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.

Stop, a treat and good work.

1. I am having a frustrating day. It feels good to admit defeat, to stop work and play a bit of The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess.

2. Nick comes home bearing a bag of goodies from Lush. We add a bath night on to our weekend plan; and spend some time poring over Lush Times, the catalogue so we know what we'd like to try next -- Lovely Jubblies décolletage cream is high on the list.

3. To receive an email saying "Good job".

Spice Store, battle and the solar system.

I added three new 3BTers to the Roll of Honour -- all in Spanish. Estando en Babia, El w.c. de Eric, and Despiertos. I've been using Google Translate to get an idea of what they're saying. Muchas gracias por los tres cosas agradables.

1. To hear the shopkeeper discussing ingredients with the family ahead of me in the queue. He is opening a bag of fresh herbs and saying: "I've got some black vinegar downstairs, but it's very expensive."

2. While I work, I can hear Nick and his friend Nigel battling their forces up and down the kitchen table. At the end of the afternoon, they say rather ruefully that they spent most of the day stealing chickens from each other, rather actually engaging.

3. We watch the lovely, lovely Professor Brian Cox revealing the wonders of the solar system. I'm sort of aware of space and moons and eclipses and doesn't the sky look cool through binoculars. But as a result of a disturbing incident with a science book when I was five, I've never really bothered to understand it beyond what I needed to follow an episode of Star Trek. But when the Professor explains it, I really, really want to learn, even the numbers and the distances. He makes it seem like something wonderful he's found, but he's a bit shy about showing you.

The apple, off the snow and an evening with friends.

Was talking about bird footprints in the snow the other day, and look, Lucille has put some pictures on her blog, Useful or Beautiful.

1.How gratifying to see the apple I put out for the birds pecked into a mass of peaks and chasms.

2. It's such a relief to come off compacted and frozen snow, where I have been sliding and sinking by turns, and on to a gritted road.

3. Coming into a warm, bright house where there will be an evening of pizza and gaming.

The choice, soup and game on.

1. In the bakery, listening to the girls behind me deciding which cake they would like to take back to the office. "I couldn't eat a whole one of those. I'd have to cut it in half." "I'll have one, but for later."

2. A pan of orange vegetables (pumpkin and carrot) cooking for a wintery soup.

3. Nick is very pleased with himself because has bought a new game. When I get home, he has spread all the maps out out on the floor. On one of them, the British Empire is still pink. "There are more than a thousand counters," he says. He's anticipating a happy evening of pressing them out and neatening the rough edges.

Mathematical cauliflower, it's raining leads and the puzzles.

1. The Able and Cole box contains a mathematical cauliflower. I forgot what a romanesco is, and had in my head that we were going to receive a lettuce, so it was a joy to part the leaves and find lime green turrets and spirals. Nick came home and swiftly named it "Mandelbroccoli."

2. I'm in a panic as I don't have very much to put on my action points form for tomorrow's signing on. Then I spot a sign board asking for office help in town. When I get home I find an email from a friend saying she knows an editor who might have something; and a tweet with another lead. I'm so lucky to have all these people on the look-out for me.

3. We reach for the television, but can't settle. "Do you want to do something else instead?" We curl up on the sofa and collaborate over Professor Layton's puzzles on my pink Nintendo DS. Just as we are settling in, the phone rings. Nick's boss wants clarification of the conundrum about moving horses that he challenged her with earlier.

Picture by me. Sorry about the quality: the photography genes were assigned elsewhere among my siblings.

Water comes, the parcel and saved from certain death.

Another pair of newses:

a. Sarah Salway, writer of marvellous books, is offering free (that's right, free) prompts for writers on her blog. As a keen scribbler, I don't compromise when it comes to prompts -- and neither should you. Roll down a little on the lefthand side to find them. (Can I have my biscuit now, Sarah?)

b. Hunter-Gatherer, the man who lives by his bushcraft skills in a home-made treehouse in the woods, announced yesterday in a post (mainly about catching and preparing pigeon) that he has proposed to his girlfriend. They are another Nick and Clare pair, which is a lovely co-incidence.

1. On the first day of rain after a long dry spell (Sunday was the first day I had to fill my watering can from the tap), I like to lift the lid of the rainwater barrel, stand on tiptoes and see that it's full to the brim.

2. Early today, an Amazon parcel arrives addressed to Nick. I assume it's some special interest tome like Biggles on a Train Versus Hitler's Deadliest Baseball Quarterbacks. But when Nick comes home, he says: "It might be a little present." He opens it, and hands the contents to me wrapped in a napkin. It's a new game that I've been mooning over: Professor Layton and Pandora's Box. I played the first one earlier in the year, and was charmed by its Japanese-idea-of-Europe setting, gentle mystery story and challenging puzzles.

3. All the feet miss the snail that is ploughing unconcerned over the doorstep. It protests when I move it, clinging to the stone and drawing in its horns. I'm glad it doesn't know how lucky it was.

Picture of a snail in the dark from Stock.xchng

Trading, better things to do and fire lighter.

1. Trading in two old games for a new (new to me, that is) Zelda game.

2. Turns out that there's no work for me tomorrow after all. But that's all right: there are plenty of things I'd rather be doing anyway.

