Transmission, assistance and party.

1. The first thing Nick says when I wake up is that when I sleep snuggled up behind him, he can feel Baby Badger moving against his back. I'm amazed to discover that BB can kick that strongly and not wake me up, and pleased to think that the two of them get some time alone together.

2. Katie has put a call out for bulb planting assistance -- so I go round and spend a few hours in her sunny back garden -- in return, I get lunch and two slices of chocolate cake.

3. There is a children's party going on in the hall across the hill. Little voices roar out cheesy pop music -- "Hey-ay-ay baby, will you be my girl?" and laugh at the DJ's jokes. A few brave souls get up to sing: "Twinkle twinkle little star" and from one rebel: "Happy birthday to you, stick your head down the loo..."

Retrieval, ripe and first concert.

1. These plums are disappointing. I bake them into Delia's oat and plum slices, which are not.

2. I have my doubts about the replacement plums, too. They are deep aubergine purple -- some of them -- but streaked and shaded with green as if they might not be quite ripe. I pull one out of my shopping bag on the way home. Very sweet, very juicy and very plummy.

3. This piece is pushing the boundaries of music. It's pushing the boundaries of what a clarinet can do, with haunting polyphonics and hysterical screeches. Baby Badger reacts with some hefty kicks that are visible through my dress. "Your first concert," whispers Dad proudly.

Aranjuez, a few moments in the sun and not washing up.

1. A choral version of Rodrigo's Aranjuez concerto woke me up yesterday morning -- it's a plaintive love song, set in the gardens of Aranjuez. It sounds to me like a couple calling to each other in the morning, just as its getting light. We heard it on BBC Radio 3's CD Review. You might be able to listen again (go to 2h36mins), depending on where you are in the world. Or the CD is Espana: A Choral Postcard From Spain.


2. Nick comes back from his errand. He smells of fresh air and sunshine.

3. "I'll do the washing up. You go and have a bath."

Good spirits, washing line and light opera.

Here are my favourite 3BT posts for the week.

Lynn plays the glad game.
Penelope's daughter sees the joy in a banana.
Eyebee has something nice for breakfast.
Leonora fills her hands and empties her head.
Bag Lady will never be short of work.
Whitney takes a holiday.
Spring has come for Merope's dogs.
Louisa's new dog has her dancing to a different rhythm.
Sprite's birthday presents are handmade with love.
Confucian bells ring true for Plutarch, and a toad reminds him of national service.
Genny hears some satisfying gossip.
It's spring for lucky Joe in Vegas.

1. We visit Nick's parents, and find them in good spirits. When I write that, I feel like a historic diarist -- my whaler's wife, or Anne Hughes from Diary of a Farmer's Wife.

2. I like to bring bedding in off the line -- it always smells better than any detergent ever could. It's a cold smell that fills the vault of my head and makes me think of light and shadow.

3. We've recorded HMS Pinafore -- it's good, once in a while, to sing along with an opera, to make comments about the costumes and to stop the action for a pee break.

Friends, pancakes and Murdoch.

1. With it being half term, there's been a lot of children's programmes on the radio. This morning, they played I Can Tell That We Are Gonna Be Friends by the White Stripes. Its one of those songs that puts a smile on my face and the effect is intensified when I hear it by chance.

2. We make pancakes -- it's Shrove Tuesday. With pancakes, the first few are always a mess, and then they start to come right. 

3. The first episode of the new season of Murdoch -- it's a detective series set in 19th century Toronto. Murdoch finds himself across the Atlantic in Bristol suffering from Amnesia -- and, more pressingly, two murderous pursuers.

The job, remembering the song and getting paid.

1. It strikes me that my job these days is to investigate things of interest, and then write about them. That puts a smile on my face.

2. I couldn't get the name of the song mentioned in yesterday's post -- my hearing of the words is a mis-spelling, so I couldn't find it anywhere on-line. But somebody knew -- somebody who we all laughed at when he bought a CD of Nepali folk music. Thanks Daddy.

3. Putting a paycheque into the bank.

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.

