View, downhill and waiting.

1. We come to the spot in the forest which I think of as Instagram Corner because it features in so many shots of wholesome family activities. There is already a man sitting on the bench breathing deeply. We keep our distance and stand watching rain clouds coming in from Sussex.  

2. Alec says that when they came here on a school trip, everyone spread out and ran down this hill.

3. I'd told everybody that we were going on a proper walk with no stopping but somehow we end up standing around watching the children poking clots of dead leaves out of a stream. 

Fan theory, bath and phone conversation.

1. Bettany earnestly tells us about a Frozen fan theory she has discovered today. 

2. Alec lowers his lanky limbs into the bath until nothing is showing among the bubbles except his head.

3. A long refreshing phone call with a friend.

Crossover, more important and talk.

1. I hit send on an email to my goddaughter and see that while I was writing her mother had sent me a message.

2. 'No, Mummy, cuddling you is more important.'

3. Our neighbour calls me because she is upset about the trees behind our house being taken down. Talking it over helps us put our feelings  into words that we can -- perhaps -- use to help repair this situation.

Morning walk, piper and Burns Night.

1. On a crisp morning to leave the house alone and just walk.

1b. Alec comes up to tell me about a time-management disaster -- PE, assembly, a picture of a Mayan temple and all this English, and I've only got ten minutes. (I find out later that he's been sending gifs to his friend on messenger instead of getting on with his school work.) To tell him to take the easiest task first and let the rest follow. I'm hoping that perhaps these low-stakes experiences will help him avoid rougher times in future. 

2. There is an Australian playing the Star War March on bagpipes in Bettany's Beavers meeting -- because of course there is.

3. To settle on the sofa with Nick and watch BBC Scotland's Burns Night concert. Eddi Reader's wild Charlie is My Darling has always been a bit of a favourite on my playlist, but I can't bear to listen to her achingly sad John Anderson except on this one night. 

Snow day, lap and origami.

1. It snows a tiny bit -- hard white pellets that are nearly hail and just enough to turn the ground white, but not for very long. The children run outside to the carpark and play in it before it vanishes.

2. Alec is almost too grown to sit on my lap, but he still finds a way to arrange himself.

3. I open an origami book on a project that calls for paper we don't have. But somehow, because Bettany wants to do it, we end up experimenting, and tweaking until we've made it.

Birdsong, contact and early bed.

1. The wind is still high but I can hear birdsong behind it, despite everything.

2. To half-listen to Bettany on a Zoom call chatting with one of her friends.

3. To go to bed early and just read.

Meal plan, sharpen and dark blue undersheet.

1. Alec checks the meal plan to make sure I've included the pasties he wants to cook for us.

2. To put a new edge on a kitchen knife and then use it to slice a tomato.

3. 'I feel like a playboy,' says Nick as he replaces the white sheet on our bed with a dark blue one. But playboys miss out on brushed cotton duvet sets, so we're one up on them. And it's possible that bedmaking is not part of the playboy lifestyle.

Tea, shut and chart.

1. There is a cup of tea waiting for me on the breakfast table.

2. I habitually make a point of keeping the shutters by my desk open until it gets dark so I can get a better idea of day and night -- but today Storm Christoph hits the back of the house and cold is rolling off the window into my workspace. It is a relief to shut that  out. 

3. It's very easy to get lost with larger editing projects and to start stressing about meeting deadlines. What really helps is logging progress on a chart that shows roughly how much more I have to do in the time I have.

Independence, pigeon and pictures.

1. We are lying in bed listening to Radio 3 when it becomes clear from the sounds downstairs that the children are getting themselves up and printing off their school work.

2. The pigeon sits in the back garden looking pointedly at us because no-one has opened the door and thrown out a cup of bird seed.

3. We play with surrealist imagery in writing group -- including making our own pictures. None of us are very good at art, but drawing loosens us up and when we write afterwards the resulting pieces are noticeably  uninhibited.

Hazelnut milk, wet woods and rest.

1. There is hazelnut milk to put in my coffee.

2. The woods are unpleasant, wet and muddy, and consequently not as crowded as usual. 

3. I have floated through the weekend in a leisure dream of home improvement TV and Carcassone and jigsaw pieces. On Sunday evening I find myself filling my pen to work at my writing. That, I suppose, is the subtle power of rest.

Small world, new oven and radio.

1. On this wet day the world has shrunk and from my window I can only see as far as the end of the Pantiles.

2. I am summoned downstairs by excited children to look at the dusty space under the worktop where the old oven used to be; and then a few hours later, to see the new oven that has been installed by our landlord.

2b. Alec announces that he wants to have a bath instead of a shower. It turns out that he has no idea how to run a bath; so Bettany does it for him. This has been a common pattern from about the time Bettany could walk, and Nick and I can see it continuing long after we are gone. 

3. I am too tired and grumpy to do anything this evening. I have a radio comedy recommendation sitting among my emails so I dig in with Conversations from a Long Marriage. 

