Fog, no chore and help.

1. The fog has closed our world off to one street.

2. Finding that the dishwasher didn't go off last night, so there is no need to empty it.

3. Alec says, 'Shall I take the key and run home to let the Sainsbury's man in?'

Walking home, next round and dance class.

1. At the end of school to give Alec a quick hug before he makes his own way home.

2. To get the news that a story I entered for a competition has got me into the next round.

3. The most pandemic 2021 thing ever would be the adults in their masks dancing with their children to 'Agadoo' at the end of Watching Week.

Early, crow and gift.

1. In the half light before the blinds are opened, I realise that Alec has pretty much dressed himself before coming upstairs, although he is hoping I'll button his shirt for him.

2. A crow on a gable.

3. To take from my father a heavy gift intended for my mother-in-law.

Spend, different view and drawing.

1. To spend a £50 voucher in one whizz round the supermarket by not saying no to anything.

2. I climb into Bettany's high sleeper and see the world through the window from a different angle.

3. To find Alec at Bettany's new desk working on a drawing.

Paperwhites, tiles and painting.

1. To glance over at my paperwhites: another of the five has burst out of its buds. I wasn't going to this year. We plant them as a symbol of hope, and to remember the journalist Elspeth Thompson. But I've had a succession of dud bulbs and limp strappy leaves flopping blindly over the Christmas mantlepiece, and I got discouraged. But Anna made me -- literally dropped a packet of good quality bulbs round so I had to plant them. Every time I look over at the brass pot of creamy white flowers by the kitchen door, I remember her optimism in the face of discouragement. 

2. After days of dust and disorder, our bathroom is re-tiled and we can move our things back in to their familiar places. It's a thrill to glance up and be surprised by the new tiles every time I go up the stairs. 

3. Bettany says again that she would like one of Uncle Steven's paintings in her room, and it's not the one Alec wants for his room.

Assistance, more room and lift together.

1. I ask Bettany to put the scanned shopping in my bag... and she does.

2. The front room and kitchen look much larger now they are not full of Ikea boxes.

3. I am expecting the mattress to be an awkward lift -- but then I realise that everyone is helping.

Sticks, gift and tinkering.

 Sorry, I've been ill again.

1. By the front door into which I'm posting a mis-directed Christmas card are a few bundles of sticks bound with hairy string. Magic, or kindling?

2. Nick brings a packet of cheese and some fig paste -- he's been up town to get his booster, and the centre just happens to be near a cheese shop.

3. While we wait for Alec to go through the bathroom, Bettany and I tinker with a magic set. She is keen to learn a 'find the lady' trick involving cups and a soft ball. She thinks we will let her set up a stand in the street* so she can separate passers-by from their money.

* No, we won't.

Cake, massage and questions.

1. A slice of chocolate cake with our coffee.

2. To let a massage therapist treat the place in my lower back that I try hard not to think about too much.

3. The moment I draw breath the children batter me with questions about the story. 

Weather, Christmas box and where's my book.

1. I happen to look up and the sun is shining golden through a rain shower. The light on the rain mist has hidden all but the nearest buildings. A cloud passes over the sun and all is revealed.

2. We get the early Christmas decorations out. Things that seemed tired and gaudy on 6 January 2021 are fresh and exciting and charming on 1 December.

3. I have disappeared a few of the Christmas books to keep the collection a reasonable size and so I can buy some new titles if I fancy it. But Bettany asks pointedly for 'My special book about the little girl and her brother writing to Santa.' So I will have to un-disappear that one.

Cuckoo clock, long parcel and pop.

1. Alec has picked the enormous, detailed German cuckoo clock advent calendar that I was admiring last week. Luckily for him, it's reduced in price.

2. A long parcel arrives -- the first of the Christmas shopping.

3. The pop of pulling embroidery thread through a place already tightly stitched. 

Waiting, boys and poorly.

1. On a frosty day, early, three pigeons wait on chimney tops just touched by the sun.

2. On the bus, a boy hiding in a sad grey hoodie first tells some other boys to leave him alone, but then comes and sits with them. At their stop, they bump fists and say, 'Sorry, bro.' Then a fourth boy comes down from the front of the bus, bumps his fist and takes a seat across the aisle. 

3. Bettany would prefer that we give her all the little packets of tissues, provide lip balm and ensure she doesn't miss her activities. Alec, on the other hand, is very poorly. To feel better, he needs strategic distractions and a pharmacoepia of quack nostrums, like obscure essential oils, cough socks, vitamins and plenty of vapour rub.

Sleeping in, gap and everything at the same time.

1. We sleep and sleep and sleep. It's 11am when we wake up properly.

2. Our very competent landlord holds out his sticky hands for a piece of kitchen roll and says that this is why he's not allowed to do caulking.

3. The children tumble through the door and try to tell us everything all at once.

Wintertime, standing around and chips for supper.

1. For a few days now people have been commenting that it really feels like winter now. The trees on Broadwater Down are no longer orange and brown; they are grey in the sunshine. 

2. Standing waiting on the edge of the football pitch, at last we have time to catch up.

3. To come home carrying a parcel of warm chips.

Observe, smooth and waiting.

1. To stand for a moment observing the drifts and layers of morning mist.

2. I realise that of course there is time to smooth Bettany's ruffled feathers and tell her that it's usual to be a bit anxious before you go and have your hair done in a completely new style.

3. It's my turn to do the Scouts run. It's an hour and a half, in a hall that is just a bit too far from home to make walking back worth it. I wait in the pub -- which has an open fire and two older men gossiping -- with a pint and then a half of bitter, my notebook and a nice soft pencil.

Nothing but dust, toothpaste and Saturn.

1. On the front path is a scattering of what looks like snow. It is dust from the top of the wardrobe that is now gone from our back bedroom.

2. When I ask, it turns out that there actually is a type of toothpaste that has fluoride, but no SLS or peppermint.

3. I have to explain to Bettany that contrary to what I told her last night when I wanted her to hurry along, the planet Jupiter does not eat children. It's actually Saturn that's the dangerous one. We can see both of them out of the attic window.

Across town, discovery and albums.

1. I catch that baby's eye, right across town, watching me through his mum's screen.

2. Alec discovers Max Raabe and the Palast Orchester's Fur Frauen ist das kein Problem, a modern performance of a hit from the 1920s and is astonished and delighted. No, I don't know either.

3. Not long before bedtime Nick and I get a moment to look through our wedding pictures -- twelve years have passed in a flash.     

Transfer, flock and cake.

1. The children have been complaining pretty much every step of the way. The moment when they start scuffling and arguing with each other instead of moaning at us.

2. A dozen magpies rise from the field ahead of us.

3. It's teatime and at last she can serve us her chocolate cake.

Not seeing fungus, tomatoes and buttered crumpet.

1. I divert my walk round the park across the meadow on the off-chance that I might see the coral-red devil's fingers fungus that someone posted on social media yesterday. 

2. I suddenly realise that the green tomatoes that have been ripening on my desk are all bright red.

3. A buttered crumpet appears at my elbow towards the end of the afternoon.

Doubled, judge and falling asleep.

1. A flock of pigeons, shaken by some startle from the roof of the station, doubled in number by their shadows on the red brick walls of Hoopers Department Store and on the bridge of the railway..

2. Bettany has taken Granny for a ride... I mean to the toy shop. She marches in carrying a large pink box and says, 'It's a craft, so you can't judge me.'

3. Alec is out for the evening and Bettany doesn't want to go to sleep by herself so I sit on the sofa and wait with her. Her sighs and snuffles and grunts get quieter... and quieter... and quieter.

Supermarket, lift and prints.

Hiroshige: Man on horseback crossing a bridge (Wikimedia Commons)

1. Here's the new Lidl catalogue to flip through while we drink coffee. When I was small, supermarkets were exciting: bright, plasticky and modern in the best possible way (rather than ethically questionable and a bit tedious). Lidl -- somehow, in its own Euro way -- captures some of that early 1980s magic.

2. Instead of a dark walk home, we are offered a lift in a luxurious car with enormous leather seats. 

3. I have had enough of reading: instead I stare at a book of Hiroshige prints until I am too sleepy to focus.

Chart, beckon and snack.

1. Nick draws from his bag a long cardboard chart that Nana has made for the children so they know what they need to do each day when they arrive home.

2. Bettany has been moaning all the way there, but now a girl from school is beckoning from a door at the back of the hall. She hands me her coat and doesn't even look back.

3. Alec feeds me pieces of popcorn from his bedtime snack.

Bored, jackets and experimental.

1. Alec complains that he is bored, because for reasons of his own he has secured the Xbox controller with  an elastic band and now his car is racing independently into the television screen's artificial distnce.

2. Nick, it turns out, has a suit jacket for every decade. He talks about his memories of them before consigning them to the charity pile.

3. I have written quickly without much thought for the reader, trying to get two voices to tell the same story at the same time. It's definitely experimental; and now I'm called on to read it aloud to the class.

