Monday, September 30, 2024

Pirate, wedding and birthday plans.

1. Oh my goodness, that little pirate toy has gone down well. Our brunch is punctuated by cries of 'Treasure!'

2. When I see him looking at the bride-to-be, I recall a friend writing to me after seeing my wedding pictures and saying that he was pleased by how kind and handsome my husband looked. There is something so nice about the energy of an upcoming wedding. 

3. Alec and I have had our eye on a coach tour to the UFO site at Rendlesham (plus pub lunch) for a while now. An email from Minimum Labyrinth lands in my inbox to say they're running it again very close to his birthday. This feels like a prod in the ribs from the universe.

Friday, September 27, 2024

Winter clothes, from the freezer and last of the raspberries.

1. Finding two pairs of soft winter socks with my winter dressing gown.

2. The tuna pasta pulled from depths of the freezer for our lunch is surprisingly good.

3. We share out what I'm sure is the last of the year's fresh raspberries and eat them with meringues and cream.

Thursday, September 26, 2024

Pushing, dog and supper by the river.

1. My walks are turning into runs.

2. A wiry orange dog with a whiskery face glances at my as a I pass.

3. Bettany and I eat supper on a sheltered terrace with the river slipping by below us and the rain falling outside.

Wednesday, September 25, 2024

Ticking off, shepherd's pie and art.

1. Working down a checklist.

2. Nick has made a shepherd's pie that is what some might describe as 'visually arresting' because half of it is topped with delicious cheesy leeks, and the other half with just plain cheese. Others might call it 'knowing your audience'. Either way, a lot of it gets eaten.

3. Late at night, slipping Alec a few art supplies so he can do his homework.

Tuesday, September 24, 2024

Water, passion fruit and women's stories.

1. After a night of heavy rain, the water pools, stained brown by leaf mulch, in every dip, ditch and hollow on the common.

2. Bettany has suddenly gone off passion fruit, and at the bottom of the fruit bowl, there is one left, deeply wrinkled and very sweet and ripe.

3. I have Pandora's Jar by Natalie Haynes and I can feel the pieces of the Trojan war narrative clicking together as they never have before.

Monday, September 23, 2024

Bacon sandwiches, bulbs and rain on the common.

1. We make bacon sandwiches for breakfast.

2. Unexpected dry weather. Progress in the garden. Now all the bulbs are planted, I feel like I can face winter.

3. Heavy drops fall for a while. Rings on Fir Tree Pond.

Friday, September 20, 2024

Wet, licking the bowl and homework.

1. Taking off my drenched trainers and socks.

2. I am not too thorough with the spatula, and once the pudding is in the oven, there's a bowl and whisk for Bettany.

3. To look with some pride on my child's homework.


Thursday, September 19, 2024

Teatime, call and evening work.

1. Luckily for me, there's a slice of beetroot cake at teatime.

2. This is a big old video call: watching the number of screens increasing as the start-time draws near, and spotting familiar names and a few (a very few) familiar faces.

3. In the kitchen, Alec is baking biscuits for food tech; Bettany is drawing flowers for art. I'm just there to drink my soda-and-bitters and answer questions about separating eggs and crayon colours.

Wednesday, September 18, 2024

Coffee on the common, keeping track and into it.

1. Nick and I coordinate our schedules with the weather and the coffee van's opening days and find ourselves sitting on the common enjoying the air and the sun and the sky on this morning in autumn, right now.

2. To record my page count at the end of the day and to find that the edit is going well.

3. Five adults sitting around a table gaming, and we are so into the scenario that we are whispering, just as if we really had lock picked our way into a darkened Westminster Abbey for some... archaeology.

Tuesday, September 17, 2024

Balance, greetings and sand.

1. In the scrape, a robin balances on the broken clay at the water's edge.

2. There is a friendly feel to the lower cricket ground today, with people calling out greetings to each other through the hazy autumn air.

3. A couple of days of fine weather after a night of heavy rain and there is already fine dry white sand on the paths.

Monday, September 16, 2024

Workers, visiting a mosque and aspirational.

1. The ants in the compost heap who stopped me from turning my garden waste earlier this year, have  gone, leaving a fine soil, ready for bulb-planting time.