Look up, singing cyclist and Nick is wise.

1. The sky is Tupperware white, but look carefully: there is a layer of mackerel sky below the flat white ceiling.

2. The road is misty Sunday-morning quiet. A cyclist passes me. He's singing in a reedy voice about angels.

3. I'm a bit rubbish with money -- I feel terrible when I spend, and yet always seem to end up with less money than I should have at the end of the month.

When Nick says: "I always give myself a set amount to spend. Once it's gone, that's it", I grumble about it not working for me. However, since one of things I really admire about Nick is his head for finance, I take his advice and go to the stitching show with the money that I could afford to spend in my pocket. Strangely, it exactly covered what I wanted to buy.

Tune up, Sunday walk and icefall.

1. A spooky thing: while I'm doing my morning Facebook and Twitter catch-up one thing leads to another, and a song by my former colleague Oli Hudson - (There's not a Riot Going On Down In) Tunbridge Wells - springs to mind. I stick the video (a He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named creation) up on Facebook. A couple of hours later, Oli posts that he's come back from holiday to find he's a runner-up in the UK Songwriting Contest. You can hear more of his music at The Sixty-One.

2. On a walk round the cricket pitch, we spot two children being whirled round by their father and uncle. Then everyone is distracted by a naughty dog running on to the pitch -- I can tell it's naughty because of the way it looks about to see the confusion it has caused. The bowler gives it some fuss, and then it runs back to the boundary, careful to keep its collar just out of its owner's hands.

3. The sound of the last piece of ice falling off the freezer compartment.

The drink, out of the sun and all together now.

1. My sunflower's leaves are hanging soft and sad like wet handkerchiefs. I dip a watering can into the cool, dark rainbarrel and take it a drink. An hour later, its leaves are proudly starched again.

2. The air is as hot as my skin and the sunlight is so bright that I have to work hard to decide what details are important. I like to step into an air conditioned shop; and to be given a free sample of a cool drink.

3. We spend the evening listening to Prom 45: The Ukelele Orchestra of Great Britain. It's very funny -- and the sound of the audience joining in with Beethoven's Ode to joy on 1,000 ukes was stirring, and somehow reassuring and unifying. Also, if you have a moment, read the reviews of the controversial Prom 25. One listener claims her ears were raped, and another was upset by whatever the pianist was doing inside the piano.

Found you, sharing the line and forces' sweetheart.

1. Small boy calls for his mother in the market. By the time I turn round, she's dabbing the tears off his face.

2. I like chatting to one of the neighbours as we peg out our washing.

3. Nick comes back from the tank rally and says he's seen Dame Vera Lynn 'And she's tiny, like a little bird.'

A change of clothes, it is real and luck for dinner.

1. At the last minute, I change my mind and tuck a dress into my weekend bag.

2. The train is crowded and we have to sit apart for the whole journey. I reach across the aisle and pat Nick's arm to make sure we really are together and we really are going away to the seaside.

3. I hadn't expected to walk in and get a table at The Little Bistro -- it has just 16 seats. I'm so glad we did. An ancient Australian bluesman came in and played for us -- 'This is a little song I wrote a long time ago about...' The whisper went from table to table that he is very famous and 'a friend of the family'. We got to try a perfect pan-fried slip -- a delicate variety of sole that is only available on the Kent coast for a few weeks a year. And lamb from Romney Marsh, slow-cooked into tender shreds and sitting in a pool of burgundy gravy.

Going goth, ooh sparkly and Tiny Tin Lady.

1. I like WoodburyPark Cemetery because on a bright blue sky day with a stiff breeze, it is restful to take some thoughts for a walk under the yew trees' light and shadows.

2. Katie-who-I-used-to-live-with shows me her engagement ring. I'm so glad to have her along on the bridal ride -- ever since school, I've always felt a lot better having her around at important milestones.