Rhyme, holly berries and stop.

1. Bettany is murmuring the rhyme from the story I've just told.

2.Heavy red holly berries hang bright in the morning's mist.

3. The day halts for remembrance silence at 11am.

Wet grass, recall and arnica.

1. Ahead of me are my own footprints in the wet grass.

2. I am far away, deep in a morass of text when to the top of my play queue come Cerys Matthews' warm, intimate renditions of Welsh folk songs.

3. The lady in the chemist has slipped a sachet of arnica gel in with the support for Alec's sprained wrist.

Vulnerable, gracious and smudge.

1. It makes me feel more than a bit vulnerable to be interviewed by Sarah Salway about my writing practice in a short video, but I'm so glad I did it. We even 3BT live on camera by way of a workshop exercise -- to my surprise I come up with three completely different beautiful things for the previous 24 hours. (Sarah has a collection of extraordinary short fiction out, by the way -- Not Sorry.

2. The mother who brought Alec back from his football match said he was a gracious loser.

3. Alec's post-football bathwater is brownish when he gets out, but he still has a smudge on his face.

3b. Bettany muttering darkly about the strictness of other people's mothers.

Sweetpea pods, accepted and clean shoes.

1. The crackly, papery feel of the sweetpea pods I am clipping from the vines to save for seed.

2. My afternoon is turned upside down by an email saying that one of my essays has been accepted for an actual book. (There's a long lead-time, but I'll share when it's available).

3. All the children's shoes, clean and shined, in a row on the doormat.

Ginkgo, moon rise and job done.

1. I deliberately take the route that goes past the ginkgo tree with its bright sour yellow leaves.

2. There is a narrow moon -- tarnished copper -- just above the horizon.

3. When I come up the stairs, the first thing I can see is the chest of drawers Nick and I have put together.

Mag, pink sky and The Willows.

1. At coffee time Nick brings my Fortean Times upstairs.

2. I happen to look up at the right moment and spot a pink glow on the clouds -- all we get of sunset.

3. Today's uncanny story, as recommended by The Classic Horror Blog, is Algernon Blackwood's novella The Willows. It's one of the uncanny classics, but this is my first time reading. It reminds me of the Penguin classic travel books I loved as a child -- two men canoeing down the Danube camp on shrinking island for two unsettling nights.

Morning cuddle, chocolate hearts and favourite.

1. We hear Bettany's alarm go off, and then her thumping footsteps coming up the stairs for a morning cuddle.

2. At coffee time I find two heart-shaped lebkuchen in the biscuit tin.

3. At the bonfire, in the dark, a smallish person, well bundled up in waterproofs, runs up to Alec and says, 'You're my favourite Year 6.'

Collar, bacon and soil.

1. Alec turns up his crisp collar to put on his tie.

2. At lunchtime, coming downstairs to the smell of bacon.

3. Shaking soil off the roots of a dead tomato plant.

Not talking, welcome and sky watch.

1. Surprise! Our neighbours are at the soft play centre. She says, 'I'm working. It's the only two hours I've got.' That's great, because I'd planned to sit with a coffee and read.

2. The casual, welcoming friendliness of really good pub staff during a quiet lunchtime.

3. Jupiter -- I think -- is hanging bright and clear to the south.

Break in the weather, a lesson and bag of books.

1. After a morning of watching heavy rain and anxious messages, the sun comes out in time for the party.

2. Bettany is working at a cross-stitch tiger on card while eating fruit pastiles and watching a sitcom. Her fingers pick up black from the print on the card and the orange thread gets darker as she works. I think about telling her to wash her hands, but decide that she will work it out for herself in due course.

3. Alec shows me the new books he has brought from town, all with neat, clean pages and sharp corners. He says I might like to read some of them.

Sown, coffee and Moana.

1. Wildflowers -- they don't look local, so I think they were deliberately planted -- are blooming on the bank left behind by the construction project at the end of the Pantiles.

2. All through my morning's work I've been vaguely aware that I'm hungry and want a cup of coffee. When It comes, it's very welcome.

3. Bettany singing along to a Moana song. As a heroine, I rate Moana: she is sturdy and practical and she is built like us, tall and sturdy.

Top of the hill, saffron and pineapple.

1. To reach the top of the hill satisfyingly out of breath.

2. The faint scent of toasting saffron.

3. This is definitely not a nice pineapple -- but it will be hugely improved by cooking, either under a sponge; or fried with butter and brown sugar and sprinkled with toasted coconut.

Dawn, boys and sunset.

1. At this time of year we wake around dawn and it feels about right --- not too early, not too late.We will be waking in the dark soon enough, though.

2. To open the front door to Alec and three friends standing there grinning, smart in their Year Six uniform.

3. On a cloudy day to spot streaks of pink on the horizon.

Haunting, clear and apoplectic.

1. I've been reading a Victorian ghost story each morning in the run-up to Halloween. This morning's cannot be recommended, but its florid dramatics are a pleasing match for what happened when we tried to get the children out of the door. 

2. The clearness of a window cleaned outside and in.

3. The Cubs, who are doing their reading badges, tell me with great relish about using a dictionary and a thesaurus to find the meaning of 'apoplectic'.

Quiet spot, plimsols and bulbs.

1. To find Nick sitting in the back garden with his glass of wine.

2.  Alec hasn't been wearing the plimsols we bought him for indoor shoes. But the black canvas expanse  has been calling to me for some days. While he is upstairs doing quiet time after lunch I stitch gold stars across the toes. Bettany says I'll be in trouble, but he seems to quite like them, and asks if I'll do more smaller stars around the sides.

3. Digging through the soil of a broken pot I find handfuls of grape hyacinth bulbs waiting for their time.

Small parcel, technical and out to dinner.

1. The small parcel is a mystery: I'd forgotten that I ordered a skein of silver thread.

2. I push on with a story that I'm finding difficult. It was supposed to be a ghost story for Halloween and it's set in a world I'm not familiar with. I got feedback from a technical expert, and it became clear that it needed to be re-worked from the ground up. So I started again, and it was no longer a ghost story. So now I don't have a ghost story for Halloween. But get me: I knew what to do with the advice; I'm still working at my story; and I'm fairly sure that in due course, it's going to be a piece of work I can be proud of.

3. The pub has changed hands, and dinner is a lot posher than we were expecting -- small portions of perfect, exciting food made and served with careful attention to detail. My parents tell the manager that they are here in the 1960s and forgot to pay the bill so the landlord called their parents a couple of days later. He seems slightly astonished to think that people were eating there more than fifty years ago.

Stretch, mud on the towels and no arguing.

1. Playing with polybead clay we discover that some colours are willing to streeeetch into long cobwebby filaments.

2. Alec has come in from playing football and even after washing he has put mud on the towels. It's such a boyish thing that we don't have the heart to be annoyed even though the towels were new clean this morning.

3. The children are, apparently, so tired that they don't have it in them to argue about a new book. They quickly choose Farmer Boy by Laura Ingalls Wilder, which I'm sure we've read before.

After the rain, helper and through the trees.

1. I could hear how very wet it was in the dark before dawn -- but now I walk to and from school the world seems new washed.

2. I do like being a parent helper at Cubs -- aid the leaders in their mission to get other people's children running around and over-excited. Also, learn about fire safety.

3. We stop in the darkest bit of the park and stare up through the trees at the stars.

Jupiter, printer and mango.

1. On a clear evening to see Jupiter hanging just above the horizon. Alec,  trying to get a picture, presses his new phone to the window.

2. I don't know why I fought so hard against reinstalling the printer. After that, it produces the perfect colour image that I wanted.

3. Douglas Adams once said that the only way to eat a ripe mango with dignity is to take off all your clothes and stand in a washing-up bowl. I realise I have one of those -- running with juice and tasting of coconut and resin as the best mangoes do -- as I am cutting it up for supper pudding. I contemplate putting the bowl in the fridge so Nick and I can enjoy it in peace after the children have gone to bed. 

Decide now, building work and wakening.

1. It's been a day of snap decisions. Would I like to join a 9am school tour? Actually, let's meet up town. What about this coffee shop instead? Are you free right now for a walk round the park.

2. The headteacher -- she's a PE teacher -- describes her pleasure in the smooth new sports hall floor; and her boys cheering as the roof came off the old sixth form centre.

3. He is supposed to be napping, but his big blue eyes are open and he's smiling at his mum.

Resin, deer and message.

1. The smell of resin among the rain-wet sunset-lit pine trunks, 

2. A long way down the path, almost so far off that it is hard to understand what I am seeing, a deer waits, alert.

3. Alec and Nick are visiting a school this evening. Around the time we are expecting them back, I get a message from Nick saying that they are queuing for free food.

Awning, efficiency and borrowed.

1. She puts the awning up so that we can write to the sound of rain falling on it.

2. Nick efficiently sends a short shopping list to my phone.

3. During the pandemic, I really missed people lending me books, and lending my books out in return. I have three on the go at present -- and I love the implication of, 'I expect to see you again soon for the returning.' 

