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.

Migrants, godfather and parsnips.

1. The piles of leaves in the park (I saw the groundsman with the leaf blower on Friday) might be herds of shaggy creatures migrating so slowly that it's impossible to see them move without a time lapse camera.

2. Tim and Rachel come for tea -- we have an important question to ask Tim. Since it's his fault that Alec is here at all, we hope he will stand as godfather. He is very pleased, and says yes. We've also asked my brother, and Nick's boss Charlotte has agreed to be godmother, so whatever befalls Alec in the future, he'll have a selection of wiser heads than ours to turn to.

3. Nick's honey roast parsnips.

Trousers, introductions and oooer Missus.

1. I notice that Nick has hung Alec's new brown cord trousers on the end of the bed next to his own pair.

2. Caroline and Maggie (who is now nine months old) come to meet Alec. Caroline swears he gives her a smile -- I think she might be right, as I'm sure I've seen him do it, too -- while Maggie empties the wastepaper basket, plays it like a tin drum and appreciates the scrunchy papers inside.

3. The doorbell rings. I pick up Alec and his trousers fall off. By the time I get the door open, his nappy has also gone astray. The salesman almost runs down the path.

Real world, it's in the tabs and rite of passage.

1. It's a day of visitors. First PaulV comes round to meet Alec and take a few photos. Then in the evening, Katie and Jules drop by for their introduction. It is so good to see some non-baby people.

2. We tell the midwife about this morning's baby grow filler poomagedon experience. She shows us how to put a nappy on -- properly this time. "You can do the tabs up tighter than you think." And despite the extreme off-loading, Alec has put on a pleasing few ounces.

3. While Nick gets ready for bed, I sit at the kitchen table typing a post one-handed with Alec on my knee.

Picture by Paul Viney

Blue hat, great grandmother and progress.

1. Fenella visits, bringing encouraging words and an offer of babysitting -- it means a lot to have a diligent and skilled mother willing to do this for us. She also brings some clothes, including Alec's first blue item: a knitted hat the colour of hyacinths. We put it on for his walk round the park. It suits him so well that we (very) briefly consider Hyacinthus as a middle name.

2. Granny Pat comes round to meet her first great grandson. He was born on my late grandfather's birthday, which pleases her very much. She salutes Alec smartly, and tells Nick "I was in the army for two years."

3. We're getting on better with the feeding -- mainly thanks to lanolin and a very supportive husband. Nick administers the Infacol, helps with positioning and records the time and length of each session in a notebook. He winds Alec afterwards, and gives us tonnes of praise. Our first 20-minute feed made me feel on top of the world. Alec just burped.

What we miss, Christmas shopping and tea talk.

1. "Cheese. Runny cheese." "Stilton." The NCT mums are anticipating the births of their babies.

2. A large parcel has arrived for Nick. He says it's a present from Baby Badger to its dad. I put it away until Christmas.

3. A mug of cranberry and sanguinello tea and a quick catch-up with Katie.

End of autumn, woodsmoke and circles.

1. Walking through the park in the rain. Cold air. Cold sky. Warm reds and golds hang on bravely.

2. The smell of woodsmoke on a rainy day.

3. We've been walking in circles all morning, she says in a text. I assume it's a metaphor for a frustrating day. No -- walking round and round holding a couple of Mum's fingers is Ben's new favourite activity.

Back to work, boys and the bride returns.

1. It's getting close to 2pm on a rainy Friday. The pub door spits office workers, all with coats pulled over their heads.

2. She's not at home. Dad answers the door with a dribbly son on his hip. "We're doing things that Mummy wouldn't approve of," he says.

3. Katie comes down with my mixer -- it made all the cupcakes for her wedding. She is relaxed and happy and brown from her honeymoon, and it's great to sit and talk it over while the rain streaks down outside.

When life throws you lemons, dental health and nightmare.

1. Anna brings gossip and lemons -- part of a gift for a friend. The kitchen smells citric for the rest of the day.

2. Nick has been to the dentist and feels very sorry for himself. I tell him have been beside myself with worry all morning, imagining myself in one of those real life magazines: "My husband only went in for a filling and came back with NO HEAD."

3. I'm dreaming that I'm in a crowded place. Pain in my calf makes me shout. Faces look down at me curiously and I have no idea what to do. Then: "Is it cramp?" Kind hands flex my foot and lead me back down into the pillows.

New bread, tanks for the memory (sorry) and strawberries.

I was very pleased yesterday to get a message from James Heald, saying that a combination of 3BT and Pythagorean philosophy inspired him to start blogging. He is planning to spend 18 minutes a day writing, and here he talks about his aims.

I wanted particularly to mention this, because I know a number of 3BT bloggers tail off after a while. One reason is the format doesn't work for them. If that's the case, they might find a timed exercise, or a word count fits in better with their nature and lifestyle. 

I do think a limit is vital with writing -- it prevents blank page fright. I use this idea every day -- my to-do list includes items like 'Write 75 words on hair removal article' and '100 words on jam' (actual examples from last week). My thinking is 'Only a total loser would fail to write 75 words.'

So if your 3BT blog has withered on the vine, don't be disheartened -- try a different tactic. I still think I was very lucky to stumble, first time, on a formula that has worked so well for me. If writing a list of three things every day doesn't work for you, you are not a bad blogger -- you are a different blogger.

1. Simon has had his lunch on the train, but "I just want some of that new-baked bread."

2. Nick and Simon are bouncing off the walls when they come home from War and Peace -- they can't stop talking about the tanks and the Jeeps and the Lancaster Bomber flypast and the lone World War Two Swedish army re-enactor with his long-suffering wife.

3. To stain the chopping board by cutting up a punnet of strawberries. Just before dinner, I strew them with a little sugar, which will brings out the juice.

