Spindle, better and sound effects.

1. A spindle tree with the orange seeds just bursting out of the pink cases cheers me up as I struggle up the hill across the park.

2. "I feel so much better for that," I tell my yoga teacher at the end of the class.

3. By chance I come across an old friend on Radio 4 -- a thriller adapted from Sei Shonagon's The Pillow Book. It is beautifully done in terms of sound effects and voice acting. The Empress, in particular, is astonishing  -- refined and restrained and authoritative all at once.

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."

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.

Hockney, birds and sewing on buttons.

1. At the art gallery here in Tunbridge Wells, we are lucky enough to have an exhibition of David Hockney's Brother's Grimm prints. We go together and enjoy Hockney's wonderful imagination (Rumplestilchen tears himself in half, quarters and then into tiny pieces), his skill at the medium (I enjoyed the contrast between the heap of straw and heap of gold) and his acute observation (loved the enchantress' hairy chin).

2. We view a house, and I spot a guide to British birds in the sitting room, and an improvised birdtable on the hedge.

3. I have finally got round to securing the buttons on my coat -- they've been dangling on long (but well secured) threads for weeks, and looking really untidy. We put a radio play on (a Big Finish Doctor Who) and before I know it, the job is done.

Early delivery, in the mist and sketch.

1. Days when the Abel and Cole man arrives super early, because he knocks on the door and hands me the boxes with a big smile.

2. On a misty day, walking along Mount Ephraim looking over an unfamiliar town. It's a view that never gets tired. Every change in the vault of sky above renews the tiny moving town below.

3. I'm really enjoying Laura Solon's Talking and Not Talking sketch show on Radio 4. One of the characters is a deposed dictator who has moved to England and horrifies those who try to be kind to her. Another is an exotic, spoilt lady who lives in houseful of 'women', apparently servants at her beck and call, but at the end of each story, they lock her in her room.

What I will do, chowder and travelogue.

1. Writing my goals for the week in a notebook, and looking forward to my writing work.

2. I love the golds and creams and bright yellows of corn chowder. And I like the salty-sweet taste, too.

3. We listen to the first part of Hothouse, a far-future coming-of-age tale about life on an Earth that has been taken over by carnivorous plants. I'm very fond of travelogue-style science fiction stories that give you a whole new world to explore.

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.

Milk, tomatoes and Dear Writer.

1. This milk (which has not been homogenised) from Able and Cole is the colour of late afternoon sunshine on a winter day, and tastes the way milk tasted when I was at nursery school.

2. I find two tiny green tomatoes on my plants. They are the size of peas and pearls.

3. Dear Writer, an Afternoon Play on BBC Radio 4 challenges me and harrows me and enlightens me. I feel a bit as if I've been on a roller coaster, or just climbed a mountain.

Got to go, the milestone and story.

1. He says as we wake up on a work day: "I hate leaving you."

2. She says that her little girl has reached another milestone. "Now she cuddles me."

3. We listen to H E Bates' gentle and affectionate story, The Maker of Coffins on BBC 7.

Task, shake off the dust and chard.

1. Sitting on the floor, polar thriller on the radio, and filling my hands with the mindless task of loading a thread holder with 38 hanks of floss in beautiful subtle colours .

2. I take the weeping fig outside and clean the dust off its leaves.

3. There is chard in our veggie box, with glossy lilypad green leaves and crimson, white and yellow stems.

Post, blackcurrants and nuns.

1. We are woken by the fall of a fat pile of letters. When I investigate, I find a wedding invitation among the magazines and bills.

2. The smell of blackcurrants cooking into their own deep red syrup.

3. All day, we've been telling each other that we're going to listen to "the nuns" -- the second batch of Sacred Hearts episodes. It's a historical drama set in a Renaissance convent, a dark love story with a tense setting where reason and religious hysteria collide.

Voice, last and hooked.

1. At the other end of the phone he says: "It's good to hear your voice."

2. There is one loaf of bread left in the bakers. I buy it.

3. We listen to Tartuffe on the radio -- it's a translation by Roger McGough in funny, current wordgamey verse. I am hooked from start to finish.