Enough talk, girls and after dark.

1. We've talked enough about our plans for the Tunbridge Wells Puppetry Festival, which shows we fancy and which ones clash with other plans. Now it's time to actually book the tickets.

2. Our little girls pass by me in the garden, on their way to the street where there is space to push their buggy up and down the hill. 'Aww, are you taking your babies out?'

'No. This is a rockstar and that's his bodyguard.'

3. I feel like I've been waiting for something all day -- it's not clear what -- and I can't settle to my work. At last, after sunset, when I've read to the children, whatever it is seems to have happened, or passed by and I can have a proper go at my editing.

Helpers, friends and morning glory.

1. To remember that I can ask the children to take on a few tasks, and they will actually do them: set up the waffle-maker, do some mixing, dust the stairs, fold the picnic rug.

2. To catch sight of our friends waiting outside the station.

3. I have been quietly seething at Liziqi's morning glories (7:38) because I have never succeeded in growing them. But today I spot that a single spindly plant, surviving against the odds in our front garden, has some furled silk parasol buds on it.

Walk out, clearing beans and icing.

1. There is time this morning to walk out and meet Nick on his way home from the school run.

2. Our beans are done now: the crop has slowed and they have stopped putting out new leaves against the snails. It's time to strip them out and let the vines sink into decay. The space they have left makes the garden seem more peaceful.

3. I come down to find Bettany diligently applying gel icing to the fairy cakes I made earlier for the school's MacMillan coffee morning. She asks me to help.

Brown door, strop and priorities.

1. Our neighbour is putting another coat of paint on her front door. It's a shiny brown that she says is a heritage colour for our street. It looks like well tempered chocolate.

2. Bettany is so rude and ill tempered that I leave her alone to get herself ready for bed. Not long after, she appears at my elbow and asks for help. She is comically affectionate for the rest of the evening.

3. I've been lent a book on time management, and it is such a relief to read that other people get distracted by and secretly enjoy the fun and novelty of a crisis. And that they sink into a tired ditch afterwards so the afternoon gets wasted, too. (Martin Scott's More Time, Less Stress).

Packing, not missing the sunset and games night.

1. To spend some quiet time with Alec calmly packing for his school trip away.

2. Sunset is at our busiest time of day -- we're eating supper and persuading the children to take steps towards bedtime -- so I usually miss it completely. But this evening I'm on a train and I have a moment to look at the sky streaked pink and blue.

3. Our first in-person games night for eighteen months. The video meet-ups were very convenient; but I've missed the physical presence of my friends, the drama of dice rolling and the visual aid of figures and maps.

Gingerbread, chords and naming shoes.

1. Something has gone wrong with Bettany's gingerbread dough. It is disappointingly soft and can't be rolled and cut. We blob it on to a tray and it bakes okay.

2. Bettany has promised to practise the ukelele for a Cubs challenge. She started to learn at school, but hasn't got very far amid the year's disruption. I sit with her as she works through her book, and we have a laugh making something close to music with the two chords we know.

3. Putting names in all the children's shoes. I get ridiculously excited when I come across a shoe with a white lining -- it means I can use a marker pen instead of a fiddly shoe label

Spores, spiders and blackberries.

1. We find puffballs on the common and the children burst a few to marvel at the black smoke of spores.

2. The spiders have come back. One has strung a web in the ivy across from the kitchen window, close enough that we can see him watching and waiting.

3. I've nearly missed the blackberries -- but this time I remember to bring a box out with me. They are nearly over and I don't get many; I don't even fill the box, but it's enough to say that we've had blackberries this year.

Weeding task, glitter and grumbling.

1. To weed my oregano pot. For weeks when I pick oregano for a salad I've been dodging a poppy (now gone to seed) and a herb robert plant. They are not weeds elsewhere in the garden. There is a lychnis seedling in there, too, which I will save, perhaps tomorrow. 

2. There is glitter among the dust I have swept off the sideboard.

3. The sound of Bettany muttering grumbles about her day as she sits across my lap and watches a badly scripted YouTube fairy tale. 

Knock, kick and comrade.

1. The tak-tak on the door that signals the arrival of my friend and her baby.

2. Someone has stuffed takeaway litter in a burrow under the wall. Someone else has kicked it all out again.

3. I bring Alec to his first Scouts meeting. The joy on his face when he sees a friend -- and the joy on the friend's face.

Epsom salts, comb and videos.

1. I love using epsom salts in the bath because you need such a lot of them. I weigh out half a kilo for Alec and bring them upstairs. He tips them into his running bath with a satisfying swish.

2. Detangling a doll's hair while I listen to Bettany reading.

3. With relief, I sink into Liziqi's beautiful world. I have no expectation of following her makes as everything is in Chinese, and there is a vast gap between her resources and competence and mine. There are times to be productive, and there are times to just watch. 

Willow, hiding and moon.

1. To marvel at this season's growth on the willow that was cut down last winter. The shoots are now over six feet. I wonder which of them will grow into branches?

2. Nick comes upstairs to hide from Bettany: she has set up a supermarket in the kitchen and is forcefully recruiting customers.

3. The moon blurred gold behind clouds.

Bells, smoke and demonstration.

1. We hear jingling bells in the street below us. Bettany exclaims, 'Santa!' with a level of joy and wonder that surprises me, because she has unpacked and dismantled the Father Christmas story in great detail on several occasions. She squirms round to look out of the window: it's only a passing dog.

2. The smell of blue wood smoke at Forest School.

3. Alec in his wellies, down on one knee, showing his little sister how to use a fire flash.

Accept, old shoes and done.

1. To accept that today I will not be productive because it is the day of Alec's 11-plus exam.

2. To drop a bag of outgrown and broken down shoes into the recycling.

3. Alec returns confident, almost cocky. He is content with his exam performance.

Neighbourhood, change in the air and the rain.

1. The dog walkers caught us at the beer hatch buying a jug for our end of heatwave street party. 'Are you going? Be there in a minute.'

2. The party started to break up when the wind got up, blowing along the street lifting napkins and ruffling our hair and clothes.

3. The children and I watched the rain begin from their bedroom kneeling up on the sofa with our faces wedged below the sash window. A boy ran up our street in the growing dark, pulling against the parent who called him back.

Dew, table and sparrows.

1. The dew splashes my ankles as I walk around the cricket ground.

2. To find that Bettany has set up a little restaurant table in the garden.

3. Sparrows peering down at us from the gutters. I think they might be looking for water so I set up a shallow pan.

Tea, slow and cucumber.

1. Thinking that in this heat I need to drink more than usual, and then remembering that I have a box of liquorice tea.

2. It's hot today, but I don't have much work on so I can afford to take things at a slow pace.

3. To find that a cucumber has been growing un-noticed in the shade.

New path, greetings and tench.

1. We take a new path out of the industrial estate and find ourselves walking along the river, past a set of lock gates and through a cafe's outdoor space to the high street.

2. A joyful, friendly man in a red vest greets everyone who comes into the coffee shop as if he knows them well -- and perhaps he does. He gives his best shot at chatting with a man who communicates using sign language. The conversation is full of okay signs, thumbs up and comparisons of muscles.

3. Back at the lock the fishermen have caught a fish, 18 inches long, veiled in slime and glowing the same green gold as the river water. A tench, we are told. It waits patiently to be released.

Flowers, snails and back to normal.

1. I hurry to Nana's birthday tea cradling a large paper-wrapped bunch of flowers on my arm.

2. Nana has made herself a vivarium for small snails. 

3. The children tell us that they are all allowed out on the playground together now. And school start and finish times are no longer staggered.

Tomatoes, soap and reading.

1. The Sainsbury's man says he is impressed by my tomatoes, which -- so far -- have not succumbed to the blight.

2. It's the day for picking a new bar of soap from the tissue-wrapped selection in the bathroom cupboard. There are only two left of the original dozen but Bettany and I weigh up lavender versus vetiver, even though we know that both will be used eventually. 

3. Cuddling up with the children to read our current book, Peter Green and the Unliving Academy. We didn't find time to read any of it while we were away. It feels good to snuggle back into our old routines. 

That moment, wedding, and Minerva.

 We've been away for nearly a week to a wedding in Liverpool and then for a few days in Chester. Here are some highlights.

1. When I look up, the people ahead of us have vanished. I hurry ahead to see how they passed through a brick wall and find a doorway. I step through it, on to a quiet terrace above the Mersey where people are waiting in silence, just as the sun drops behind Birkenhead across the water.

2. The hundreds and hundreds of padlocks secured to the chains around the docks -- all representing promises.

3. I wonder if Bettany would like me to go with her when the wedding planner leads the flower girls round to the door the bride will use. No, she definitely doesn't want me.

