes back from Sainsbury's with a bag full of orange and black secrets for Halloween.

2. After expert teaching from Glamour Puss, I can now twirl nipple tassels. Another achievement ticked off the list.

3. We lost the rugby, but the South African team looked so happy to have won. I was impressed that Thabo Mbeki was there to celebrate with them.

Adrenalin, the tribe and zip.

Work took us to a treetop adventure at Go Ape.

1. Feeling excited about something, but not feeling sick. I took courage from the fact that Fenella, who is scared of heights, had done it and enjoyed it. The first real course was terrifying and left me wondering if I could bear to do the rest. But the second course saw me sauntering across a single log 30 feet up in the canopy, and suddenly I felt a lot better about it all.

2. I liked seeing flashes of the others ahead of us on the course and hearing them whoop and shriek and cheer and encourage. I loved seeing Oli and Doug romping across obstacles; and hearing Hilary checking that Emma and Charlotte were properly attached.

3. Going down the last zip wire and seeing all my colleagues waiting at the far end, Doug standing on the fence, Charlotte brushing the wood chips off herself, He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named with his camera in hand.

Self-respect, clack and runner.

1. I work back over Three Beautiful Things to find suitable entries for the book. Looking at 2004 I feel as if I am reading someone else's words and I find myself able to think of my own work: 'This is all right.'

2. A mysterious clacking noise in the sitting room turns out to be a contented Nick playing shut-the-box.

3. Spotting a photo of Andy finishing the London Marathon.

Handover, ohh sparkly and look what I found.

1. Struggling with a piece of work and having someone take it away.

2. A client rings because she wants to be talked through opening a course. When it works, I hear someone ohhing in the background. The client says: 'I think she likes the pictures.'

3. The satisfaction of, for once, spotting an error that He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named missed.

Support, catch-up and fear.

1. He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named has made a playlist for me and Katie to celebrate our new dance class -- it's called Now That's What I Call Poledancing 37. And someone has edited the first few business cards in the box on my desk. They now read:

Clare Grant
Healthcare Editor
And Exotic Dancer

2. A former colleague is doing some work downstairs. She comes up for a chat at lunchtime.

3. Poledancing is terrifying, and I'm really struggling with the idea of supporting my weight, letting go and sliding. So we try a move I definitely can do, and suddenly sliding down and landing on my knees is easy.

Comfort, order and a good meal.

1. The amazing difference that a new loo seat makes to my bathroom.

2. Tidying our cloakroom and finding that with some extra shelves, it might just be possible to use it as a sort of shed-chic guest loo as well as a storage room.

3. Getting compliments for a meal I've made -- rabbit stew and crumble made from whatever had fallen to the bottom of the fruit bowl.

Guests, freedom and apprentice.

1. Flatmates who don't mind brothers sleeping on the sofa.

2. Most mornings we see a man and a woman riding past our office window at about 10am. I often feel a moment of longing for the freedom to ride a horse out into the countryside on a weekday morning.

3. Andy complimenting me on my improved backgammon and saying that I have a new confidence. I still make stupid mistakes, and sometimes need him to guide me a bit; but the turns when I have no idea what move to make are getting fewer.

Flying fingers, middle stone age and housemate.

1. I rarely get to do any straight copy typing at work; but today I am asked to do some as a favour to a colleague and I am pleasantly surprised at how fast I can do it. It's also good to have a task that doesn't involve too much thinking.

2. Ray Mears speculating about how hunter gatherers might have survived on the coasts of Britain. A lot of hardwork grinding things pulled from the bottom of ponds, and chewing things knocked off rocks, apparently.

3. Last thing before I go to bed, Katie saying 'Goodnight' and asking if I've finished in the sitting room.

Praise, forgiven and make contact.

Happy birthday to The Mother.

Apologies for erratic posting -- the internet connection only seems to work when the wind is in the north (although it's very good when it does work).

1. Katie and Oli both read one of my recent stories today. Neither of them are big sci fi fans; but they both said that although the story puzzled them at first the writing was so assured that they kept going. And they both praised my 'show-don't-tell'. I feel real satisfaction at an act of creation well done.

2. A mother telling her 12-year-old son off for getting lost in the shopping centre and switching his mobile phone off. 'How could you? I've been phoning for half an hour and it kept going straight to the answering service.' And then the real reason for her crossness came out. 'I was so worried about you. I didn't know where you were.' When I turned round, she was giving him a cuddle.

3. This fortnight's missions from my lifecoach include a command to interact with men in unfamiliar situations. This basically means that I need to chat with strangers. Apparently, this includes things like asking bookshop staff if they've read the book I'm buying; paying a compliment; or asking how his day has been. I also have to commit a random act of kindness.

Polished leaves, permission and woolwork.

1. The sunset reflecting off ivy leaves on the oak trees outside our window.

2. I've been quietly borrowing an unsecured broadband connection and feeling a bit guilty about it. But it seems it belongs to a colleague, who is happy for us to use it.

3. Katie putting on her newly-knitted beanie hat for the first time.

Ideas, textile and comradeship.

1. The row of Christmas card proofs pinned to my notice board. I giving myself time to get used to the wording and typography.

2. Looking down at my cross-stitch and feeling as if I've achieved something. Cross-stitch scratches the same itch as sudoku and jigsaws, but at the end (if I've picked a good design) I have something pleasing to look at.

3. Being walked home on a revolting night of rain and high winds. Good company makes me bold, so we take all the shortcuts across the Common that I don't dare to use at night by myself.

Arrogance, praise and flying fish.

1. The special kind of arrogance required to be a writer. If I don't have it, I don't believe my work is worth reading and therefore I don't write anything. When it's in full flow words come out of my fingertips and know that what I am saying is fascinating and compelling. I imagine this is what being a man is like.

2. The people at work who oh and ah over my cross-stitch. It's easy to forget when I keep my nose to the fabric, thinking only of the next stitch, just how much I have done.

3. The fish that swim through the air in Mirrormask.

In/out, memorabilia and I can.

1. I leave my curtains open when I get home at 5.30pm to let in the last of the day light and so I can compare the driving grey blue foggy rain outside with the warm creams and browns colours in my flat.

2. Reminders of Africa and all the beautiful things that trip generated. In particular, roibos tea that recalls a refreshing drink after a long walk; and the noise of my boiler starting up the central heating, which makes me think of the 'blissful ablutions' at Umvuvu Bush Camp..

3. In yoga we did a pose that I always think I shouldn't be able to do, but I can. It is Vasisthasana -- the side plank pose.