Love songs, wayfinder and southern gothic.

Three bloggers who are recording happy things -- Anisa writes about her time in Madrid; words and pictures on Posterous by Imperfect Pages; and Gillian over at Sky Blue Pinkish.

1. We wake up to Radio 3 playing Ae Fond Kiss, one of Robert Burns' love poems set to music. This is followed by the wedding march from Handel's Midsummer Night's Dream, which was our processional music.

2. Anna comes over to lunch. She brings a stone bead set with a tiny compass for Alec. "I think it might be a watch chain charm," she says. "It's for his cabinet of curiosities. With parents like you he's bound to have a cabinet of curiosities." I think it will also keep him pointing in the right direction, and I'm looking forward to helping him fill his cabinet.

3. I finish The Missing by Tim Gautreaux, which I have enjoyed thoroughly. He manages to make a sad and frightening subject luminous. A floorwalker who dreams of playing jazz is indirectly responsible for the kidnapping of a three-year-old girl, and joins the crew of a Mississippi paddle steamer to look for her. It's a southern gothic story of redemption that has a lot in common with Annie Proulx's The Shipping News - one of my favourite books ever.

Not nothing, sit down and supper.

1. I pick up from the library What Mothers Do: Especially When it Looks Like Nothing which I have seen recommended over and over again on parenting sites. I am hoping it will help me lay to rest some of the haunting remarks I've heard from my friends about empty days spent doing "nothing".

2. Baby Badger has been feeling very heavy lately, and really going for it with the Braxton Hicks contractions. It's so good to sit down for a few minutes, and whenever we are out, I'm constantly looking round for a bench!

3. Nick makes a huge pie -- we eat very late, but it's very good, full of tasty steak and kidney and juicy mushrooms.

Enough, twist and Barbara Pym.

1. There is quite a lot of lemon curd left in the bottom of the bowl -- not enough to put in a jar; but enough to go on top of my yoghurt at lunchtime.

2. Downton Abbey -- we watched Sunday's episode, with its jaw-dropping I-did-not-see-that-coming plot twist.

3. I wish I could remember who suggested Barbara Pym's books -- I picked up Jane and Prudence and I think it's wonderful - a steely account of 1950s middle class match-making.. The quote on the cover is from Philip Larkin, who lays aside his curmudgeonly cynicism to say that he'd rather read a new Barbara Pym than a new Jane Austen. Lucky, lucky Barbara Pym.

Dreaming of the south, bag and imperfect words.

Word Imperfect is back in action with her invented meaning word game -- go on over and join in.

1. That book that Caroline thought I'd like -- she was quite right. I do really, really like it. Tim Gautreaux's Waiting for the Evening News: Stories of the Deep South. It manages to be both dark and up-lifting. These are stories about people who fall and fall, and come back stronger and wiser.


2. Nick shakes off his umbrella and pulls from his bag: a very large box of chocolates and the latest Gardener's World magazine.

3. I was emailing secret chef -- yes, we have a clandestine restaurant in the area -- asking for a quick interview, and my spell-checker flagged the word restauranteur. A quick search later, and I discovered that the word is actually restaurateur (although my spelling is just about tolerated in more liberal circles). I've never noticed that -- never seen it mentioned in all the newspaper style guides that I've read. But that's the English language for you: she's always got something new to amuse and intrigue.

Be happy, first day of school and The Shipping News.

1. As always, he tells me to be good. I tell him it will be a tall order. And very seriously, he says: "Well be happy then."

2. As I start work, a mother and two little boys in school uniform come out of the footpath at the corner of the car park.

3. The Shipping News by E Annie Proulx -- one of my favourite novels ever. It's a story of redemption in an unforgiving climate. Finding books in our house is all about serendipity, and I am very glad to have spotted this lying on a heap of role-playing fanzines.

Lie still, tea and booklovers.

1. These days, it doesn't pay to get up too quickly. I must be patient with myself -- and with Baby Badger. I like to lie in bed until 8.30am and watch (through the curtains that I have opened for reading light) the wind shaking the blue-grey gum tree across the car park.