4. The soft wave of kind laughter that greets the brides emotional apology for being late.

5. The man who reads a poem returns to his seat, and draws a finger under each eye to clear away his tears. (later Alec tells us that his suit with gold buttons is the best suit).

6. I turn round to find Amelia -- elegant and cheerful in her blue dress and coral shoes -- teaching my children to cross their eyes.

6. We leave the wedding before the evening party really begins. Bettany is furious. She won't say a proper goodbye to the bride and groom but stands creepily in the dusk bushes and then howls all the way to the taxi. The driver asks her what songs she would like him to play. She choses 'Blue Smoke' by Dolly Parton; 'Sun Spots' by Julian Cope; and a Hannah Montana tune. He comments that she has messed up the recommendations on the company's shared music account and says that his colleagues will laugh at him. 'Are we mates, you an' me?' he asks her in his broad accent.

7. A thing about this holiday has been enormous beds and vast bath towels.

8. We walk a long way to find the only in situ Roman shrine to Minerva in the UK in a park by the river. The image, carved into the wall of a quarry, is somewhat worn, but her robes, helm and owl are easily recognised and it was absolutely worth every step of the walk.

9. As we walk round the park the children wish so hard that the miniature railway will be running again today. We think that it might not be, because it's now the week when people start going back to school. But it turns out that it is running -- an inattentive teenage boy trundling delighted toddlers round tracks so narrow gauge that I can put my foot across them. I am so relieved that I pay them on immediately and they jump aboard.

Breathe, waffles and greyish.

1. It's such a little, simple thing, but the Google breathing exercise app; and the fact that Guanyin, Buddhist bodhisattva associated with compassion keeps appearing in various guises and places.

2. It turns out that it's fine to cook waffles the night before (when you have lots of time) and let the children put them in the toaster in the morning.

3. Alec comes home greyish from head to foot. He is full of stories about walking on a muddy beach in his pyjamas, having hot chocolate on his cereal and driving over The Sheppey Crossing.

Expedition, pineapple and independence.

1. Alec walks jauntily up the street with his uncle. They are going climbing and camping together.

2. This is a really good pineapple.

3. The non-sound of Bettany and her friend getting themselves ready for bed, watching a film and then taking themselves upstairs.

Occupied, can do and grasshopper.

1. When I look up again, the children are still sitting round a table doing a poetry writing workshop. (Tunbridge Wells Poetry Festival is still going on this week)

2. 'I can't do poetry, I'm no good at English.'

I remember an editor once telling me that if I found something interesting, other people would, too. So I say, 'Just write down something you saw and thought was interesting.'

She thinks for a moment and writes a rhyming couplet about her dog's coat.

3. There is a bright green grasshopper in the hair of the woman sitting in front of me.

Cupboard, helper and hair.

 1. The sight of Alec tidying up the cupboard under the TV. I have tried for so long to tame this horrible mass of cables and devices, and usually have to hold everything in with one hand while slamming the door shut. But if Alec wants to take ownership, perhaps it will stay tidier for longer.

2. As I am leaving Nick asks Bettany if she'd like to help with the washing up. When I return, the step is by the sink.

3. I had my hair done this morning. Finally when I show up for drinks with Katie and Sarah in the evening, someone notices.

I did get there, a sound and reconnect.

1. A kind friend gives me a lift to a poetry workshop on Ashdown Forest with the poet in residence there, Sian Thomas. We write in a magical spot called Gill's Lap, which looks out across the gorse to the sunny fields beyond. 

2. While we are doing the opening exercise, I hear a sound which I think is someone grumbling, or laughing to themselves. The moment I realise that it's a dog. 

3. When I get home, the children are almost ready for bed. Nick has been reading to them. I join them on the sofa and we all cuddle up for a while to reconnect.

Children are home, splinter and open mic.

1. The children come rushing through the gate with pockets full of sand and then we let the butterflies go.

2. Tears spring to Bettany's eyes when she washes her hands. She has a splinter in her finger. I sterilise my magic needle and work away. She is very brave throughout, complaining steadily, but never flinching. And soon there is a tiny thorn clasped in my tweezers. 

3. The various sights and spectacles at an open mic night for Tunbridge Wells Poetry Festival. John Wheeler, who speaks like a fire and brimstone preacher, and shares a funny, dramatic Shakespearean soliloquy about a problem with his zip. A woman who speaks mainly through a patchwork pig to hilarious, chaotic effect. And the usually gentle, mannerly Steve Walter, responding to environmental concerns and background noise, unleashes the full power of his voice, which is electrifying. (You can see Steve in person at Remember the Earth Whose Skin You Are).

Corralling numbers, not a wasted outing and eye-witness accounts.

1. Once I've done my financial admin and enticed the numbers back into their spread sheet cells, I feel much less anxious.

2. We take a stroll, really just to get out of the house, but we pretend we are going look at an antiques shop while we don't have children with us, and a mythical new food hall that is rumoured to be opening round the back of the Pantiles. They are both closed, because it's Monday. It's not a completely wasted outing, though: We run into our friends and they tell us with wide eyes and much joyful enthusiasm about their road trip round the south of England -- Jane Austen's house and the Bodleian Library were the highlights.

3. Talking to the children on the phone about their day's adventures. It's funny to hear how their stories differ.

Getting things done, poetry festival and butterflies.

1. The children are away with my parents for a few days and Nick and I have been resting and working down our to-do lists. Some of the tasks are tiny, but they've seemed insurmountable while also caring for children. Other tasks are bigger, but ticking them off feels as good as hours of rest.

2. Working down the programme of events for Tunbridge Wells Poetry Festival and picking which ones I'm going to. Some are online, so they are open to anyone, anywhere in the world.

3. In between tasks, we've spent a lot of time watching the butterflies in their gauzy cage. I stare at the patterns on their wings, trying to discern differences between them, and marvel at their coiled tongues, furred bodies and fine antennae. We'll have to let them go soon so they can make their own way in the world.

Schedule, new client and new friends.

1. I try to avoid complex, close-call scheduling because as a family we don't need that stress. But today I drop Alec off just before 9am for tutoring; and show up over the road for a massage appointment on the hour. It feels satisfying and efficient.

2. A blank page for a new client is a challenge -- but today I've got the time and the headspace to work my way into the material. The client would be disconcerted, I think, to see my lists of words and the research rabbit holes I let myself tumble down and the snickets, twittens and ginnels I follow around the internet. But once I return to the writing task, the words go down easily and all the client will see is a smooth piece of content.

3. In the park after our picnic supper Bettany makes some friends, and I don't have to do anything at all -- just sit on a bench, poke at my phone and think.

Escape, the fairies reply and parcels.

1. During the dance display, a toddler escapes, runs to his big sister and joins in. 

2. A few weeks ago Bettany and Nick found a fairy village on the common, with a letterbox. They left a note for the fairies, of course. Today we are passing the place. The village has gone, but there are notes hung on the fence to all the children who posted letters. We photograph the note addressed to Bettany, but decide to leave it in place

3. Three large parcels of snacks arrive -- Grampy very kindly gave us some vouchers, and we had a bit of a spree.

3a. To meet some of my writing friends for the first time in 18 months. We aren't writing tonight, just chatting and being together.

Phase, parcel and chives.

1. Bettany has been experimenting with the phrase, 'What the heck is that?'

2. To find a parcel waiting in the undergrowth of our front garden.

3. I know that I put new potatoes on the meal plan, and I can smell them cooking as I come down from work to supper, already going through the tick list for the domestic side of my life. I am about to go in the garden and pick chives to snip and scatter over the potatoes when I realise that Nick is already at work with the scissors.

Start, churros and one of those nights out.

1. Nick comments, 'Things always feel better once you start work on them.'

2. As I am deep frying Lidl frozen churros, it occurs to me that this is probably a family memory. It's the combination of a late bedtime and a treat we are unlikely to have again that has to be made in small batches so everyone is waiting around chatting.

3. There is an article in this month's Fortean Times about the time Aleister Crowley visited Berlin and hit up Albert Einstein and Erwin Schrödinger to track down Aldous Huxley so they could to a drag club.

Magazine time, watermelon and reading agreement.

1. Returning to bed to look through my new Fortean Times.

2. Slicing into a watermelon and feeling the skin crack. 

3. The children squabbling negotiating over which book we are going to read next. Alec makes a great case for The Land of Green Ginger; but Bettany wins out with Peter Green and The Unliving Academy. Alec is content with a promise that we will come back to his choice later.

Break, model and new book.

1. To look at my progress and feel like it would be okay to take a break.

2. Alec protests when I suggest working on his model car, but he gives in eventually. I cut the pieces out and hand them to him, and file off burrs as requested, but mostly I'm watching and drinking peppermint tea. He is very pleased when it is completed. We decide to leave the battery -- a cunning mechanism involving salt water and magnesium -- until Nick and Bettany come home.

3. There is, at last, some time to look over my new book of Hiroshige prints. There are sixty in all, ones I've never seen before, and I only get through half of them
.