3. Tiny Tin Lady* came to Tunbridge Wells. Katie and I go down to The Forum to hear their girly folk music that manages to be both sweet and splendidly earthy at the same time. We loved the closing song -- which was inspired by a keg of beer and a rhyming dictionary. I think one reason I like them so much (apart from their magical harmonies) is that I'm aiming for that same spot between beautiful and not saccharine. It must be a very fine line for a bunch of very young women playing a genre mostly associated with beardy men.

* I first heard them back in August 2004, and I can't BELIEVE I didn't write about them then -- the lead singer was only about 13, and she was so overwhelmed by the Cropredy love that she cried; and I was smitten.

Face ache, hear ye, the dance.

1. She says that watching the ceremony has made her smile so much that her cheeks hurt. Mine do, too.

2. The bride and groom are standing behind the town crier trying not to laugh as he bellows the news of their marriage to the town.

3. The groom's parents come back on to the floor to dance to their song; and the groom, embracing them both, joins in.

Snort, a concert and the timing.

1. I blow my nose and, for the first time in a week, it stays clear.

2. There is an afternoon concert of Bach at the Assembly Hall and elderly ladies hurry towards it from all directions. Some are driven to the doors; other drive themselves in shining red cars. Other hurry down the road with floral walking sticks that match their shoes and scarves.

3. I like getting the timing right when I roast a chicken. I tell Nick we will eat at 7pm; and at 7pm we are at the table, looking at our loaded plates.

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.

Wake-up call, the nature of Monkey and magic.

I have a Small Stone published here.

1. Waking up next to Nick after a few days apart.

2. Monkey: Journey to the West. Ninja guards on very tall unicycles. Spider Fairy on a corde de lys with sheets of red silk.

3. We watch in amazement as our bath changes colour from turquoise to cobalt blue.

Oh rose, I know that and Scottish hamster.

1. On the autumn's first raw morning, a shell pink rose nestles low down in its bush, having pulled a nest of thorns around itself.

2. A colleague's TV theme tune ring tone makes me squeak with recognition, and a conversation starts across the desks.

3. I rediscover this wonderful thing -- it's a Dr Who theme tune generator, The Radiophonatron. It's brilliant, just clunky enough to make you feel that the perfect composition is out there, just out of reach.

Six weeks, up front and a place to go.

1. Nick tells me 'Six weeks' and we smile to think of all the changes that will have happened in that time. The new bathroom will be in; the kitchen floor laid; and I will have 23m of shelves on the left of the fireplace.

2. We sit right under the stage at the Tunbridge Wells Mela so PaulV can take pictures. In front of us, little girls of all colours and sizes copy the Bangladeshi dancers, and children rest their chins on the stage, entranced. Here's Plutarch's take on it over at Now's the Time. And you can see what Anonymous Bosch made of it at in three posts at Street Photography in Tunbridge Wells: part 1, part 2 and part 3.

3. In the evening park, two sturdy teenagers sit on the swings drinking bottles of beer.

Delayed pleasure, a changed cat and homegrown.

Today I am hosting a tourist: Fiona Robyn, who drops a Small Stone into my inbox each day. She is celebrating her book of the same title with a blog tour.

1. Enjoying my 'thank-you-for-having-me' gifts a week after Alex has gone: a wine glass of sparkling pear juice, hot pink gerberas on the window-sill, a square of Green and Black's dark ginger chocolate.

2. The warm weight of a curled-up purring cat as after seven years of choosing the sofa Silver develops a sudden preference for laps.

3. Sitting outside and craving fruit and knowing there's none in the house, before I remember to take four steps to my blueberry bushes where I pluck eighteen plump fruits and pop them into my mouth where they set off tart-sweet explosions.

And these are my beautiful things.

1. As we potter around the house, Granny sings 'Some Enchanted Evening' from South Pacific. 'People don't write romantic songs any more,' she comments sadly. I try to explain to her about Hey There Delilah, but she's more interested in 'We Joined the Navy to See the World' from Follow the Fleet.

2. There is now scaffolding outside my window and I can look straight down one of the cross-bars to see a circular picture of the trees beyond.

3. Nick tells me that he was just thinking about what he would say when he comes home from work when I move in.