On the fence, up the hill and The Winslow Boy.

1. The lady who lives over the road stops to talk to the blackbird on her fence. He's very bold.

2. To see a friend driving up the hill towards me. She has dropped by to see if I was in. I wasn't, but I am now (nearly).

3. I go to see The Winslow Boy and run into Anke and Mrs Anke. There is an empty seat beside them, so I hop down two rows to join them: "Like a mongoose," says Anke. The play is excellent -- lots of subtle laughs, issues to chew over and characters to sympathise with. I thought the boy was particularly good, wavering between child and man.

Tribal roar, raspberry and new moon.

1. As we are leaving, we are startled by a roar. I jump. "What's happened? What's happened?"
"Someone's just scored." Nick points to one of the upstairs flats -- our quiet and unassuming neighbour is leaning out of the window jabbing his thumbs at the sky. "10 seconds to go," he calls by way of explanation.

2. I am not above stealing a raspberry from Fenella's plate.

3. Neat arc of new moon. The shadow side is waiting.

Interview booked, the great library and Katie's grandmother.

1.  Finally -- when time is running out -- the interview is booked.

2. We watch Bettany Hughes' Ancient World. It's an episode about Alexandria -- famous in the ancient world for its great library. She stands in the city's modern library and explains that today, as well as the books, there's a massive computer. "Every two or three days, it backs up the entire world wide web." And do you know what means? It means 3BT is (in an indirect way) in the Great Library of Alexandria.

3. I've just heard that Katie-who-I-used-to-live-with's grandmother has died. Katie has recorded the funeral tribute on her blog, and it's a fascinating read. Eileen was a journalist, and whenever our paths crossed, we would talk about that. And after I came back from the epic 2006 Africa trip, we'd talk about that, too. She'd spent many years living in some of the places we'd visited for a few days. When I told her about hearing the kindergarten in the incredible concrete church at Marangu, she corrected me firmly (she never pulled any punches!) -- "Cathedral. I remember that going up."

Storing up sunshine, new bread and windowsills.

1. It's a sunny day, with bright, clean air. We make the most of the light -- the forecast is heavy rain for the rest of the week.

2. I like to wrap a loaf of new bread (still warm) in a tea towel and carry it round to a friend's house.

3. Katie's new kitchen windowsill is wide enough for a tray of seeds -- she's looking after it for her mother-in-law.

Tea, early and the act.

The 3BT podcast is live -- today with extra volume because I've discovered Audacity's amplify function.

1. Grabbing tea with a friend as she happens to be in town. She has some happy news.

2. As I am leaving for the theatre, Nick comes home unexpectedly early. "Who are you going with?" "By myself." "Would you like me to come too?" I would very much.

3. To see an actor's face change as she flips from part to part. I like to catch the moment (the out-breath, the dab of the handkerchief, the lifting of the shoulders) when she finds herself back in the narrator. The show, Austen's Women, is doing the Adelaide Festival in Australia, and then going to London. If you're a Jane Austen fan, it's strongly recommended.

Archaeology, face and baking.

1. I interview an archaeologist who tells me that I ask difficult -- but good -- questions. He illustrates his points with funny stories -- "The Iron Age did not begin with a man cantering round Britain with a trumpet saying 'Everyone start using iron now.' It was more of a gradual process." And "Well, I wouldn't go into a Glasgow pub and say 'Actually, you're not Celts.'"

2. A friend posts a picture of her new baby on Facebook.

3. The smell of spices and baking makes itself at home while the bread pudding is in the oven.

I got the words, Anna and end of the week.

1. I like to send off a completed piece of work -- editing work for a man who does not speak English so well, but writes with amazing clarity about a complex subject. I feel satisfied about that -- I hope my skills have given him the confidence to forge ahead in his career.

2. Writing this blog has brought me so many good things, including a lot of new friends. Pretty high on the list of these would be Anna. We go out to press jolly lunch and do some catching up.

3. I send in my two articles for the week, and for the first time in months, I get that feeling that shouts: "FRIIIIDAAAAAY".

Round the parish, work fast and together.

Artist Amelia Critchlow has written a 3BT post over at 101 Birds -- we met while I was covering an exhibition here in Tunbridge Wells that includes her work. She's written about that, and the co-incidence surrounding our meeting.

1. I keep her company while she delivers parish Christmas cards. We enjoy the winter decay in other people's gardens, and good nosey at their front doors.

2. I get a piece of work that must be done quickly. It strikes me that it will pay for Christmas lunch.

3. I work late into the night while Nick cuts out his counters. When I come to bed, I apologise for having to work while he is home, but he says he likes being together silently.

Handover, aid and the pub.

Louisa Parry (who runs one of my favourite green blogs, How Can I Recycle This) has started 3BTing on her personal blog.

1. Nick's dad says of Nick's mother: "If she's holding Nick's hand, I don't see why I can't hold yours," and with a rare smile, he takes my hand.

2. On Friday I had a bit of a career setback. Anna and Sarah have sprung into action, and over mince pies and fizzy wine, they help me work out what it is I can do.

3. Going to a pub and drinking beer while a band plays covers.

The visitor, out of the rain and spreadsheet.

On our wedding day, one of my favourite bloggers Mr London Street wrote a 3BT post, which is so full of love and pleasure that I hope everyone will give it a read.

1. Katie comes by after breakfast (by which I mean about noon) to drop off a card and have a catch-up. As always, she looks very glam in a smart coat that is the perfect length to show off her beautiful conker-brown boots. I am still in my pyjamas.

2. While waiting in a bookshop for the rain to stop: "That'll teach me to leave my coat in the car. Shall we go across the road and have a cup of coffee in BHS?"

3. We have so many people to thank that we need a spreadsheet to keep track. It's getting more and more heavily pencilled as we remember the kindnesses.