Rainy evening, moon in a blue sky and swimming in the sea.

 We've had a short break in Bexhill, and this is a quick round-up of the best bits.

1. The sea is cold and it takes me ages to get in -- but once I am in, it feels so good to be part of the waters that cover most of our world.

2. A fingernail of moon hiding in a wrack of wispy cloud in the blue, blue sky.

3. Bettany in a rage that we have not found a playground marches us away from the garden in the old town that we planned to visit and down a twitten that takes us over a road bridge and right back to the seafront.

4. I convince everyone to go back to the garden and it is indeed very lovely, laid out around a ruined manor house in a series of rooms, each different and surprising, within the bounds of what municipal gardening can achieve.

5. To catch sight of Alec's friend waving at us in the park.

6. Eating dinner in the window of  restaurant while the rain falls steadily outside.

7. Our proper seaside landlady tells us she is going shopping and asks if there is anything we want for breakfast that we haven't been offered.

Art, apricots and paid.

1. To keep Bettany busy Jane gives her some oil pastels, a sheet of sugar paper and a vase of flowers.

2. Eating homegrown apricots.

3. As a freelancer, I love that moment each month when I discover that I've been paid.

Technology works, cocktail and dinner with daughter.

1. I've promised Alec a frappe from a particular coffee chain as a reward for doing an extra tuition class. I discover that I've collected enough points under Microsoft Rewards to get a voucher that covers it. It turns out that I can load the gift card on to an and when the time comes to pay, I hold up my phone for scanning. This seems like a miracle.

2. Nick's cocktail comes with a huge globe of ice. It's delicious, and I wish I'd had it myself. Alec and Bettany are both astonished by the strawberry on a bamboo skewer in their smoothies. Alec imagines that I might buy him all three meals here on his birthday. 

3. Two tables along from us, a dad has brought his really tiny daughter out for supper at The Ivy. Sitting in a highchair, she hides behind the menu and pops out to make Alec and Bettany laugh.

Catch, meet-up and supporting information.

1. To be told that Alec has just made a cracking catch.

2. The little smile that Bettany does when we unexpectedly run into one of her friends.

3. To look at a Hiroshige print showing a shinto shrine then tumble down a rabbit hole of maps and tourist guides to better understand the place as it is now.

Los Angeles County Museum of Art, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

In the post, sunflower buds and research.

1. Post today is a poetry book and some caterpillars.

2. The great buds on our sunflowers.

3. Idly researching restaurants and activities for the short break we have planned.

Workshop letter, in the street and close thing.

1. I led the last workshop, and one of the writers sends me an email to say that it has continued to inspire her this week.

2. In the summer evening to chat with neighbours in the street while our girls chalk pictures on the pavement. 

3. Alec comes home from his cricket match bouncing with stories about the close win his team achieved.

Cancelled, climb and strawberries.

1. My disappointed friend tells me about her summer cold. I tell her about our torrential rain. A picnic in the park will be no fun for anyone.

1b. Alec tidied and dusted the stairs the other day. The clear space and the unexpected free time give me the courage to tackle the first floor.

2. In the rain a snail climbs up the water butt.

3. We have a lot of strawberries and they are sweet, fragrant and delicious.

Freedom day, toasted cheese and workbooks.

1. To open the butterfly cage and let our four painted ladies out into the sunshine. One of them flies straight off, one of them has to be lifted out on the dish of fruit. One climbs on to my fingers before leaving and the other sneaks off when no-one is looking.

2. Nick has made toasted cheese sandwiches for supper.

3. Bettany informs me I will be looking at her school books while she has her bath. She brings them to me, a bulky stack in a split  plastic bag. It's funny to contrast the assignments she has really run with, writing page after page in her precise print; with those that she didn't think was worth her while (a work sheet where she had to fill in  the adjectives in a story, and she'd written either big or small for every single one).

Leadership, chat and feeding up.

1. Bettany is very pleased that the head is welcoming us at the gate because it means she can personally give him the gift and card we've brought to thank him for keeping us all safe through prudent leadership.  Usually we just pitch in to a group gift for the teachers, but Bettany wanted to give her own this year. She looks very proud to be carrying them in.

2. It takes a while to get home because I keep finding people to chat with: I haven't done a school run in ages.

3. I put a piece of melon down for the butterflies. Within minutes they are perched on it, their long tongues uncurled to enjoy the juice. We will release them tomorrow, so want to make sure they've got their strength up.

Loot, seeds and skid.

1. Bettany brings home her end-of-term loot -- an inflatable globe and a certificate as a prize for reading lots, and glorious pink and green dream catcher.

2. The rattle of columbine seeds falling into an envelope.

3. A middle-aged man on a folding bike does a joyful skid-turn in the empty road.

Editing, writing and chatting in the garden.

Madonna with the Iris -- workshop of Albrecht Durer

1. This week I have two tightly-written books on my desk. They just need a few pats and queries to get them into shape.

2. I run a writing workshop based on paintings -- like this one above -- from the National Portrait Gallery and one of us has the joyful experience of a poem popping out almost fully formed.

3. To take a phone call in the garden on a hot evening.

Image from the National Portrait Gallery shared under creative commons.

Monks, walk in the woods and emergence.

1. There are two monks leaning on the railings on the other side of the road. Under their orange robes they are wearing thick socks and walking boots. I wonder how far they have come, and where they are going.

2. On a hot morning, to walk through the shady woods to bring a very tired Bettany home from her sleepover.

3. I look up and see that three of our butterflies have come out of their crysalises.

Digestif, PE film and sing-a-long.

1. At the end of a meal, a really good cup of coffee, and time to drink it.

2. We come home to find that Alec and Nana have videoed his PE lesson to show his class at the afternoon video call.

3. The lovely Tom Carradine and his family are taking a summer break from the weekly sing-a-longs. We have watched pretty much every single one from the beginning of lockdown -- first me and Nick watching alone, and then the children joined us. The Thursday livestreams gave a structure to our week, and gave us insight into music hall culture -- as well as a rollicking good time. We often find ourselves humming the tunes days later, and I think that this familiarity with them is a gift that will last for the rest of our lives.

Cancel, printing and on my way.

1. There are roadworks somewhere near our house, and the racket is stopping me from focussing. To block out the noise with music on my headphones.

2. A parcel arrived this morning -- an Etsy order from a printmaker. I opened it immediately and looked through the bright papers. Now Bettany wants to look through it as well so we do and I enjoy it all over again.

2. To look at a project and feel like I'm on the home straight.

By the front door, chat and two Marys.

1. I'm glad I put the tomato plants by the front door so I automatically check them over as I wave the school party off in the morning.

2. How easy it is to arrange a video call with a friend in another country.

3. Mary Shepherd's illustrations to Mary Poppins. No-one else ever seems quite right.

Biscuit, tunnel and award.

1. I definitely want the biscuit that comes upstairs with my morning coffee.

2. In the woods someone has built a mysterious tunnel out of branches. I am so tempted to walk through, but it is clearly child-sized and not for a tall woman carrying a rucksack.

3. Thanks to the diligent volunteers that support her Beaver colony (and Nick persistently documenting her activities), Bettany gets her Chief Scout's bronze award. I don't think she realises what an achievement this is. Chief Scout's Bronze is hard work, with dozens of parts to collect and in a normal year the leaders can offer a programme that lets a Beaver have all the experiences they need as long as they show up to most meetings and do some badges at home. But with meetings held under infection-control restraints, and a lot of extra responsibility heaped on them, often at short notice, leaders have focussed on surviving rather than thriving. On the whole, I'm pleased Bettany is heedless, because that means she is protected from the anxieties of these pandemic years. But I do appreciate this award with my whole heart, and I hope that is enough for all the excellent leaders of Scouting in Tunbridge Wells.

Fairness, neighbours and orange ball.

1. Bettany is away on a sleepover. It is very pleasant to cuddle him in our bed without needing to referee or set hard boundaries about who can lie where.

2. Today it difficult to get away down our street because there are so many neighbours about: we all want to stop and chat after so many months of isolation and wet weather.

3.  Throwing and catching a bright orange ball with Nana. 

Baked potatoes, summer plans and ride.

1. The smell of baked potatoes has reached my desk, so it might be nearly lunchtime.

2. The children are starting to talk about their plans for the summer holidays, which makes it seem within reach.

3. While we are staring into the vivarium before bed, we spot Slugmilla riding on the back of a snail. The snails like to sleep on the roof, hanging upside down like bats, and when the snail reaches its roost, Slugmilla slides off -- rather huffily, I thought -- and makes her way back down to ground level. 

Woodlouse, vivarium and cheering.

1. I find the most enormous woodlouse climbing up the garden wall. He is as long as my fingertip, and glossy gunmetal grey instead of the speckled drab of our usual cheesy bugs. When I catch him, he rolls into a satisfying little ball. We keep him in a collecting jar with a spoonful of compost so the children can see when they get back.