2. With my mug of tea I get three ginger biscuits.

3. We watched BBC4's Among the Ruins, a documentary about British novelists between the wars. The series features rare footage of some of these towering names: E. M. Forster (who seemed like a charming, disarming dear), Graham Greene (who wouldn't show his face), Evelyn Waugh (who was breath-takingly rude); Barbara Cartland (who was just... Barbara Cartland) and Virginia Woolf. Check out 08:38, where Alan Bennett mocks the Bloomsbury set. I could have kissed him, because (this is very shaming to admit, and I know I'm letting the woman writer side down) my admiration for Virginia Woolf is very grudging.

Flood, done and dinner.

1. I'm close to finishing Stephen Baxter's Flood, which I've enjoyed very much. It's an epic about a global flood, seen mostly through the eyes of a group of former hostages linked by a promise to look out for each other. They come under the wing of a super-rich businessman who is determined to keep his genetic line and philosophy alive. I've got a bit of a soft spot for post-apocalypse fiction -- does anyone have any recommendations to add to this Amazon list which I started at some time or other?

2. I like to see the score marks from yesterday's to-do list pressed through on to today's.

3. Nick takes me out for tapas "because we haven't been out for a while."

16 weeks, backroom stock and how to be a mother.

1. There is another 16-week mother at my antenatal yoga group. So I'm not the baby of the class any more.

2. I go down to Oxfam to prepare for Saturday's Bookfest event. The manager shows me their box of interesting items found in books (school photos, ancient letters, yellowed pages fallen from French novels). Then we rifle through the backroom stock in search of 3BTish books for the window display. If you're in TWells tomorrow (Saturday 3 July) between noon and 3pm, please pop in and say hi, and write a beautiful thing on a bookmark to slip inside a random volume.

3. Louise comes round -- she brings news about her new job, and a birthday present. It's a book of tea-time recipes. She says it's because I'm going to be a mother, and mothers need to know all sorts of recipes that no-one else does.

Wedding earrings, what are the chances and the storm.

Plutarch is writing about swifts, too. They are late this year -- the same winds that blew the volcano ash south have been holding up our migrants who were trying to fly north.

And Ruth (as she says in the comment on yesterday's post) has started 3BTing again.

1. We run into a neighbour while shopping. "I'm choosing wedding earrings," she says.

2. "I was just thinking that very same thing," says Nick. I've been reading Struck by Lightning: the Curious World of Probabilities, which suggests that such occurrences can be explained away easily if you go back through the thought chain that led to the remark. We examine our chains -- but we didn't follow the same path at all.

3. To be woken in the night by heavy rain.

Mystery book, Hell's Belles and archaeology.

1. We have both received emails from the library saying our reserved books are in, so we go down there together. The librarian tells me that they have a mystery book scheme on -- do I want to join in? Of course I do, so she hands me a mysterious bag. It contains Humboldt's Gift by Saul Bellow -- apparently all the books in the scheme have been chosen because they deserve to be better known. I enjoyed and was challenged by Bellow's Augie March, so I'm hoping Humboldt's Gift will  do the same. And if I don't like it? Well, I can always abandon it and take it back -- I didn't choose it, after all.

2. The other book I picked up at the library was the next Paul Magyrs book about Brenda and Effie, Hell's Belles!. Brenda is a large lady with an unusual past (she's escaping from it by running a b&b), and Effie is a witch in denial (she owns a junkshop). They live in the atmospheric Goth haven of Whitby, and they fight evil (particularly the malevolent Mrs Claus, who runs a perpetual Christmas at her cliff top hotel) -- it's a bit like Mma Ramotswe, but with monsters.


3. Time Team are digging up a rare Anglo Saxon hall. Two of the archaeologists are introduced to the joys of flyte, a ritualised insulting competition -- in this instance a sequence about shovels. Phil and Matt then spent the rest of the dig swapping jeers about their equipment (and if that made you snigger, you've got the basic idea of Anglo Saxon insults).

Right tools for the job, gothic novel and the revue.

