Domesticated, no cleaning and down the drain.

1. "I'll call Nick for you," I tell his mother on the phone. "He's just stuffing clothes into the washing machine." She laughs -- we're both so fortunate to have husbands who pitch in.

2. I like the time of the week when it is not possible to dust or wipe -- all the cleaning cloths are in the wash.

3. All quiet, but for the soft rush of bathwater falling down the overflow.

After the rain, in the rain and after the show.

1. After the rain, town is as green as a bowl of salad.

2. We go to see Singin' In the Rain -- they have a rain set, and the falling water moves a sigh of cool air across the overheated audience.

3. One of Nick's friends is in town for a wedding. After the show, we go and find him in his hotel.

Shake dry, Sunday treat and miscounted.

a. I have a guest post up on Teresa Stenson's blog, This Writer's Life. Thank you for having me, Teresa.

b. I was very excited yesterday to look at Google Reader and see that there were 60 posts in the 3BT feed bundle -- thanks to all the dedicated regular 3BTers. Or why not subscribe to my long-list of favourites, which is updated every Sunday.

If you regularly share three beautiful things on your blog, please let me know at ican3bt@threebeautifulthings.co.uk.

Here are five of my favourite posts from the past week:

•  Plutarch on bread and a blueberry spill.
• Lynne has a blossom picture, but she isn't going to be good.
• Becoming Human has been watching umbrellas.
• Uncle Todo visits Whitney.
• Raymond Pert's exam candidates want to keep the poem.

1. To pull on the washing line and let it go so that it bounces and shakes off the row of shining water drops.

2. "I love a Sunday treat," says Nick as he takes me down to The Brew House Hotel for afternoon tea. Highlight of the afternoon is the choux buns -- puffs of red-gold pastry filled with cream and covered with dark chocolate. They wait on the middle tier, polite as mushrooms in the woods, while we eat sandwiches and scones. The cream is airy and sweet. And the chocolate, which changes at a finger tip from a dull bloom to melted shine, is so bitter.

3. My maths is dreadful (numbers just don't sit still for me), and because of a miscalculation I am further into this pile of proofreading pages than I planned.

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

From us both, polishing and underwater world.

Two bits of news:

• Mari has started a new 3BT blog, Three Beautiful Things of New England, so go over and give her an encouraging comment, and maybe a follow.
• I've opened an Amazon store to make it simple for people to buy books I mention. You pay the normal price for anything you buy, but I get a finder's fee from Amazon for every purchase made.

1. Two birthday cards lie open on the breakfast table while our pair of inky signatures dries.

2. Among the shredded leaves on the pavement and in the gutter, conkers gleam. It's like finding a piece of french-polished furniture in a junk shop.

3. Lying back and sinking my ears underwater in the bath.

Picture of conkers from Stock.xchng

Falling water, economy measures and heating on.

1. The sound the basin filling with hot water.

2. I've run out of angostura bitters. I console my soda water with slice of lemon. It's cheerily yellow and citric.

3. After I have got into bed and pulled the covers up around me, Nick goes round and puts the heating on for the first time, a small ritual to mark Autumn. He is not impressed by the dust on the switches.

Picture of lemon in glass from Stock.xchng.

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.

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.

Fill, muffins and the night rain.

1. I like to hold the long spout of my watering-can and dip it in the rainwater barrel.

2. He calls me into the kitchen. He wants me to see the tray of chocolate muffins he has made for me.

3. After the flat has been put to bed, I get up, draw back the curtain and unlock the door to look at the rain falling outside.

Snip, lettuce and spectacle.

1. The slinking curves of a black cat shape has been cropped out of the bright world background.

2. To tear apart a head of Little Gem Lettuce, twist the sunlight yellow heart leaves off the bitter root, rinse off the mud and greefly and spin (rrr-rrr-rrr-wumph) in the salad dryer.

3. Before I can start reading, I must dip my glasses in the bath to stop them steaming over. The water reveals a hidden rainbow sheen on the lenses.

Rain, wet feet and lime blossom.

1. The rain comes, hissing on the ground and clearing the air.

2. I like walking in the rain wearing sandals so that the water goes in and then comes out again.

3. The lime blossom smells even better (sweet, sour and charming) wet than dry.

Baroque, paddling and outrunning the rain.