2. Bettany houses the woodlouse in her as yet unused vivarium along with a handful of bits from the compost heap. We add a couple of snails, and soon realise that a lot of smaller cheesy bugs and a tiny slug have come in too. They move busily around the space at their various paces, and it is compelling viewing.

3. Through the open window to hear the football fans cheering all over town.

Control, pips and rage.

1. One of the best things about being a freelancer is that I have complete control over how I choose to balance rest and work when I am ill.

2. Scooping the pips out of the middle of a melon.

3. Bettany is very tired so she is raging that she hates everyone. I settle myself on to the sofa in the children's room and ask if she would like a cuddle. I have never seen a child move so fast.

Growing family, feeding squirrels and correction.

1. Our caterpillars are now the same length as the first two joints of my little finger. Naughty George and Fat Geoffrey are no longer distinguishable by their small and large sizes.

2. To chuck a little piece of bread for a squirrel. It comes over, hesitates, then takes it and runs up the nearest tree to enjoy its snack in peace. 

3. Bettany correcting Alec's mispronunciations when he is reading to us; and Alec's tolerance for this.

Up, just in time and lime blossom.

1. We take Bettany and some of her friends to Clip n Climb to celebrate her birthday. There is a lot of climbing (for the girls) and a lot of clipping (for us) -- but everyone seems to have fun, and I am pleasantly surprised at how gracefully they manage the small frictions among themselves.

2. To come down on to the platform -- hurrying only a little -- just as the train arrives.

3. The scent of lime blossom is everywhere now.

Arrival, airship and evening gardens.

1.  I spot my friend (with new baby) pulling into the carpark and I am so excited to see them that before I know what I'm doing I've run down to meet her.

 

2. As we are sitting outside a bakery a passing older man tells us to look up. The Goodyear blimp is sailing quietly overhead.

3. In the evening to walk out and notice people pottering in their gardens amid lush midsummer foliage. 

Good news, comedy and reading for pleasure.

1. The chair of our editing group asks us to share some good news. One woman says she has just that moment received an email to say she's got a job she applied for. My screen lights up with enthusiastic faces.

2. The way Alec likes to listen to a Radio 4 comedy podcast while he has a bath.

3. To finally make a proper start on The Dresden Files, which I've been longing to read for years. 

Left behind, invoices and reading.

1. I spot a left-behind fork propped against the croquet club railings. 

2. To do my invoices at the end of a very long month.

3. I get Alec to read to us from The Black Cauldron so I can use the time to stitch a nametape into his new swimming trunks. 

Slow, caterpillars and sticky.

1. Our birthday Bettany takes her time opening her presents. Though she starts just after 5am, she doesn't get through them all and has some left after school.

2. It's probably a mistake to name caterpillars, but we do it anyway. We're a bit worried about George, as he is smaller than the rest and seems determined to climb up to the ceiling, rather than lounging around eating like the others.

3. Today the Beavers are making bird feeders by coating cardboard tubes with honey and birdseed. It is interesting to see how different the children are: some dig right in and enjoy getting sticky; others carefully handle everything with their fingertips. 

Melon, table time and orchids.

1. The kitchen smells of the melon in the fruit bowl -- we'll have to eat it today.

2. To spend some time building Lego and painting a desk tidy with Bettany.

3. To come to a glade where orchid spires are growing. We bend down to catch their faint once-a-year perfume. 

Bramble flowers, very slowly and butterflies on their way.

1. The rose-like flowers of brambles. 

2. We make our way to Alec's friend's house very slowly because the boys want to play catch, scramble around on the rocks and go a longer way round. 

3. There are thick tangles of black caterpillars on the stinging nettles by the path.

Scent, cricket and gardening in the dark.

1. A scented birthday present arrives for Bettany and perfumes our bedroom.

2. Alec comes home so bursting with joy about the cricket he has played at Cubs that he seems to be in two places at once. 

3. I spend the evening planting up tomatoes and cucumbers until it is too dark to see -- by which time it is bedtime. I have put them by the front door so we can be sure of supervising them properly.

Light work, mould and time.

1. To have a light work day. 

2. In Bettany's woodlouse jar a piece of strawberry has grown an extraordinary crop of white flossy mould. It makes me wonder why people don't deliberately grow mould gardens. 

3. Alec prefers to wash himself these days -- I love the bit of time I have while he does this. 

Uke, ghost stories and lyrics.

1. Bettany reminds us five minutes before departure that she wants to take her ukulele to school. We remind her that it is not tuned, so she can't. There are tears. When I get back from the school run, I find that Nick has spent an hour teaching himself to tune it so it will be ready for next week.

2. I discover that I never did finish listening to an audiobook of dramatised ghost stories by M R James's. So I've got a bit of a treat in store. 

3. For our writing class, Anne has looked into songwriting, and tells us what she has discovered. Our faces light up as we understand -- properly -- that verse, chorus, middle eight and coda are just lines of poetry. And that we can all write poetry, so we can probably write passable lyrics.

Sweetpeas, woodlice and enough.

1. I come downstairs after my phone call to find a bunch of scented sweetpeas in their auntish colours on the kitchen table, as well as some birthday presents.

2. Showing Bettany how to catch and care for pet woodlice.

3. To go to bed feeling as if I've done enough work for today.

Rain coming, old books and the shout.

1. We smell and feel the rain coming before it arrives.

2. Bettany's old school books are stuffed with crafts and photographs of class activities. As she takes me through the thick black pages, she can't believe how small she and her friends were two years ago.

3. I am sitting at my desk at the top of the house when I hear a shout. Alec and Nick on their way back from a cricket match in the rain have seen me through the open window.

Alarm, watering and books.

1. I wake very early and sit up to read. After a time, the alarm goes off and Nick wakes and the children come up. I settle into the tangle of family and promptly fall asleep.

2. Nick helps me to heft watering cans around the garden.

3. All in a moment I suddenly realise how much I have missed sharing my books with people.

Beans, parcels and four.

1. To find little pods growing on our broad beans.

2. Parcels and packages are piling up in a crate in our bedroom -- we've got two birthdays coming up.

3. Alec comes home from his cricket match absolutely buzzing. He hit a four and everyone clapped.

Waffle, lawn and handover.

1. The soft crunch of a waffle lifting off the iron.

2. I love the June light on a lawn of uncut grass, and seeing the variety of seedheads.

3. On a hot evening to bring the smoothie pops that Alec made this morning out of the freezer. Both children have made them in recent weeks, and I feel as if it is a task I can hand over to them.

Eclipse, cod and reading.

1. Nick and I watch the eclipse from our garden. It does not affect the light or temperature much, but it is rather marvellous to see that little bite taken out of our sun. 

2. For lunch Nick proudly produces a tray of cod in a tomato sauce with roasted fennel. 

3. To read a book that is really beautifully put together.

Voice acting, sky and target.

1. The slightly manic voice acting in the episode of Zombies Run Homefront I follow by way of exercise.

2.  To be able to glance up at the sky as I work and to feel the air on my cheek through the open window.

3. To push on through and finish a piece of work.

Mushrooms, pinks and time to read.

1. At lunchtime I mix mushrooms with French dressing, knowing they will be ready for supper.

2. The clove scent of pinks.

3. There is time -- just -- to read to the children this evening before I sign on for games night.

Inset day, our friends and children.

1. It's inset day today: a little bonus Monday with a lie-in at the end of half term.

2. A little way off, we see Alec's friend on his bike; and later his mum stepping across the park for a catch-up.

3. To hurry home through the woods with a child holding each hand.

Pancakes, dog and seaside portaits.

1. To see a stack of pancakes disappearing.

2. As we come across the common I ask if we can quickly divert to check on the tadpoles in Cabbage Stalk Pond. When we get there, a nice little dog, terrier-sized with curly gingery hair, is just coming out of the water carrying an orange ball. She drops it at Alec's feet and looks expectant, so he throws it for her, a good cricketing throw. She races through the grass, leaping like Bambi, and brings it back to me. We play with her for a while, wondering where her owner is. In due course a woman with crutches comes along and claims her dog. We chat -- about the tadpoles, who can be seen wriggling away happily -- and the dog keeps bringing the ball back so we can throw it.

3. At the market we chat to the people at the wooden bunting stall. They have started making little seaside scenes out of driftwood and beachcombings. Although they are not exact portraits, they capture so well the coastal places of Kent and Sussex that we love. Here's Hastings with its tall black net huts; and Dungeness's black and white lighthouse and shacks with coloured roofs.

Geese, on the water and pignuts.

1. Bettany is intrigued by a woman feeding the geese by the lake shore. She saves her crusts so that she too can summon powerful, dangerous birds.

2. Even at this distance we can hear Alec and his friends shouting in their boats on the lake. Bettany and I hire a boat a bit later: the water is a good place to be on this hot, still day.

