Open place, butterflies and one more.

1. We come to a high, open place in the forest and stand on the dusty earth to look through the hazey, scorching light at the hills on the edge of our world.

2. To see two butterflies chasing each other. 

3. We've got a long walk home but the children keep asking to do more things. 

Unpack, ink and dance.

1. To come down at coffee time and find that Nick has unpacked the vegetable box that arrived this morning. 

2. The children come upstairs to tell me that they've made quill pens. I give them a couple of almost empty ink bottles and a bit later they return with a somewhat blotted thank-you note. 

3. I still find it miraculous that Bettany can learn a sequence of dance moves. And I love her satisfied dance lesson smile.

Visitor, poems and Groundhog Day.

1. My mother passes a cake and a bunch of sweetpeas over the back fence. Alec deals with them -- putting the flowers in water and the cake into one of our tins so Granny can take her own tin away.

2. To stroll over and see poems by my writing group (and by me) displayed on Sarah Salway's railings.

3. We have been cheered each week by Carradine's Self-isolation Singalong. This week, the relentlessly jolly Tom Carradine admits that he's been feeling down -- 'a bit Groundhog Day,' he says. I value knowing that under the performer there's a real person. I do think fans have a duty of care towards performers -- particularly those who are asking for contributions, rather than selling tickets. So it seems like a good thing that he feels safe enough to admit to despondency and disappointment in this joyful space he's created. 

Elder, Arabian Nights and Planet Potato.

1. There are creamy white elder flowers on the tree below my window.

2. Bettany and I sit in the big bed looking at Kay Nielsen's luxuriant pictures for The Arabian Nights. It is difficult to explain some of the stories to her -- almost embarrassing, actually, to explain that as women we've supported a system which lets other people control and punish us for who we love and what we choose to do. By the way, you can take a look at Kay Neilsen's Arabian Nights on NPR.

3. Today we heard that our friend Anna Lambert and her potato marketer husband Cedric Porter have started a podcast called PlanetPotato. Nick and I waited until bedtime to listen, as it features a soothing list of potato names. It did not disappoint, and we think that some of you will enjoy this quirky, charming and erudite mix of potato news, history and analysis.

Bed, up and boy.

1. I wake up squashed on to the far edge of the bed because every time I turned over in the night Bettany snuggled closer to me.

2. To lie on the grass in the park staring up into the leaves of an oak tree.

3. Alec falls out of a tree and gets up laughing. His knees are filthy.

Ice cream, shot and finished.

1. The smell of limes comes all the way to the top of the house. Alec is using a lemon or lime ice cream recipe given to me years ago for my cook's notebook by a friend's mum.

2. It's bank holiday Monday, so I drop a little kahlua in our coffee.

3. Last week a parcel of children's books arrived from my aunt. Today Alec brings them upstairs, saying he's finished the lot. I can't quite believe he's read so fast, but when I question him, it's clear he has read them. I remember being quizzed in the same way about my reading.

Timing, water and difficult email.

1. Just as we are about to leave the breadmaker beeps -- our loaf is ready.

2. The path runs along back fences and hedges. The sound of water splashing on flagstones and moving in a large container. Someone is -- perhaps -- cleaning out a pond or a hot tub.

3. I've been putting off a difficult email. To ask for -- and receive -- Nick's help with it.