1. Writing on a CD with a fine new permanent pen purchased particularly for this task.

2. I'm really loving The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins (although I do want to shout at the self-destructively virtuous and passive Laura Fairlie). When I settle down to read, I disappear into that dark world -- the brooding lake and the oppressive house and Mr Fairlie's shuttered study.


3. I went with a writing friend to the Comedy Cafe at Trinity -- and one of the acts was the pant-wettingly funny Raymond and Mr Timpkins Revue (there's a video). Their set was a cavalcade of song lyric and typographic japery to a quick-fire soundtrack. It was very clever, and very slick.

Swimming reindeer, Kingdom of Ife and lady detectives.

1. The entrance of the British Museum is Saturday crowded -- too many people, too many voices, too much to take in. We dive into a darkened side room to collect ourselves and find the swimming reindeer sculpture -- 13,000 years old. There's no rush.

2. We go to the British Museum for an exhibition of sculptures from Ife (a kingdom in what is now Nigeria). Looking at some of the bronze heads, cast between 12th and 15th century, I can see real people staring proudly back at me. Many of the sculptures were lost in times of unrest and then found again and honoured in sacred groves. Among the life-like heads, a granite mudfish stands out for me -- a roughly shaped finger of rock with rusted nail eyes and nostrils. And two terracotta rams heads -- I can see them alive in my, fine fellows standing out from the sharp-scented flock, their heads drawn back, and their lips curled to show their teeth.

3. Waiting at the station, I spot a book that Tim recommended to me some time ago -- two eccentric lady detectives solve mysteries in the gothic seaside town of Whitby. Never the Bride by Paul Magrs involves aliens-on-the-run, a devilish beauty salon and a hotel where eternal Christmas Eve is presided over by a terrifying vision of enforced jollity who calls herself Mrs Claus -- plus a fish and chip shop called Cod Almighty. I've finished it by bedtime.

Venetian tale, little locos and dust.

1. A lot of train journey means a lot of reading time. I picked up Michelle Lovric's The Undrowned Child on my way out of the house, and I'm glad I did. It's set in Venice, and it's the story of a bookish girl who must fulfil a prophecy to save the city from a watery fate -- with some salty-tongued, curry-loving mermaids to help her.

2. We go up to Alexandra Palace for a model train show. Among the grittily realistic industrial layouts and nostalgic rural idylls, was found Smallbrook Studio's lofty locos in Yellow Submarine colours. They look as if they've chuffed out of a Heath Robinson illustration, but a chat to the maker revealed that they were inspired by another illustrator, Rowland Emett.

3. We dig in with Stardust -- a romantic fantasy film based on a novel by Neil Gaiman in which the heart of a falling star is pursued by... well pretty much everyone. I particularly love Mark Williams' performance as a goat turned into an innkeeper.

Over the wall, volunteer and fried apples.

1. On our way down to the charity shop, we pass two men talking over a garden wall. The man in the garden sees the crates of books in our arms, and his eyes widen. His gaze follows us as we pass.

2. To look through into the back of the shop and see a cheerful volunteer steam cleaning donated clothes.

3. Frying slices of red apple to go with pork chops -- the white flesh turns caramel brown.

Stay out of the kitchen, daff robbers and books out.

This post on a blog belonging to one of my editors (also a part-time football dad) put a smile on my face. I hope you'll like it, too. I think it would appeal particularly to the parents among you.

These are a few of my favourite 3BT posts for the week -- here's the longlist.

• Whitney is told that her blog has helped beat "the late-winter funk".
• Raymond Pert's pipes are whistling.
• Genny's octogenarian in-laws indulge in some skip-diving.
• Round Kelly's way, everyone's out for the first warm day of the year; and Penelope doesn't see the cows going out.
• Den captures a zebra-striped road.
• Plutarch observes some social unease.
• Becoming Human shares tantalising coffee shop story fragments. What can you tell an Inuit man about dressing for winter?
• Sprite shares the news that Susan's quit the job that was making her miserable -- good for Susan!
• What on earth are Erin's children baking?

