Clear the way, on the move and room at the inn.

Love this story from the BBC about a train conductor who was both compassionate and not a jobsworth.

1. The park keepers have cleared the ice from almost all the paths in The Grove and in Calverley Rec.

2. I am lying in the bath. Nick brings me a single chocolate on one of the best plates. He stays to watch Baby Badger moving my bump around.

3. Nick rings the birthing centre to check they will take me if it all kicks off on Christmas Day. The midwife tells him that she likes a Christmas Day baby: "It means more publicity for us." We can but hope.

Baker, quiet and half-hour hole.

1. Nick has baked a loaf of fruit bread overnight. It's very good for breakfast with butter and jam.

2. Tinny mobile phone music behind us on the footpath. Off button.

3. Even half an hour makes a hole in this work.

Down the hill, smoked salmon sandwich and end of the series.

1. To walk down the hill in the middle of a spring day without wearing a coat; and to see magnolia buds kindly waiting for the cherry blossom to have its day.

2. A sandwich made of soft white bread with smoked salmon and cucumber.

3. We watch the last episode of Lark Rise, and leave the characters happy in their own particular ways. There is a new season coming, and their lives will be turned upside down again, but at least they'll have a contented winter.

Brick, the finding and marble.

1. Treading on a loose brick in the pavement and hearing it go "collop".

2. I lose Nick while shopping -- a combination of my dreaminess and the crowds. I like to catch sight of his head behind a book display.

3. Ladelling mulled wine into a pair of goblets made from purbeck marble. Purbeck marble is really polished limestone, not marble at all. It's packed full of fossils. Every time I use these goblets I spot something new -- this time, two translucent spots on my goblet distinguishes it from Nick's. The wine was good, too.

Greenwood, owl and someone else did it.

1. On the common, the smell of cut green wood where workmen are clearing the banks. It's a like a carpentry workshop, and a like a cold day.

2. There is so much to love about the Warner Brothers' short I Love to Singa -- the story of a little owl who dared to sing jazz against the wishes of his classically-trained parents. The mother owl's distress always puts a little lump in my throat, and then the cartoon hits me in the face with the 'No we didn't, lady" gag. If you've got eight minutes, give it a viewing.



3. Nick normally hauls the bins up to the road once a fortnight and grumbles about how he always has to do it. At 5pm, I hear the old rrrrollll-scrape of the recycling bins trundling up the drive, and think for a moment that Nick has come home early. He hasn't -- but when he does get in, he's very pleased at not having to do a chore he dislikes.

First photo, squirrel and staying warm.

1. I wake in the night and I am cold. I turn over and can feel waves of warmth rolling off Nick as he sleeps.

2. I actually gasp as I read the text message. It's a subject line and a 12-week scan picture.

3. A squirrel undulates across the lawn. It looks like a mmmmm handwriting exercise.

Walking day, the dress and sandwich.

1. It's a bright blue day of hot sun and crisp air, with a big old sky stippled and dashed and splashed and speckled with cloud wisps. It's a beautiful day for walking and I have things to do on the other side of town.

2. I try on my wedding dress for the first time -- it's still unfinished, but for the first time, I can see a picture of what I'm going to look like when I marry Nick. I can't stop smiling.

3. I like to feel the different textures of a sandwich (soft bread, crisp lettuce, resiliant ham) as I cut it in half with a sharp knife.

Picture of sandwich from Stock.xchng

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.

Dress accordingly, work and spotlight.

1. Putting on warm weather clothes after a few chilly days.

2. I find a job ad that piques my interest -- it's part-time, and editorial, working on interesting subject matter for an amazing organisation.

3. Shade falls through the leaves in smudges and splotches. A brown butterfly sits for a moment on a splash of sunlight and is illuminated.

We love the milkman, squall and felafel

1. Oh milkman, we wake up to find that in the small hours, you placed on our doorstep a pot of yoghurt and some milk for breakfast.

2. As we are climbing over a stile, a squall blows up the valley. The sky darkens, the wind gets up, and the cold rain blows in our faces. We are so surprised that we stand there like idiots for a moment, before taking cover in the lea of an oak.

3. Flattening a felafel and jamming it into a hot pitta.

Kite, eavesdropping and send-off.

This morning, I'm on A Handful of Stones.

1. She is trying to fly a tiny kite, but doesn't know you have to face into the wind. I liked hearing a shout, and seeing that, by chance, she'd got it airborne.

2. Nick is sitting on the doorstep polishing shoes. I like to overhear him talking with our neighbours about the cucumbers I have grown.