Red and white, the morning after and an alternative.

Vote for this blog over at Dorset Cereals. Who will be the first?

1. Stacking slices of cheese and tomato (pips scraped out) in a sandwich.

2. I am glad I walked to work on a sunny morning after a night of rain.

3. The BBC i-player is runs on my work computer once again, so I can spend my lunch break listening to a play instead of mooching round DIY shops.

Cookie, spice and lost country.

Lauren over at All the Good Blog Names were Taken has been working on a paper adventure, creating collages inspired by a set of phrases. The latest topic was 'gratitude', and she talked about her 3BT work.

Tim at Heropress has nominated me for a Premio Dardo -- which apparently recognises unique voices on the net. I'm passing it on to Inspiral Daze for her haiku and photographs.

1. A large chocolate chip cookie.

2. A dusting of red paprika on my scrambled eggs.

3. An archaeologist working on a mesolithic site under the North Sea describes how lobsters kick up finds from the peat of our own Atlantis buried under the sea bed.

Cookie, tangerines and steampunk.

I love this post on Life ain't that bad: Deepawali, welcome and lit up.

1. Nibbling pieces of chocolate chip cookie.

2. There are tangerines like small suns in our vegetable box.

3. We listen to The Steppes of Thoth and spend the evening on the edge of the sofa as our heroes suffer a tidal storm in a Martian canal and are attacked by a German ironclad airship.

Chocolate, zoo and thunder.

1. It's a long work day, and so at tea time I buy a Double Decker from the snack machine. I look at it for a while, and then devour it, enjoying every crumb.

2. BBC 7 is playing The Boosh -- the radio version of the The Mighty Boosh. I play the first episode right before bed time.

3. Sitting up at my desk, long after I should have gone to bed, watching a thunder storm rolling around the sky.

Flying, bathroom and broadcast.

1. Sitting with Granny watching a buzzard's wings change from black silhouette to brown and back again as it turns in the sky above us.

2. My father looks into the skip at his dismantled bathroom and bemoans forgetting to use the loo for the last time that morning.

3. My writing teacher recommends a radio play based on Kressman Taylor's Address Unknown. It was only broadcast on Friday, so there's still a chance to listen to this chilling piece -- set in 1932, it consists of letters between a German and his Jewish business partner back in the US.

The rain has come, one worker and pulp.

1. There is smell of wet woods and growing things, as if the Common has drunk deeply in the rain and has let out a fragrant sigh into the sunshine.

2. At the edge of the cricket ground, on a Sunday when everyone else is playing or walking or simply looking on, a serious teenage girl sits studying from a language book.

3. Putting on a pulpy podcast and curling up on the sofa to thrill at the adventures of Doc Savage and the crimson-fingered man who is trying to kill him.

Green day, magic wands and commentary.

1. Looking over Tunbridge Wells from Mount Ephraim and seeing sprays and splots of green among the browns and duns.

2. Fenella and Andy come round bringing their Wii. This results in a competitive, carefree afternoon with biscuits.

3. We put the cricket on right before we go to bed. Nick occasionally calls from the bathroom to find out what I'm laughing at -- 'There are some high clouds, cirrus, I believe' and 'I'm afraid this hat just isn't right for today -- it doesn't cover the microphone' and 'I've got a hob and a microwave in my room.' 'Really? Just a hob for me.'

Snuggling, chiaroscuro and mope.

1. Dozing and waking on a weekday morning because Nick has the day off. We are lying under a new quilt cover -- the old one was cheap and scratchy (what do you expect for a fiver from Woolworths), but the new birthday present one is so smooth I keep wanting to wriggle against it.

2. On a bright morning, sauntering home the long way so I can enjoy the light and shade on the common. I'll miss the sharp thin shadows of twigs once the leaves come out.

3. There's no point trying to write when I feel this mopey -- so I put on the Afternoon Play and do some tidying.