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...

Keep talking, smoker and parcel postman.

Drew has posted three beautiful things over at Panic I'm Nearly 30. Do let me know if you write your own beautiful things -- despite all the upheavals, and my current obsession with one particular baby, I am still interested to hear the best things about people's days.

1. I like the way whenever my chiropractor does an even slightly painful adjustment (which is very rarely) she says: "Still speaking to me?"

2. The automatic doors flap open. And shut. She stands just out of the rain hunched into her collar. Then her head pops up and she sets off, trailing a wisp of cigarette smoke the exact colour of her long blue coat.

3. A very wet and miserable postman brings a parcel during lunch. It's addressed to Nick, and he won't open it until he's finished eating, by which time I am nearly dying from curiosity. It's a gift from his work -- a hat box of bits for a baby boy, including a blue fleece blanket, a rattling rabbit, and a tiny pair of shoes.

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

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.

Sparrow boys, breath out and not worrying.

1. Sparrows are sitting on gables and in the angles of downpipes. Their screeches are like London street cries: "'Ave a late. 'Ave a late." "Free fer a pahnd. Free fer a pahnd." "Real leaver! Come on ladies, it's all real leaver."

2. I tell the chiropractor that I'm fine -- but then she starts work, and I realise that I've been holding my breath.

3. Nick is late home -- but I'm napping and oblivious.

Waiting, it's over and I'm having a bath.

I've just discovered Tangible Joy has been 3BTing. I like her rebellion against Starbucksification; and also her appreciation for her job.

1.  In the doctor's waiting room, two small boys (with what looks like the last of chickenpox) wait with their mother. One of them shows off his counting (he does very well, but then goes straight from 29 to 99) and the other plays "give me five... you're too slow" with his mum. He tries to distract her by telling her there's a spider on the ceiling. They make me smile; and I catch the eye of another lady who is also smiling.

2. I go for a smear test -- the nurse is kind and chatty, and it's over so quickly that I hardly realise it's happened.

3. The washing up is done, and Nick has baseball to watch. I squeeze one third of a bottle of shower gel into the bath and make myself some bubbles to hide under while I read.

The tip-off, is it ready and the warning.

1. The man at the job centre says: "A wink's as good as a nod to a blind horse, if you know what I mean." And I do.

2. I like pushing skewer into a cake to see if it's done - the crust on top resists, and then it slips into the soft crumb.

3. My back registers a protest at the cold weather, a month of missed yoga sessions and long hours of writing and medical secretary practice. I spend time stretching and relaxing. It feels great.

Two shawls, red dots and regrouping.

1. Outside a basement flat, two shawls are airing -- pure turquoise and pure orange.


2. The beautician says: 'Oh you've got some lovely erythema forming.' I don't know what erythema are -- turns out, they're the red dots that appear after a leg wax. She explains that they are where blood rushes to heal the hair follicles; and they are a sign of healthy skin.


3. The subs go out to dinner to regroup and talk over our situation -- it's good to see people relaxing after so many weeks of worry.

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.

Cavalry, Alice and toffee.

1. Anna emails a soup recipe she says will help a cold; and Fenella offers to drop in some supplies if we need them.

2. Bryan Talbot's Alice in Sunderland has spent a lot of time lying heavy in my lap in the last 24 hours. It's a lavish and ambitious comic that guides the reader round a fascinating part of England by way of a variety performance of illustration, photographs and collages.

3. I discover that chewing treacle toffee helps earache.

Sun bath, writer's book and dinner.

Hi everyone. I've got a bit behind with posting, and with my inbox because I'm ill (sore throat that has migrated down to a chest infection -- yuck). So if you wrote to me and I haven't replied, or if you should have been added to the Roll of Honour by now, I'll be with you in due course.

1. He puts the deckchair out so I can sit half in sun and half in shade.

2. I picked up Russel T. Davies' book, Dr Who: The Writer's Tale (finally, Clare. What took you so long?) Even with brain preoccupied with deploying antibodies and maintaining white blood cell morale, I'm taking in so much about the writing process. I am always thrilled to read books about writing by respected writers. I find myself thinking 'yes, yes, this is how it is. This is what I feel, too. That's what I'm trying to do.'

3. 'Dinner's ready', he calls. And it's waiting for me on a plate.

Juice, ill and watch the skies.

