Man of letters, helping finger and improved flavour.

1. A card comes from Nick's sister, niece and great nephews. Dylan, who is just about to start school, has embellished the envelope with pencilled letters, diligently copied from our address.

2. The health visitor encourages us to help Alec's wind by giving him a finger to suck between meals. We'd already been doing that, but didn't want to admit it in case it was the wrong thing to do.

3. A mouthful of dark chocolate -- according to Fenella it will make my milk taste better for Alec.

Back to bed, ready for winter and birds.

1. I go looking for a writing group -- but it's half term, so they're not meeting. Good -- I can go back to bed.

2. It's such a beautiful day -- and I have plenty to do in the back yard. I plant a few bulbs, and feel pleased at the sight of fresh compost in the pots. I also cut down the tired mint -- it makes the rubbish bag very fresh smelling.
 
3. A high flock of birds -- each one small as stubble on a man's cheek.

Seeds through the post, playwright and bird feeder.

1. Through the post comes a fat envelope of free seeds from the BBC's Dig In project. At the end of the day, when all my work is done, I start to plant them up.

2. I interview the playwright John Godber because one of his shows, Men of the World is coming to Trinity next month. He has a soft Yorkshire accent that I like very much indeed. When I transcribe my shorthand, I enjoy hearing it all over again in my head. "It's a very human activity, of humans re-enacting history for other humans to watch." His humans are pronounced  yewman.

3. There are two blue tits that share the feeder in the rowan tree. They are small enough to work at it together; or sometimes one sits on a nearby branch and waits patiently for the other to finish. I love the way they share, as well as their bright lime-rind yellows and sky blues.

Right tools for the job, gothic novel and the revue.

1. Writing on a CD with a fine new permanent pen purchased particularly for this task.

2. I'm really loving The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins (although I do want to shout at the self-destructively virtuous and passive Laura Fairlie). When I settle down to read, I disappear into that dark world -- the brooding lake and the oppressive house and Mr Fairlie's shuttered study.


3. I went with a writing friend to the Comedy Cafe at Trinity -- and one of the acts was the pant-wettingly funny Raymond and Mr Timpkins Revue (there's a video). Their set was a cavalcade of song lyric and typographic japery to a quick-fire soundtrack. It was very clever, and very slick.

No coat, everybody out and baked potato.

The Three Beautiful Things podcast is up -- with some bonus springtime items.

I've been getting some really lovely comments lately -- I very much enjoyed yesterday's crop, particularly Daisy May's own list of beautiful things, and Louisa's description of spring round her way. Never underestimate the power of a kind word about 3BT to make my day!

1. To go out in the first days of spring wearing a coat, and find myself damp and overheated when I get home. The second time I go out, I leave the coat behind. I am serious and workmanlike on the outside, but inside I'm whooping with joy.

2. It's so good to see people strolling around -- we are coming out now the weather is warmer. One man in a sky blue jumper looks a bit dazed, as if he'd forgotten over winter how much world there was. I see him pause at the top of the road and examine the pole of a traffic sign.

3. To cut through the crisp skin of a baked potato -- the hot insides are soft and creamy and savoury.

Absorbed, get out and home cooking.

James Alexander-Sinclair from Blackpitts Garden (and Encounters with Remarkable Biscuits) has written a 3BT post (with pictures).

And the 3BT podcast is up.

1. To get absorbed in my work so that time slips away. It's very satisfying to string together words and know that I am being paid for it.

2. Getting out of the flat for half an hour after lunch. The cold air and the vast blue sky are the wake-up I need.

3. I grab a ready meal because I don't want to think about supper tonight. Oven crisped rice, dull curry, no vegetables. I fall in love with my own cooking again.

Scarlet scarf, advice and the step.

No weekly round-up this week -- I'm a bit overwhelmed with work. I really missed reading through your posts on Sunday.

1. To see Nick from a long way off because his scarlet alpaca scarf stands out.

2. There is a fat old Household Management book in our kitchen. It gets pulled out and consulted all the time -- the reaction usually being "What the hell is sweetbreads?" and "Where on earth do you get hold of camphor?" and "There is no way on earth I'm boiling that." I go in for some information about making stock. In the summary points at the top it says: "Be careful about the amount of turnip used. A little bit of turnip goes a long way in flavouring."

3. Taking a firm step towards my dream of writing a script for a British science fiction or fantasy series by responding to a call for pitches from Big Finish -- the company that produces the Dr Who radio plays.

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.

Hanging, new notebooks and the snow is still fresh.

1. Icicles (some bowed, some double-tipped) are arrayed like exotic weapons.

2. I buy two new shorthand notebooks -- a very cheap pleasure at 98p.

3. Even after six days, the snow on our road still says "crump crump crump" as I walk across it.

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.

The sun came out, greeting and relief.