1. At the V&A's baroque exhibition, we can put our faces close to a ewer decorated with putti. Two of them are fighting: one has the other by the chin and is trying to push him back down into the sea.

2. The paddling pool in the V&A courtyard is full of children, damp-around-the-edges. Japanese women try to get in shot with a tiny and determined person dressed head-to-knee in a bottle green sun suit.

3. On the train, we see clouds piling up behind us. After we get home, Twitter and Facebook come alive with snippets about the sudden and torrential rain in London.

Two years, wildlife and inside the barrel.

1. Nick wakes me up and to tell me I'm his two-year girl. It's hard to believe that it's the second anniversary of our meeting at Tim and Rachel's wedding -- sometimes it seems as if we've been together since always; other times it seems we are walking into new territory.

2. A church round the corner has an embroidery exhibition. To give me a change from the flat's four walls, we go and have a look. My favourite was a pair of blue egg-shaped panels covered in lacy white images of magnified planckton and algae.

3. BBC2's South Pacific documentary included footage filmed inside a 12ft high breaking wave that left me with my mouth hanging open.

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.

Early morning, foam and damp place.

1. We start walking in the dark and see the sunrise pinking the sky. As we come to the top of the ridge, the sun light comes down to meet us.

2. Watching foam clots on a stream pool. They whirl and stretch and split and eddy and reform.

3. Water drips down mossy quarry cliffs.

Following wind, neighbour and falling water.

I mentioned earlier the Wonderful Book sent to my by Lauren of All the Good Blog Names were Taken. She's posted pictures to share the joy.

1. The wind is at my back all the way to work, and dry leaves skitter past me.

2. A fallen leave crossing the corner of my vision turns out to be a palm-sized yellow frog who lives near our front door.

3. The glob-glob-splash sound of water filling a basin.

Getting out of here, into Dover and harbour lights.

Nick and I spent this weekend in Dover. We very much recommend Loddington House Hotel.

1. On a sunny afternoon, leaving work with a light heart and a suitcase.

2. The train brings us into Dover just as night is muddying up the day's blue sky.

3. After supper, we go to the guests' lounge and watch dots and smudges of light moving about the harbour.

The rules, sky nut and a fix.

1. Without thinking I take up my mug from the end of the bath. I wonder if there is a health and safety rule that forbids drinking coffee while standing in the shower.

2. An oval moon makes me think of a blanched almond.

3. A blanket, a cuddle on the sofa, a few chocolates and Wind in the Willows fixes what nothing else can.

Made it, water splash and vegetables.

1. A man runs for the train. The doors have shut, but the guard holds his own door open and lets the running man through.

2. In a documentary about Chinese wildlife, a piece about The Water Splash Festival -- a huge waterfight celebrating a region's river. A dignified policeman wears an expression of weary dignity, but breaks into a smile when water is thrown at him.

3. Peas and beans at the bottom of our soup bowls.

The drive, strider and stopping place.

These posts are about this walk:


View Larger Map

1. We turn a corner and look down an undulating three-mile drive to Windsor Castle. The road is dotted with tiny citizens and a few deer walk over from the left, stepping through the double avenue before running off across the park.

2. A long-legged boat winch waits to roll down the slipway to draw a boat out of the water. I get the feeling that if it has to wait much longer, it might lock its wheels and walk stiffly away on rattling metal legs.

3. We are looking for a place to stop. But the hand-wide path runs between fence and river. At a footbridge over a ditch, we find a flattened place where the bank has dropped. We sit with cake and apples and watch damsel flies hover and disappear while the Thames slips by.

4. My aunt says that on long journeys when she was little, she would pick her favourite features from the places passed and weave them into a dream house.

5. Mistletoe looks deep green when growing on a tree with budgerigar yellow leaves.

6. Almost back at the car we nearly pass the Airforce Memorial. But I think that Nick would like to hear about it, so we go in. The long garden gives into a courtyard surrounded by cloisters listing names of the dead. The benches are dotted with offerings -- flowers real and silk, and even a sheet of photos telling an American airman who fell in the second world war that his exploits are family legend and showing pictures of his now elderly baby sisters. The white cloister opens into the chapel which has a window looking out down the hillside at London and all around spread before us like a Lego city. From here, and from the tower, it is easy to understand why anyone would want to rule the blue air.