3. I use PlantNet to check the identity of a tiny, dainty umbellifer growing in the park. It turns out that it is pignut. I try to learn a few wild plants each year, and I'm so pleased to add this one to my collection. I'm tempted to dig for its edible root, but I think that the borough council and the friends of the park would prefer I did not.

Check-in, every sparrow and shushi.

1. The post-bank holiday check-in emails that remind me I am working with real people. I always like the human being sentence -- the one that remarks on the weather, or mentions the weekend. 

2. The news that the wildlife hospital declared Tim's rescued sparrow ready for release.

3. It's not great looking sushi, but we have fun making it and the children are getting some good knife skills slicing it up. 

Lollies, weeding and comedy.

1. During a period of warm weather, to slide ice lolly moulds full of orange and pink smoothie into the freezer.

2. To ensure we avoid the attention of the council's weedkiller man we pull out the briza grass and avens growing between the fence and the pavement. The soil smells sweet and damp, and even in that tiny gap there are big worms at work.

3. To sit back with a comedy podcast.

Early, shopping and kebabs.

1. I've been waking early these past few days, and I love to eat breakfast in a quiet house.

2. Bettany patiently and insistently extracts me from my desk to go shopping for a new pencil case.

3. Nick is not delighted by the chicken and chorizo kebabs I ordered from the supermarket. They have fallen apart in the packet. 'It's just meat and sticks,' he says.

Brewing, cricket sounds and grievances.

1. Bettany has packed a potion kit and is ready to brew in the field. (that's the smoothie and pudding she made me when we got home.)

2. As we approach we can hear cricket sounds -- it's a Twenty-Twenty game, so a bit noiser than you'd expect, with shouts and music from the pavilion.

3. Cross, tired children cuddling up to tell me their grievances.

Walk, irises and bins.

 1. When I wave the children and Nick off I realise that the air is so soft and summery that the only course of action that makes complete sense is to go for a walk before starting work. 

2. In the park there are tall yellow and black irises, and in another bed the promise of another colour pairing that is too parcelled up to discern.

3. The children scampering around the house and up and down the street doing their dustbin duties. I only wish that they would do each part of the task without getting distracted and without arguing when we try to put them back on track.

More toast, no rush and early night.

1. Golden syrup on toast.

2. This evening I don't have anything on so there is no need to rush through the children's bedtime. 

3. To go to bed early so we have time to read before we are too tired.

Browsing, spotted and starling.

1. To feel okay about browsing in a clothing shop.

2. Our neighbour spots me in a coffee shop for the second time and pantomimes mocking gestures through the glass to suggest that I spend more time drinking coffee than working.

3. In the High Street to look up and see starlings on a bird feeder.

Picture message, bluebells and dress-up.

1. Getting a message enclosing a picture collage of my neice.

2. I get my walk in a bluebell wood.

3. The smell of acrylic paint and sealer works its way up the house: in the kitchen, Nick is painting a shield so Alec can go to school as a Spartan warrior on Greek day. 

Pondlife, tab and clear.

1. To stand for a few minutes before the rain comes watching tadpoles in a shallow pond.

2. The tab on the back of my DMs that I use to pull them on.

3. Alec takes a bent stick and unclogs the spring gully at Brighton Lake so that water rushes out clear and shining.

Red boots, fennel and tip.

1. An older lady wearing shiny scarlet lace-up boots.

2. The soft fronds of last year's fennel plants in a neglected public flowerbed.

3. To tip a quarter of a bag of epsom salts into my bath. There is something very satisfying and abundant about using a large quantity.

Greek week, seed and buzzing.

1. Nick brings home his haul from Lidl -- it's Greek week, so there's quite a lot of baklava.

2. To show Bettany that her sunflower seed has germinated.

3. Alec comes back from Cubs absolutely buzzing because he enjoyed the athletics activities so much. 'Apart from the skipping. I'm never touching a skipping rope ever again.'

Microsalad, making history and botanicals.

1. My breakfast comes with dots and curls of microsalad.

2. At lunchtime we watch a live history event: the unstoppering of a witch bottle. 

3. We keep finding snack boxes full of plant material that Bettany has gathered for reasons of her own. To show her how to lay her leaves and flowers out on a tray to dry.

The future is coming, wild children and map.

1. To drink coffee indoors and talk about a future poetry event.

2. The Beavers scamper across to the wild bit of the park on a scavenger hunt. It is pleasant to be led by their interests across the tussocky grass and into the boundary woods. 

3. Bettany, who has never shown an interest in maps before, locating her school, Nana's house and our road.

Dry patch, dry clothes and vegetables.

1. We find the only patch of sun in a rainy morning and sit in it, just taking in the forest and breathing.

2. Nana won't let me 'sit in wet clothes' and so I put on her spare trousers and top without a fuss.

3. By the time I've finished there is a bright array of chopped vegetables ready for Nick to put in his noodle soup.

Vaccinated, coffee and puzzles.

1. I am passed from hand to hand by smiling people in masks and hi-vis, and when I stumble out through a service door into the bright May drizzle, I am partially vaccinated against covid-19.

2. A coffee, a piece of cake and a nice long chat with a good friend.

3. To sit with the children doing rebus puzzles because I am too tired to read to them.

Marmite, books and pears.

1. Buttery Marmite toast.

2. A parcel arrives -- it's a packet of books that I ordered from the marvellous Hunt Emerson's shop. They are signed and doodled and there is a scattering of stickers and a CD of his music. The thought that a famous artist would go to all this trouble brings a lot of joy. 

3. Some not very nice pears become sweet and soft when stewed with some frozen raspberries.

Poetry, confidence and quip.

1. To move lines of poetry around the page.

2. While we are waiting for pick-up, one of Alec's friends confides something that is bothering him.

3. To come up with a quip for a character at games night.

Boots, bluebells and robins.

1. I am looking for a fallen hairclip but  find an entire career of outgrown football boots. Nick promises to wash them and put them on a neighbourhood group so that other boys can get some use out of them.

2. In a copse, a drift of bluebells.

3. The loud song of a robin startles us.

Cleavers, cells and ghost.

1. The children pick bundles of succulent green sticky grass and chase each other with it.

2. Alec has filled two more cells in his blank comic book.

3. To remember that there is a final Battersea Poltergeist episode that I have not listened to yet.

Hug, book and sunset.

1. I hug Nick because I am frazzled. Alec wriggles in between us: he doesn't want to be left out. 

2. I'm starting to think the book we are reading is a bad fit, as it is about an Edwardian teenage girl having Edwardian teenage girl problems with her place in the world and her hunger for a better education. It is, though, exquisitely written. I ask them what they think and they both say they are enjoying it and don't want to stop.

3. The west-facing windows of the houses on the hill reflect soft pink light from the setting sun.

Normal, not sticky and marshmallows.

1. I have an enormous, exciting job on at the moment, but they don't need me this morning. It makes me remember why my boring normal routine is my  normal routine. 

2. The rainstorms are clearing the sticky aphids off the acer. It's a bit hard on the aphids, but it means I can garden without getting gluey residue all over me.

3. Alec is doing campfire cooking with Cubs, so we let Bettany toast a marshmallow over the gas ring.

Gulls, released and confidence.

1. Seagulls hanging in the sky, straining against the wind.

2. To be released from a meeting earlier than expected.

3. Alec tells me and Bettany that everyone knows two people in his class are in love because they keep staring at each other in lessons. 'We don't know why they don't just get together,' he says. We spend some time thinking up things that might be keeping them apart.

Potion book, get out of the bathroom and storm.

1. Bettany shows me her potion book and a jar with fallen flowers from the park floating in it.

2. Alec wants me to help with his wash, but also to leave him alone in the bathroom to get on with it.

3. On a night when the weather is throwing itself against the house to pull the covers over myself and take refuge in sleep.

Deer, orchids and haircut.

1. Nick reports that as they were going to school he and the children saw a deer standing on the common.

2. I don't have much time for chores today, but putting a drop of rainwater on the orchids doesn't take long, and I feel as if I've done my bit of gardening.

3. Watching Bettany reappear as her haircut progresses.

Hiding, shower and tease.

1. To shut out the world with a meditation podcast. (I recommend Moon Lover's Meditations.)

2. A little rain dampens the garden. I'll still have to do my watering, though.

3. Bettany teasing Alec and me about our city-building video game by pretending she's interested in trading with us.

Walking back, broccoli forest and end.

1. To walk back with another mum and our boys.

2. The children sticking broccoli spears in their mashed potato to make a forest.

3. The moment an alarm stops.

Stroopwaffle, streamers and starling.

1. Waming a stroopwaffle over my cup of coffee.

2. Across the field I can see Bettany and her Beavers playing with red and yellow streamers.

3. One starling in the playground has a worm. The other smaller starling wants it.

 

Fairy house, sticks and bread.

1. Bettany has dabbed spots on her toadstools in thick white paint and now it is time to arrange them in her fairy house. [Fairy house kit by Freckles]

2. The children running through the common chasing each other with sticks.

3. The smell of warm bread coming up the stairs.

Greeting, lost doll and sleepy.