3. I send off three tiny stories to a competition, and I feel as if I've achieved something.

Card, other plans and falling in cords.

We would very much like to sell Nick's flat in Tunbridge Wells so that we can buy our family home. Is anyone looking for a cool-in-summer and warm-in-winter one-bedroomed ground floor flat in a street (just 12 minutes walk from the station) with blossom trees and dramatic sunsets? The house is Victorian gothic in style, and makes visitors say 'wow'. Please do get in touch if you're interested.

1. Opening a new packet of card (ghost white, and cloudy smooth like stretched silk) to test print our wedding invitations.

2. The estate agent (who commented that we looked very happy as we arrived for the viewing) offers us a lift home. We say no, because we're stopping on the Pantiles for ice creams, which we are going to eat as we walk home through the woods.

3. Lying in bed and listening to the rain falling. I learnt a French phrase the other day which Proust considered a cliche -- il pleut des cordes (it's raining ropes) -- but it's new to me, so I'm going to enjoy it.

Castle, back in time and the moon.

1. In St James' Park, looking back up to Horse Guards Parade and the Ministry of Defence behind. It looks like a fairy tale castle. I think that the MoD has King Arthur and his knights sleeping in one of the towers, in case of national need.

2. To come off a hot, bright shopping street in London and walk down a narrow lane that looks as if it hasn't change since 1780.

3. The moon (white silver and shaped like an egg) has been peering round clouds and through the window of the train all the way home.

Change, tidying and finding my jacket.

1. The yellow plums have turned rich amber-red.

2. We race round tidying the flat for a viewing, and feel very pleased at all the space we now have.

3. I drop my jacket somewhere on our travels round town. We re-trace our steps, asking in shop after shop, and finally find it hanging on a railing close to home.

The report, a meeting and yellow dog.

1. I get a text message to say: 'All I'm hearing today is "Clare give me apple. Tree!"'.

2. He has seen my map and wants to know: "Are you going for a walk?" I show him where I'm planning to go, and his mother and sister tell me they've just seen an adder.

3. A labrador the colour of straw-dry grass bounds towards me on the path by the stream. I am taken aback by his enthusiasm and he pushes his wet, toothy muzzle into my hand. The lady hurrying behind him calls: 'Sorry, he's too friendly!'

Deer, hill and the other half.

1. The watchful deer are lying in the shade flicking their ears.

2. I like climbing a hill just because I want to see what's at the top. It's a piece of open ground, dry grass and parkland trees, a fragment of distant downs and a peep of the big house on the other side of the hill.

3. In Sevenoaks, mothers walk with teenage sons who look like princes.

Free fruit, dog having fun and the allotments.

1. The wild raspberries are ripe: all the sweeter for being free.

2. In the park, a strange-looking dog (it has the head and legs of a terrier, but a barrel-like body that makes it look like a well-fed piglet) runs up the path, looking like its having the time of its life.

3. I like to walk along the path through the middle of the allotments, and see how other people's vegetables are doing; and to admire the ingenuity of their cold frames made from old french windows; and to watch their CD bird scarers flickering in the sun.

Irises, aeronauts and a walk.

1. This garden is flying irises -- the blue of deep sea and the yellow of suns drawn in wax crayon.

2. The swifts are louder than the engine of the bus.

3. In the middle of the day, to walk under warm air ticking with crickets in a tangled field starred with buttercups.

Desolation, aeronauts and home tasks.

1. We are shocked that the desolate, delapidated, tumble weed and dog shit Marine Parade of Folkestone was recommended in a tourist leaflet. We try to find decayed grandeur, but see only neglect and sadness. Then a path under a bridge tempts us into a garden of wandering paths, pine tree shade and sculptures.

2. "Scree-sree scree-sree," insist the swifts who are throwing themselves around the blue space above us.

3. To come home, add a few treasures to the window ledge and inspect the health and happiness of my plants.

Chiaoscuro, drapery and utopia

1. I like the mixture of sun and shade in the gardens along the Embankment.

2. We go to see the Van Dyck exhbition at Tate Britain. I love to see how artists express vibrant coloured silk. Another thing I like about these portraits is the way they engage with the viewer -- there were a lot of eyes following us around the gallery.

3. I come to the end of Ursula Le Guin's The Dispossessed, which I have been enjoying very much. I like utopian science fiction -- particularly if the utopia is put under the microscope. This one is about a physicist trying to work on an idea that his anarchist society need.