2. We find out from a school WhatsApp group that our town's mosque has an exhibition on -- part of Heritage Open Days. It's always instructive to see behind doors that are normally closed to you; and this exhibition is particularly good, with a 6th century botanical text, and a 15th century engineering text, both lavishly illustrated. A boy a little older than Alec shows me each one. ‘But wait, it gets better’ — and it really does. There are also models and photographs of major pilgrimage sites -- which is interesting for me as I've been writing content about travel vaccines for Haj and Umrah. And we are welcomed so warmly by people we know from school and our neighbourhood.

3. For Sunday evening, a lightweight sit com that is so aspirational we don't even need to consider aspiring to the lifestyle it depicts.

Friday, September 13, 2024

What happened overnight, dull letters and in the freezer.

1. Even on this well trodden path near a road, where last night a tree made a pool of dark, a badger has turned over the soil searching for worms.

2. On the mat a few dull letters.

3. To find fancy ice creams in the freezer -- ready for the weekend.

Thursday, September 12, 2024

Fifty-minute wait, autumn at the greengrocer and timed just right.

1. A coffee, a brownie and a structural edit loaded on to my Kindle.

2. Passing a greengrocer. Victoria plums AND Kentish cobnuts.

3. We come to the station just as my mother's train pulls in.

Wednesday, September 11, 2024

Clearing, follow and lemon drizzle cake with poppy seeds.

1. On Sunday the pond water was cloudy from the heavy rain. Today the sediment has settled and the water stained with last year's leaves reflects the canopy.

2. I follow my own footprints on the second time round the field.

3. Finally, after supper, we are allowed to try Alec's lemon drizzle cake with poppy seeds.

Tuesday, September 10, 2024

Getting things done, games and evening's work.

1. Our neighbour's voice over the garden wall asking me if I'm there -- I can tick off my gardening item; and my social contact item. 

2. I find Alec adding games that he thinks I will like to my computer.

3. Between us, we bake a lemon drizzle cake after supper.

Monday, September 09, 2024

Sunday morning, wet day and separating eggs.

1. No one else is awake, and I can do exactly as I please -- which is sitting on the sofa with a magazine.

2. It rains hard and persistently for the rest of the day and I feel pleased that I got into and out of the woods early on.

3. Teaching Bettany how to separate eggs by holding the yolk and allowing the white to run through her fingers -- she is making soufflés for supper pudding.

Friday, September 06, 2024

Reset, damp and all together.

1. With the heavy rain, it's been a tense morning. But now everyone has gone, there's time to reset with 20 minutes of reading.

2. Two children, damp around the edges, home safely.

3. While we are winding down before bed with The Folk Show, the children join us.

Thursday, September 05, 2024

Bathwater, information and on the common.

1. I leave the water in my bath, pretending that it's to make best use of the scent from the bath bomb; but really because I love the gold shimmer in the dark blue water.

2. We hoard and treasure and compare the fragments of information we get from Bettany (and the location setting on the family safety app, and her new school's social media) about her day.

3. I have a good reason to take a walk across the common towards the end of the afternoon. Of course it's fine to just go for a walk for the sake of exercise -- but it's more satisfying if there's a reason for the walk.

Wednesday, September 04, 2024

Going in, underground and nerve.

1. Because he is not in it, I can straighten Alec's bed and quickly tidy his room.

2. I've got chatting to another mum waiting for her daughter's before-school haircut. She used to work for London Underground, and she is full of cool information about unions and risks and tunnels and the unseen parts of stations. By the time I look back round, Bettany's hairdresser is carefully plaiting her damp hair so it will be wavy in the morning.

3. MS Office in not behaving. But even though I have a lot of work to do, I've got the nerve -- and the patience -- to set an update running and walk away for a break.

Tuesday, September 03, 2024

Sleeves, stopping for a chat and review.

1. The cuffs of Alec's shirt at the ends of his blazer sleeves. Time for an upgrade.

2. On my way, I run into another mum and have to stop in the drizzle for an encouraging gossip.

3. Bettany brings me her shopping for review. 

Monday, September 02, 2024

Rowan, now/later and which cake.

1. Treading orange rowan berries underfoot.

2. We buy flowers in deep crimsons and pinks for now; and bulbs in butter yellow and brave red for the spring.

3. We chose a lemon curd cake, and very good it turns out to be; but we could have had jam and coconut -- maybe next time.



Busy dog, tester and it's now.

1. On the lower cricket ground a biscuit-coloured terrier is running back and forth, circling, sniffing, running again. 2. In the chemist, I...