16 weeks, backroom stock and how to be a mother.

1. There is another 16-week mother at my antenatal yoga group. So I'm not the baby of the class any more.

2. I go down to Oxfam to prepare for Saturday's Bookfest event. The manager shows me their box of interesting items found in books (school photos, ancient letters, yellowed pages fallen from French novels). Then we rifle through the backroom stock in search of 3BTish books for the window display. If you're in TWells tomorrow (Saturday 3 July) between noon and 3pm, please pop in and say hi, and write a beautiful thing on a bookmark to slip inside a random volume.

3. Louise comes round -- she brings news about her new job, and a birthday present. It's a book of tea-time recipes. She says it's because I'm going to be a mother, and mothers need to know all sorts of recipes that no-one else does.

Stretching, missing link and music.

1. In the quiet hour before everyone gets up, I do some yoga and feel my muscles stretch out. My favourite part is the relaxing at the end -- having spent nearly an hour concentrating on my body, it's lovely to ignore it for a bit.

2. Realising just how stressful I am finding struggling to get an internet connection, I talk with Katie about some possible solutions. We come up with a temporary arrangement, and now, although a phone wire is draped over door frames and under sofas, I have a reliable connection again.

3. On a whim, Nick takes me a cello recital at King Charles the Martyr -- the church with the ceiling of plaster fruits and palm leaves. They play a piece -- Faure's Sicilienne (you have to wait a minute for the musicians to stop talking) -- which we both recognise. 'What's it from?' I whisper between numbers.