1. My massage therapist's elbow bump greeting.

2. Bettany is howling because she has lost a tiny doll at the park. I give her the cat that sits near my desk to hold and she gradually cheers up, but continues grumbling quietly about her loss for the rest of the evening.  

3. To feel soft and sleepy after listening to an episode of Moon Lover's Meditation podcast.

Over, haul and pudding.

1. For some weeks I've been fretting quietly about chairing a fiction editors' discussion over Zoom. Now it's done, and I was really lucky to have some supportive helpers. We think it went well. 

2. Nick shows off his haul from the new Lidel.

3. Bettany has invented a surprise pudding -- chilled malt loaf pieces with purple icing and sprinkles. At least she's showing an interest in cooking.

Haircut, puppy and weeding.

1. I come downstairs to find Nick has been to the barbers and now has a velvety head.

2. You miss an awful lot when you're in a hurry. There's a woman walking in the park with a black labrador puppy, all big feet and soft, unformed features. She looks like she expects a compliment and a chat -- but I can't stop today.

3. The clear patch of ground that I have just weeded. 

Together, weeding and oxalis.

1. To sit cuddling both children as we get ready to face our days.

2. I spend ten minutes weeding in the front garden and get a good neighbour chat while I do it.

3. Tiny oxalis plants seem too  delicate to push their soft green leaves and spindly stems out of the leaf litter along the base of the park fence -- and yet there they are.

Stock, cricket ground and happily occupied.

1. To return to my chicken stock and find the carcass has fallen quietly apart.

2. The cricket ground feels more like itself now the soil has dried out and the daisies have appeared round the edges. In winter, walking round feels like an intrusion at a time when the place would prefer not to be seen.

3. Nick tells me later that Alec had a little smile on his face throughout his online art class.

Brisk wind, baby news and silent companion.

1. Our coats dry fairly quickly in the brisk wind that has got up following the shower. 

2. To get news that a friend has had her baby.

3. While I am working, Alec comes up and quietly reads a comic nearby.

Curled buds, come with and dance.

1. The curled buds of tulips hiding among the leaves.

2. To my surprise, Alec says he'd like to come with me.

3. Bettany's dance camp can't do the usual end of session show, but they perform one of the dances  -- 'Stick it to the Man' from School of Rock in the car park, and it's glorious to see how much a good teacher can achieve in two days. 

Buzzards, dance camp and fairy forest.

1. To catch sight of buzzards circling.

2. To collect a smiling Bettany from her dance camp.

3. To find a cushion of moss that looks like a fairy forest. 

Unexpected snow, orange jelly and giggles.

1. The moment between opening the blind to see unexpected snow and realising that it is going to spoil your plans for the day.

2. Bettany has made orange jelly with peaches in it for supper pudding.

3. I get the giggles during writing group.

Snip, bath and satisfactory work.

1. To snip off a few dead hyacinth heads in the garden.

2. Alec announces that he will be taking a bath this evening. And can he listen to a podcast. He suggests I'm Sorry I haven't a Clue, and promises that all the rude jokes go over his head. 

3. To have spent an entire weekend focusing on my own writing with a Solus Or virtual retreat.

Joke, watering and tired.

1. My goddaughter has been sending us daily jokes. Today she picks one that Bettany suggested. What is the Sheriff of Nottingham's favourite dessert? Robin Pud.

2. The little can I use to water the orchids makes a soft glugging sound.

3. The children are very tired out from their bike ride in the forest and they are mellow and cuddly rather than keyed up and in denial.

Call, game and cardboard VR.

1. A courteous call early on to say that work will not be coming today. It's annoying not to have the money -- but it's lovely to have the time back and the looser schedule.

2. It is so unpleasantly cold out that we don't linger, but hurry home to wait for Nick there. Alec asks if I will play on the Xbox with him in this spare slip of time, so I do. 

3. Throughout the day Alec comes upstairs to tell me about and finally show me the virtual reality headset he is making out of a cardboard box and the iPad.

Comfort, prize and snowflakes.

1. I've been pushing forward withe a project that is outside my comfort zone -- helping to organise a professional development event -- and now I'm tired and aching and anxious. It is very cheering to snuggle in with the children, who are lying in bed reading. 

2. Bettany is of the opinion that she deserves a prize for trying to be less bad tempered. Luckily I have a spare Frozen pop-up pencil, which she likes very much.

3. I should be working but I am watching flurries of snowflakes whirling across town.

Out, weather and slow to start.

1. To put on my shoes and leave the house.

2. Is that snow?

3. Lloyd Alexander's The Book of Three is excruciatingly slow to start, as tedious Prince Gwydion infodumps a load of nation-level back story and central casting farmboy Taran moans about his identity crisis. As I read it to the children I can see why Alec has abandoned it. But then Gurgi and Eilonwy turn up, and the story seems to come alive. I think it's the character-level conflict: poor Taran can hardly bring himself to associate with either of them, but he has to, or he can't move forward -- and it's like the lights have gone on in the story. 

Chocolate for breakfast, visit and in the woods.

1. To eat large pieces of Easter egg for breakfast.

2. My parents come to visit for the first time in over a year to sit in the garden, drink Champagne and see how much the children have grown.

3. In the April woods, still bare but so very nearly in leaf, to see the children running about among the trees, now behind us, now ahead.

Buds, call to work and Easter box.

1. I spot a few buds on the bare stems of the wisteria. 

2. Towards the end of the day, a pleasant conversational call about some work.

3. Bettany plays on the floor with the coloured eggs and toy rabbits, lambs and chicks that we've brought out of the Easter box.  

 

Other editors, glam and disconcerting shoot.

1. As always it is good to talk with other editors, even if it is in yet another Zoom meeting.

2. Bettany asks me to help her look like a diva for her dance class watching week. She wants hair chalk and eye shadow and glitter on her cheeks, and will I paint her nails.

3. I notice a strange waving.... thing in one of the pots of sunflower seedlings. It looks like the shoot of some disconcerting alien fungus but as I look I notice wings and eyes. It's a small cranefly emerging from it's pupa.

Greeting, eggs and hot cross buns.

1. On this warm spring morning, with restrictions newly lifted, an older man greets me with a jaunty 'Fine day!'

2. A tree decked out with little eggs. Bettany loves a good Easter tree, althought she is less fond of walking, but perhaps I can tempt her out here  soon.

3. The smell of toasting hot cross buns.

Bulbs, walking time and reviews..

1. Candy pink tulips, still streaked with green, have popped out now. In the middle of the pot the deep velvet blue hyacinths are still going, scenting the back garden. 

2. Robert and I walk across the Common to pick up the children from school: peaceful time to catch up.

3. Our writing group has a lot of fun this evening. We're writing product reviews, with a focus on the absurd. The laughter and lightness are a relief and a joy.

Baby, brother and coloured cakes.

1. A message from my mother to say that Rosey has had her baby.

2. A call from my brother to say he has arrived home safely from Antarctica.

3. Bettany's rainbow fairy cakes come out of the oven and they are much brighter and more beautiful than I expected.

Cross off, wren and Word glitch.

1. I drop off a parcel and cross a nagging task off my list.

2. In the park to catch sight of an impossibly small red-brown wren with its tail stuck up in the air.

3. I ask for help with a Word glitch on an editing forum and get a whole host of helpful tips and explanations.

Yellow, cheese and sketch.

1. Patches of yellow blossom have appeared on the bare twigs of the forsythia hedge.

2. At supper Nick puts the cheese board on the table.

3. Alec sitting in bed working away in his sketchbook-journal.

Sick day, leaving cakes and journal.

1. Poor Alec is sick, so we keep him off school. It means a lot to me that we can do this without worrying about work commitments.

2. It's fun to leave a couple of cakes on a friend's doorstep.

3. To see that I am approaching the last pages of the journal that I use for gaming notes. It makes the sense of time passing tangible, and helps me remember the sociable times we've had playing together.

Coffee, cleaning and chocolate eggs.

1. A really good cup of coffee shop coffee and a socially distanced walk on the common.

2. It is satisfying to clean grime off white-painted window crosspieces.

3. Bettany interrupts my work to ask very nicely if she can have a few extra mini eggs for her Beavers activity -- making chocolate crispy nests.

Loaf, recyling and brownie.

1. Alec is hungry and cuts himself a cheeky slice off the end of the loaf that I have just brought out of the breadmaker.

2. To discover that Amazon will give me a little bit of cash for my very old Kindles.

3. Eating a small piece of Bettany's brownie after supper.

Pram, scone and calm.

1. I spot a personal trainer working with a mother who has a pram parked off to one side.

2. The children have picked out a maple and pecan drop scone from the new bakery. Nick brings it up on a plate with a cup of tea and it is delicious.

3. Often dress-up days at school are just stressful with tantrums and last-minute costume changes. But this evening the children talk about what they want to wear tomorrow and help me find it and name it.