Breakfast, the second son and dropping it.

1. Oddly, the burnt corner of my toast with chocolate spread is so delicious that I am jolted out of the story I am reading at breakfast.

2. The taxi driver tells us that now his second son has a university place.

3. We decide we do not like this and drop it mid-show, mid-series.

Russians, centipede and swallows.

1. Last day of the holidays, and I've woken very early. I summon up George Saunders' Pond in the Rain and bob around with his Russians and their short stories before sinking back into sleep.

2. Like a bonfire spark and its afterglow, a yellow centipede returns to the darkness at the bottom of the compost heap.

3. In the hour before bed we let David Attenborough's nesting swallows and path laying mice yank our heart strings around. 

Overnight rain, honesty and our turn.

1. Overnight soft and persistent rain has fallen and the town is breathing quietly.

2. The difficult purple of honesty flowers keeps catching my eye.

3. Our turn with the psychologist has arrived very suddenly but we're in a position to seize it with both hands.

Persisting, biscuits and the find.

1. Through the magic of persisting in poor decisions my Baldur's Gate character ends up with a new eye that can see the invisible.

2. Nick comes back from Lidl with a box of Moomin biscuits just for me.

3. I've had to chase and chase round the internet to get the instructions for a charity shop doll kit. I thought I could guess; but I needed the picture and steps in a 2013 magazine to make sense of the felt circles and limbs and dress pieces. 

Breaking the soil, blue/yellow and teatime.

1. While I wait, I rake a weeding knife along the narrow space behind the railings and raise the scent of springtime soil. 

2. Along the path, blue drifts of early forget-me-nots set off the yellow of a few late daffodils.

3. A mug of hot tea and a couple of hours free on a Sunday afternoon.

Little flowers, adolescence and end of the evening.

1. As proud as Cornelia Graccha, I photograph the lawn daisies and dog violets that grow in my garden.

2. I see my son's hands are now larger than mine, and I wonder who stole away my baby.

3. Tipping threads and slivers of felt off the cutting mat and into the bin.

In the sun, wisteria and rout.

1. Just to stand in the sun and feel warm.

2. I can smell the weight of the wisteria blooms hanging from bare grey branches on the wall round the corner.

3. Three adventurers down, one swaying, and the goblins keep summoning more wargs and now this big blood spattered fella with a beard and plaits has appeared... Oh! That's the druid we were trying to rescue, and the goblins are running away.