Haircut, revision and changing sky.

1. At this salon, with the sinks set up so I'm looking at a view of the woods while the hairdresser shampoos and rinses, I suddenly understand why a friend once suggested as a remedy for feeling flat that I get my hair done when it didn't even need cutting.

2. I'm helping with biology revision, and I'm struck by how much easier it is now to find information in a format that better suits your learning style. And as for being able to look at a film -- or multiple films if you like -- of the experiment that didn't work for you in class...

3. Drizzle and downpour all day; skies clear but for stars by 9pm.

Cheese holes, eerie and back at the table.

1. My nephew likes cheese, but only the holes, which I carefully snip out with kitchen scissors.

2. I feel a little bit sorry for the computer voice on the bus, because she is compelled to announce the very eerie stop named 'Hangman's Hill'.

3. We've had a long break because of a health set-back -- but now we're back at the Monopoly table, amid a cheerful parade of dancing skeletons, merry ghosts and cosy pumpkin lanterns. It's a relief to Tim on his feet and Rachel kindly and patiently bearing the extra labour.

Rind, mustering and moon.

1. The crack of pumpkin rind as I bring the knife round the lantern lid.

2. Now they've been pointed out to me, everywhere I go, I see the pale pointed caps of mycena mustering under the bracken.

3. Large and low, a hooked moon follows us home on the lefthand side.

Meal deal, caves and macaroni cheese.

1. We could have packed our own sandwiches -- but instead, we opt for a supermarket meal deal, and let someone else do the work.

2. On the way home, we talk over our favourite parts of Chislehurst Caves -- I liked the guide's story about crawling through into a forbidden space behind a wall and coming back with a photo of a ventilation shaft. And I liked him dropping a stone into a pool of water to see the reflections on the ceiling. 

3. Nick has gone all-out with the macaroni cheese -- it has fancy pasta, greens, bacon and crispy bread crumbs -- and it looks so appetising at the end of an editing sprint.

Shower, sparrow and night before bin day.

1. The rain comes down in rushing spate, drowning downpipes and running in fans over the asphalt. Next time I look up, the sun is out, watery, but present.

2. Bright eye, sharp beak -- a sparrow lands on next-door's stone pineapple and watches me, watching back.

3. Front and back doors open. The draught and I sweep around the recycling boxes stacked up in the kitchen and all through the house bringing the rubbish down and out.

Heavy weather, play and grace.

1. The cosy sound of bad weather thrashing and beating the walls.

2. I've got time and space and bandwidth to play with the layout of my planner this week instead of relying on the same-old same-old. 

3. Even Watson has the grace to seem embarrassed at the end of The Copper Beeches -- yet another story where Sherlock Holmes lets a woman put herself in gothic novel-style danger and do all the heavy investigative lifting so he can swoop in at the last minute, make some deductions and take the credit. I'm not surprised the great detective spends so much time moaning about being bored and under-stimulated; and I would give a lot for a run of Violet Hunter gothic thriller stories.

Pop-ups, fences and communication.

1. Today, after a few damp days, the common is alive with mushrooms and what I learnt on the fungal foray last week has opened that kingdom up like a pop-up book. Troops of delicate Mycena gleam in the dark beneath bramble thickets, sulphur tuft crowds on rotting stumps, and hoards of others that I don't recognise (yet). 

2. We quickly catch up about his progress and it feels so good to talk with someone who sees your child as you see them, and who looks right through the stories we have had to set up like fences.

3. A single picture tells us she has stopped off for a half-term milkshake.