3. I've seen a couple of Ray Mears' programmes where he asks people to show him how they would light a fire using natural resources, but they've have only heard about it and don't know how it's done. Then he asks politely if they'd mind him showing how he'd do it, and they're a bit doubtful (it's a bit humiliating, after all, for a hunter-gatherer from the Amazon to admit he doesn't know how to make fire using friction any more). And Ray demonstrates, and as the pile of dust grows, and the spark comes and they laugh at Ray coughing in the smoke. They all have a go at blowing on the tinder and suddenly they get these big toothy, happy grins on their faces. Ray tells them that a lady from the South Pacific says: "With friction, you carry the fire in your head and in your muscles."

Hair brush, cricket and daylight tasks.

1. I like to brush my hair (counting 100 strokes) to put a shine on it.

2. Watching over and over again in joyful news reports ball striking the stumps and sending the bails flying.

3. We leave the washing up because we have to do a few things (walk around the park, and bring in the washing) before it gets dark.

Cricket week, boys and the end of the day.

3BT has passed the quarter million hit mark yesterday, which was very pleasing. Thanks for your continued support.

And my cousin Amy texted recently to say that she'd seen an elderly couple in a shopping centre ballroom dancing to no music.

1. Nick shares some of his favourite cricket noises: the sound the scoreboard being updated; and the twack of the ball hitting the advertising hoardings.

2. A party of schoolboys had got bored of watching the real cricket, and started their own game using a plastic chair for a wicket, and shoes for bats.

3. Once supper is enjoyed and washed up, I like the hour when we sit down on the sofa and lean against each other.

Wet day, in waiting and dungeon crawl.

I think I mentioned before that I'm on Twitter, and for those who are that way inclined, this is my profile. I'm playing with the idea of using #3bt to mark beautiful thing tweets, and hoping some other people will join in.

1. My garden on a wet morning because I can skip the watering for today.

2. A nasturium flower in a caul the colour of orange pith is waiting for the sun to come out.

3. I like the surreal elements of Tim's dungeons -- including a statue of a monkey in a fez that turned out to be a teleporter; and an electrified bed that bounced Nick's character across the room.

Dirty weather, dinner sorted and on the mend.

1. A day of wind and rain, and no good reason to leave the house.

2. Putting a potato and a ready meal from Cook in the oven.

3. It is suggested that as I was well enough to spend the day playing Lego Star Wars, I'm well enough to go to work tomorrow.

Tulips, where was I and the mystery vegetable.

1. This garden has black tulips; that one has red and white ragged ones that look like strawberry ripple icecream.

2. Nick has a new game, and the maps are spread out over the floor.

3. A kohlrabi came in our vegetable box. It looks like a Martian thing (it in shape size like a flattened tennis ball, white green, cool and smooth with long waxy stems growing out of its flanks and top) but was crisp and sweet sliced into matchsticks and laced with oil and vinegar.

What's going on, evening match and in our box.

1. The questioning sound of a car reversing quickly.

2. In the park, a dozen small fry play football with four or five dads. The goalie has to keep stopping to redirect his crawling baby off the pitch.

3. These are new season carrots, so slender and sweet and crunchy.

On track, bricks and justification.

1. Hearing the voices of men working on the railway embankment above me.

2. Tipping packets on Lego on to the table and counting out the pieces I need.

3. He wonders why I am still awake. I tell him that the red shoes were expensive for these uncertain times; that I think I should have got the cheap pair. 'But,' he says, 'they will last, I think they look lovely and you'll wear them again and again.'

Petits soldats, posh nosh and candles on the cake.

1. Nick has been wondering about the large parcel with his name on it. It's a box of soldiers -- little ones, from France. He says 'Tim'll be so jealous.'

2. We go out for lunch and eat from glass plates decorated with dabs and dots of sauce and tiny pieces of vegetable.

3. I hadn't realised how late it had got until I carried the candlelit cake through the dark hall.

Washing line, angry blond and the soundtrack.

1. The washing goes out on the line for a few hours -- first time this year.

2. He hands me a 2cm tall warrior which is going away to be painted tomorrow. 'These are great. They've got real Saxon expressions. "I'm here to kill your monsta!". When we watch Beowulf, I'm going to line them up so they can see it.'

3. We spend a cheerful -- if argumentative evening testing wedding music to see what makes me cry (Handel's wedding march, not Wagner's one; Linden Lea, but only a crackly 1930s recording; and the grand march from Aida).

Get out, stuff it in and twice lucky.

1. I have somewhere to be, so I get permission to leave a couple of minutes early. It's good to walk out when I've finished my work, rather than spending the last ten minutes pretending to be busy.

2. Pete describes, complete with expressions, encouraging his small son to eat six quarters of brussel sprout while his wife's back was turned.

3. Rolling two natural twenties in a row.

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.

A kindness, repair and victor.

1. She buys a rice ball. It falls out of its bag on to the floor. 'Oh darling,' says the man at the stall. 'Come here and have another.' She hesitates. Pride? Wanting to take responsibility for her mistake? 'Come on,' says the man at the stall. 'Give that one to me, and I'll give you another.' We silently encourage her. She turns back to the stall.

2. Darning an uncomfortable hole in the toe of a pair of tights.

3. 'Guess who won,' says Nick as he comes in through the door.