1. It’s impossibly wet for our drive into the city centre – a fast river gushes down one side of the road, a slower plane covers the other.
1b. We are in and out in about ten minutes: after waiting nearly five years for the first one, we’ve only had to wait for months to sign up for our second allotment. (It’s on the same tiny site as my first one, and is in startlingly good condition – I’ve been very lucky again.)
1c. Visiting the city centre means going to the wonderful Pizza Pieces for lunch – a long standing Bradford institution (I’ve been going since I first visited in 1998; John, who grew up here, far longer). The dough is thin but perfectly crisp and structurally sound, and the toppings are just right too: three colours of pepper, arranged just so.
2. I fetch a little clip light so I can read more easily in “Louisa’s chair” (my favourite armchair, tucked in the corner of the dining room). In the otherwise dark room, I wrap myself up in a blanket and I’m slowly joined by the dog then all the cats. I have never been cosier while reading about a zombie apocalypse.
3. I bend down to show Z that my hood is still wet from the rain six hours earlier and after touching the fabric, he, sneakily, touches my hair too. Meanwhile Little J stands, legs braced against gravity, transfixed by Lily once again.
4. I squeeze two packets of fruit jelly sweets into a tupperware tub to take into the cinema (possibly the most grown-up/organised thing I’ve ever done). Every time there is something that makes us roll our eyes, I pass the box around between us.