1. I ask if he would like an apricot crumble for pudding tonight. "Let's have it later in the week. I don't want you spending too much time in the kitchen."

2.Daffodil buds. They look like bank robbers in green stocking masks.

3. I fill two crates with books for the charity shop. Stacked up, the books are the height of an eight year old child.

Re-reading, lightbulb moments and a good evening.

1. I need something funny and comforting and familiar to read on the train. Thank you, Mr Bryson.

2. I go to a class at the School of Life -- How to Stay Calm. The teacher, novelist Naomi Alderman, says that people either come to this class because they have a problem with anxiety (that's me) or with anger (mostly men, she says). I find myself talking to a man who says that social anxiety vanishes once you realise that everyone else is far too worried about themselves to notice you. I tell him how when I first understood that aged 18, it was like a burden being lifted from my shoulders. Then we tell someone else about it.

3. A Japanese man and woman are waiting for the tube. They are flushed, and limp with laughter. It makes me smile to see such open happiness.

Raindrops, roses and gem from the pile.

1. I like the patter-spat of rain on my umbrella.


2. Nick comes home with an armful of roses. They are yellow with a red blush at the tips of the petals, and make me think of orange juice carefully poured over grenadine.

3. I've picked up Hilary Mantel's Beyond Black. It's been in my to read pile for years -- I think I might have snaffled it from Katie who I used to live with. But anyway -- now I've got going with it, I'm hooked on the story of a voluptuous psychic and her spikey nowhere woman sidekick. I wonder what other gems there are hiding in my pile?

The bird, thaw and boneshaker.

I put three more blogs on the Roll of Honour yesterday: Nicsknots, For the Love of Beads (home of regular commenter Rosebud) and Tru's Flickr photo set.

Both Feather Duster and Joannezipan have been following footprints in the snow. I loved Den's picture of a prideful garden bird.

In one of those odd thematic co-incidences, a small congregation of 3BTers have written about places of worship this week. Whitney (who got a wonderful treat on her birthday) had a Yoda moment while serving communion. Raymond Pert has been feeling at home in his church, and so has Leonora. Lynn uses a lovely phrase to describe packing away the decorations in her church, and enjoys one of her mother-in-law's sayings.

Finally Ruth at Sheer Sumptuosity raced through the snow for an Arabian treat, and shares a picture of the beautiful badges she is making for Valentine's day.

1. I am on the phone to my mother-in-law when I spot a bluetit on the bird feeder. I haven't put food out before because I assumed we had no birds in our corner. But the forked footprints in the snow made me realise that they do come down here. I put out fat and a dish of water, and was rewarded by a scribbled mass of bird prints.

2. The chorus of drips, draps and splats of the snow melting. Two lines of translucent slush now pass our door.

3. Boneshaker by Cherie Priest. It's the story of a Chicago that never was -- ruined by a mining machine gone mad, poisoned by a blight gas and walled up the protect the people making a miserable living outside. A boy in search of answers crosses the wall and is trapped. His mother follows, hoping to protect him from the horrors inside -- or is it the truth about his father that she's trying to save him from?

Out shadows, glaze and the dreamer wakes.

1. I like a bright New Year's day. The sun gets into dark places and drives away the shadows.

2. To use a pastry brush to slop a milk glaze on a tray of biscuits.

3. I discover that among Nick's Christmas presents was a guidebook to our favourite sleeping tentacled horror Cthulhu. I spend a happy half hour enjoying words like 'squamous' and 'rugose' and 'tenebrous'.

Doughball, can't wake up and my evening.

1. Dough bumbles round the breadmaker pan like a stout creature in an exercise ball.

2. The butcher is alarmed and bemused by his slowness. "I just want to put my head down and have a 10-minute kip." I tell him that I think that's a reasonable response to this sort of greyish day, when it doesn't really get light. He smiles and says he supposes it is.

3. I'd forgotten football night -- that means for me a hot bath and a good book (Whitechapel, a novel about a Victorian thug forced to play detective against Jack the Ripper).