1. Hot apple juice with honey stirred in.

2. I have spent the day sleeping and waking -- I seem to hit a wall after a couple of hours awake, and doze off wherever I am.

3. A documentary about the Cloud Appreciation Society reminds us to look up.

Leaves, lines and un-colour.

1. In a tray on the ledge outside our bedroom window, lettuce seeds push a crowd of green leaves out of the compost.

2. Using line shading to give shape to a drawing of a rusty key.

3. It's satisfying take off nail polish by dipping each finger into a sponge soaked in acetone.

Reset, watering and it's summer.

Anyone else for 3BT's fifth birthday party drinks at a pub in Tunbridge Wells? Drop me an email if you're coming.

1. After a sleep, the path seems clearer.

2. The sound of a watering can filling up.

3. It's summer because the sticky sash window in the bedroom opens fully.

Watching, heart of the town, bathing, the word and snack.

1. Many pavements and walls have a blue glass evil eye charm in them. Even the corporate pavement outside a bank has a few pressed into the grout between the tiles. I imagine builders carrying a pocketful and surreptitiously dropping a few where they are needed.

2. In the centre of town, we spot a raised and red-painted heart on a wall of undressed honey-coloured stone.

3. During our Turkish bath, they fill a wet pillowcase with air and squeeze a cloud of bubbles over us. The bath is full of sensations -- warm water poured over my heels; heat from the marble slab; exfoliation; a four-handed massage. Whenever a ministration tickles, it makes me laugh, and I catch the attendant's eye. He smiles right back.

4. We have been been struggling for two days with 'Thank you' -- 'Teşekkür ederim'. Our waiter tells us to 'think of three English words. The first is "tea". The second is "sugar". And say dream. And say it quickly -- "tea-sugar-dream".

5. A tiny cup of Turkish coffee and a large square of very sticky cake.

Picture: Katie Skinner

In my absence: A project of admirable scale can be found at The Daily Mammal.

Muffin, time to tidy and hairwash.

1. I bite into my breakfast muffin and find unexpected nuts.

2. At the end of a happy evening knitting and chatting with friends, Katie looks around the room rather tiredly and says: 'You always pull so much stuff out to show people when they come to visit.'

3. My hair has been staticky and itchy today, so I have been looking forward to getting in a hot shower and washing it in Oilatum.

At home, it's not like that and ouch.

1. I go down to Cafe Divine for some scribbling time and discover that it's rather like sitting in a warm, homey kitchen. People pop in and out returning mugs and swapping news.

2. Twelve years after leaving school, I am still amazed at how, in the real world, no-one shouts at you for being late. They just want you to get to your seat with as little disruption as possible.

3. Katie presses down on my spine to unclick it. It makes me squeak, but I feel much better afterwards.

Spheres, getting better and a bit of fun.

1. Some left-over wedding bubbles have appeared at work, so the office periodically fills with soap bubbles.


2. The pharmacist asks me a few questions to check that I've understood my GP's instructions. 'So you're winding down, are you?' he says, seeing that my dose has been reduced to every other day. 'That's good news. Well done.'

3. I like it when the writing class gets the giggles -- this week it was because of Sarah's stories about a mischievous writing trip Venice.

Bridge, dinner and see my face.

I've been posting on Your Messages -- each day you have the chance to win a place in an anthology by writing 300 words.

1. What I have always thought of as a clogged ditch has swollen into a stream after the rain.


2. The call to dinner -- a pan of spicy red sauce in which two chicken thighs have been cooking.


3. I catch sight of the faint white line under my eye from where I cut my face open in Africa. I remember never being worried that it might be disfiguring -- even when I looked in the mirror and saw the wounds hanging open. Even when I woke up the next morning in hospital and really thought about what I had done. I think this was partly because at uni I had a housemate with a scar. When Ali was cold or excited, a scar as long as my middle finger showed up red on her cheek from where, aged 11, she had fallen through a window. She was beautiful and confident and men came up to her and wanted to know about the scar. It was never seen as an ugly thing, or something to be ashamed of -- rather, a badge of honour and a good story.

The castle, a sleep and co-ordination.

1. We visit a National Trust property that I have known since I was tiny. This year, the house has been opened up. Before, it could be glimpsed here and there, but now the evergreens have been cut down so that the mellow sandstone building is visible from surprising places, and the forbidden lawns are now accessible.

2. Dozing on the sofa leaning on Nick.

3. Finishing both packets of pills on the same day.