Interruption, snowdrops and crumpets.

1. Two roofers drop over the back fence to look at a couple of leaks. It is funny to be disturbed while I'm working by a man tapping on my third-story window.

2. There are snowdrops pushing white bells out of bare earth in a flowerbed.

3. To butter crumpets for the children's bedtime snack.

Full notebook, new book and remembering a detail.

1. To find my notebook is nearly full, and to wonder how that happened.

2. To start a new book with the children: we're reading Imelda and the Horned Owl, which was written by one of Alec's classmates (helped by her dad, the sci-fi author Andrew Wallace).

3. The games master wonders if we remember the names of some wines which were mentioned in passing during a gaming session back in early summer. Although Tim logs all our adventures on Heropress we all take a few notes as we go, and when I flip back through my gaming diary, I find the winelist -- complete with the modern-day prices we used to give ourselves an idea of the wine quality.

Walk, group and novella.

1. Alec is as terrible a procrastinator as I am, so he agrees to come for a quick healthy walk round the block before starting work. We see kiwi fruit hanging on a vine; a wary dog; swimming pool-blue tiles up a garden path; and we still make it back in time to get our work done.

2. We start a new term of creative writing. It seems like magic that a group of people can organise themselves into a helpful, supportive co-operative, even at such a difficult time as this.

3. It is very satisfying to read a novella because it is over so quickly that I can hold the entire story in my head.

Lego, freezing fog and inventory.

1. To sort through our vast Lego accumulation searching for the particular pieces the children want for the sweetie dispensers they are building.

2. The weather today is something rather magical -- freezing fog. Every twig of every tree is iced with crystals. We nearly miss it because we don't go out until late in the afternoon. As it gets dark the air temperature or humidity shifts a little and the ice falls away.

3. To count the shopping into the larder so I know that our cupboards are ready for the weeks ahead.

Walk, dinner and changing the bed.

1. We walk around a nearly empty park this morning. Bettany writes her name in the frost on the seesaw. I wonder who else will see it on this empty day.

2. When I ask at lunch what the children want for supper they decide immediately and simultaneously that what they would like is a Chinese takeaway. 'With crispy duck pancakes,' says Alec quickly. I order a set menu... and job done.

3. As my hour bell goes off Nick comes up the stairs to change the bed, so I get up from my desk and help him smooth sheets and shake pillows.

Revelation, printer and tax return.

1. To keep myself motivated I am working through a writing course.* I try a technique that seems really basic, that I learnt years ago as a way to fix a story that seems broken -- but suddenly I understand how to apply it much earlier in the process, and it is a complete revelation.

2. To hear the printer working when it has been rather unreliable.

3. We get our tax returns done. This is a task that hangs over us every year -- but it never takes that long once you get started. Over the years we've got better at record-keeping, so the information is easy to get hold of.

The course is on Domestika, with Shaun Levin. It's titled Creative Writing for Beginners -- but I always think that with writing it's worth going back to basics from time to time.

Musical beds, homefront and decorations.

1. I wake up in Bettany's single bed because she turned up in our bed in the middle of the night, kicking the covers off and wriggling between us. First thing Alec comes to join me for a moment and I marvel at how tall he has become.

2. PE is a Zombies Run Homefront mission -- thirty minutes for me, fifteen minutes for each child because they fight if they have to do it together. Then I hand them over to Nick for the rest of the day.

3. In the evening Nick and I take down the Christmas decs and afterwards our house seems huge and tidy.

Almond biscuit, easy meals and announcement.

1. Dipping an almond biscuit in my coffee.

2. I resent the amount of weekend time I need to spend cooking -- but I'm always pleased to dig an easy meal out of the freezer in the shape of a box of frozen tomato mince or parsnip soup for Nick to serve up later in the day.

3. We bring the children downstairs to see the prime minister announcing the new lockdown. It's unpleasant, discouraging news, but it seems important for them to see it. 

Gingerbread, hideaway and Marnie.

Sorry for the unannounced break. I was ill right before Christmas, and then, you know, Christmas happened. I needed a complete break from everything. But I'm back at my desk now.

1. We eat the last pieces of the gingerbread, rather rich and spicy, that we got for Christmas. 

2. Nick gets supper, and finding myself not needed in the kitchen I hide away upstairs to read a bit of my book.

3. We are reading When Marnie was There, which Bettany chose partly to annoy Alec because it didn't look very exciting. But we are enjoying it all the same, with much speculation about who Marnie is and asking so many questions about why Anna behaves as she does. I never liked it particularly as a child, finding it puzzling and a bit intense, although my own childhood copy has survived cull after cull of my books. Reading it now, though, I can see that it is very well put together and its honest treatment of children's emotions and unflinching portrait of parenting a damaged child makes for a compelling and uncomfortable read. There's a studio Ghibli film of it, which we might watch together.