Moonscribble has very kindly nominated me for this award. The instructions are to recommend five other blogs, so here are my favourite creative blogs:

1. League Against Boring Lunches (knitting)
2. All the Good Blog Names Were Taken (papercraft)
3. Women's Stories: Read, Write and Enjoy (writing)
4. Box Elder (writing)
5. Recycle This (greenness)


1. After a morning of stair rod rain, to walk across the Common when the sun is shining.

2. Nick gets home and we open the post addressed to us both. A former colleague has sent the loveliest card that says inside: "Three Beautiful Things: Love, marriage and happiness - and wishing these last a lifetime for you." It means so much to have the support of our friends when we are confirming this decision about the rest of our lives.

3. Wedding nerves hit me late on Sunday night, and I've been feeling on edge ever since. I come out of script class and somewhere in the two hours, I've stepped back and calmed down.

Glazed, in this edition and revision.

1. We pick up our creations from my hen do. The glaze has deepened all the colours. Pastels have become jewel shades.

2. The mother drops a free paper down on the table. "They gave me this. I've been carrying it around all morning. Do you want it?" It's the edition with my first arts feature in. We jump around the kitchen.

3. While Nick is having his stag do, I revise for tomorrow's assessment. I'm glad I scribbled all the medical definitions in my course book.

Just a shower, time out and five o'clock whistle.

1. I'm pegging out the day's third load of washing, and I can feel dots of rain. I take the sheets in (they're nearly dry). As I come round the corner of the house, I see that the sun is shining out in the street: green gold light hatched with shining lines of rain. It won't be a long shower.

2. It's so quiet: I have the flat to myself for the afternoon and evening because Nick has gone out.

3. It's half past ten, and I'm still working. I hear crunch-crunch-crunch on the gravel outside and that means I can stop.

Wordcount, matinee and hidden voices.

1. I like checking my wordcount and seeing that I've passed the day's limit without realising.

2. It's a beautiful day, but we're going to a matinee at Trinity. It's Coco Avant Chanel with lovely, lovely Audrey Tatou. Part ingenue, part ruthless user, she tailors her way to fame and fortune, persauding rich men to give her the leg-up she needs in order to change the clothing world forever.

2. While we wait to go in to the film, we look at the exhibition, titled Hidden Voices. It's a set of photographs and interviews with the town's homeless people. The stories are sad: it's so easy to slip out of a way of life that I take for granted. Not being very good at maths so you can't budget. Being gay. Having a boyfriend that your parents hate. Being bullied by your housemates. Not getting on with your stepdad. Being offered a flat, but discovering that it's so far from your work, friends and family that it's unusable. But the stories are full of hope, too: reconciliations, escapes, births, new jobs, training courses and drying out.

Talk talk, bang on the door and I'm a writer.

1. Sitting on trains and buses listening to snippets of conversations: "Listen, mum, don't give people my number. I'm sortin' myself out. You know how it is when you are tryin' to sort yourself out." And "Lou, man, she 'ad a tache, like she'd just finished a cappucino." And "...that's the trouble with going to a posh school: always trying to be better than you are. Not like us working class."

2. Ellie likes knock-knock jokes, and has a creaky Scottish voice for the 'Who's there?' line. My stock is soon exhausted, but that's OK, because she thinks they're just as funny the second time round. I also heard a new one:

Knock knock!
Who's there?
Mandy.
Mandy who?
Mandy lifeboats: we're sinking.

3. Ellie, Niamh and I are talking about a hornbeam in the garden, and Niamh asks me: "Are you the one who's got a book coming out?"

Great minds, it's raining and camera angle.

1. Tunbridge Wells blogger Inspiral Daze has written about the same willowherb stalks that I spotted on my walk.

2. You might think I've left the door open because I'm going in and out to the bin as I clean: but really it's because I want to hear the long hiss of the rain, and to feel the air moving.

3. The first of a new Bear Grylls series includes a shot of him from an angle that only his wife should ever see. It makes us snigger for the rest of the evening.

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 pitch, writing life and sunflower.

1. On a pitching website, I read another writer's query letter, synopsis and first few pages and my 'I really want to read this book' radar goes beserek. Check out this gothic fantasy on Pitch Parlour. It has a soothsaying mermaid, gas lights and mudlarks in it.

2. I like sauntering up the road with the sun hot on my shoulders. I'm happy because I'm going to spend ten minutes being where and when I am so that I can write Once Around the Park.

3. The sunflower was watching me through petals closed tight as a fist yesterday morning. By lunch time, one to three o'clock had uncurled; and by nightfall only 11 to 12 o'clock remained.

In the sun, here it comes and retro pulp.

1. On a hot day, I like to sit on the bench half way up the zig-zag path and watch people toiling up the hill.

2. While we are having our evening catch-up, a suitable title for one of my radio-plays-in-progress pops out of my mouth like an unexpected sneeze.

3. Nick produces another retro pulp film from his stash -- Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow -- a wonderful piece of art deco noir action involving giant robots rampaging through wartime New York and planes that turn into submarines.

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.