Pink roses, herbal and jam.

1. On my way to work I pass a Rosa moyesii growing over a wall. It is the one with ribbed light green leaves and dark pink flowers with yellow-gold stamens. It is my favourite rose ever for its deep, non-hayfevery scent. In Autumn it will put forth enormous bright scarlet hips.

2. The little crunchiness when you snip tiny bits of chives with a pair of scissors.

3. A teaspoonful of confiture chataignes a la vanille. This is chestnut jam. It is beigey brown and slightly gelatinous and a bit gritty to eat. It smells of marron glace. As I type this, I have to keep stopping to taste - to make sure the description is quite correct - and now my keyboard is slightly sticky.

Dinner, sweet tooth and fizzy.

1. A proper brightly coloured meal of gnocci, sauce, green salad, tomatoes and mozarella after a day of light eating.

2. Cats that eat fudge.

3. A tall cold glass of soda water.

Yapping, to sir with love and yo disco.

1. A bent old man in too short trousers making baby talk to a puppy tied up outside Morrisons. The puppy ignores him.

2. Home Truths this week included a report from a newly-retired teacher. His innercity students present him with roses stolen from the sixth form garden, and as he cycles off into the sunset, he thills because 'I'll never improve anyone again.' And when he meets his tutor group on the train, he thinks 'I know thee not young hoodies.' Finally, he concludes, 'They're all right considering. I'll miss them enormously.'

3. Dancing last thing at night with PaulV to dire disco records. I was particularly impressed by our impromptu routine for Rick Astley's Never Gonna Give You Up.

Cash, stories, dawn.

1. Massive cheques that you have done nothing to earn.

2. Story magazines (Interzone) can be a bit of a mixed bag. But this issue (May/June 2005) was flawless.

• First there was a far-future story, Piccadilly Circus, of the last real humans descending into senility among those who have chosen to upload themselves into a computer-generated London. Loved the image of a batty, determined old lady riding into the centre of London on her mobility scooter, flicking between the potholed physical world and the twinkly Consensual Field.
• Then Go Tell the Phoenicians by Matthew Hughes, a detective story about a mysterious new alien race - one of my favourite genres. Bastogne V.9 is about soliders who suspect they are a computer simulation.
• The Court of the Beast Emperor (John Aegard) is beautiful - it's about judges who take on the pain of the judged. It's told through the eyes of a petitioner who wants his love released from a bond to the army.
• Finally, Dominic Green's terrifying The Clockwork Atom Bomb is set in the aftermath of a war between the People's Democratic Republic of Congo and the Democratic People's Republic of Congo. It tells, with sharp wit, of horrendously frightening weaspons technology and how it was used in peacetime. It also lampoons the UN's ugly acronyms - UNPERFORCONG; UNTASFORDEMRECONG.

3. Setting the alarm for Saturday time 8.30am instead of 6.30am.

Roots, knot and jaybird.

1. Radishes - bold crimson colour and bold taste.

2. I am embroidering quietly, and suddenly the thread shortens dramatically. On the back of my fabric a knot has appeared strangling a long loop of thread that will get in the way of any other stitches I try to do. Curses. I give it an experimental tug to see if it will come apart on its own. No luck. The only thing to do is to patiently tease it apart and work out where it came from. I like the moment when it all falls apart and thread comes free.

3. On last few walks home from work, I have seen a jay hanging about in the same spot. I am hoping he will drop a blue and black and white striped feather for me to find.

Olives, recognition and mending.

1. Eating a few olives before supper.

2. Playing a record bought because I liked the cover and realising that I know the music on it.

3. The hot water suddenly turns cold in the middle of the washing-up. Tomorrow, the man is coming to fix the boiler once and for all.

Bed, iron and jelly.

1. Sleeping diagonally across a double bed, rolling myself up in the entire quilt and using both pillows.

2. Raw spinach.

3. Making jelly requires faith because it seems so unlikely that it will set.