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.

1. Having neat, trimmed fingernails again.

2. The wind blows and a shower of leaves flutters to the ground.

2b. Whenever the air is a little smoky – from woodburners, bonfires or more dubious things – Lily registers her protest with a single, exaggerated “tsh”. It’s not quite a sneeze, just a nasal “oh my, not a fan of that”.

3. I’m always amused when I come across my own photos being used by other people online. (I don’t mind: I usually release them under the Creative Commons licence and other free-to-use agreements.) I often spot them in Google image searches but once spotted a pair of my mangy old socks in a national newspaper. Today, it’s a coincidence a little closer to home: Twitter suggests I follow someone who uses one of my photos of Leeds Uni as their logo.

4. The second before a cat yawns.

1. The terracotta clay is always incredibly messy but today it is also sticky and hard to throw. I threw nine pots – two collapse, four are somewhat wonky, and the other three are just … ok then it takes more than half an hour to clean up everything. In comparison, glazing is easy – not something I thought I’d ever say! I use my two of my favourite, reliable glazes and the dipping tongs – the glaze coats them smoothly and evenly.

1b. I turn onto the road and gasp: the huge, round moon hangs heavily over the hills to the east. The bus follows it on my way home: at times, it’s coloured green by the tinted part of the upstairs window.

2. Tilda is utterly delighted to see me (at least in part because I am the Refiller of the [momentarily empty] Upstairs Food Receptacle). She dances her head from side to side, unable to contain her excitement. Meanwhile upstairs, Lily, who has been confined to the bedroom for the duration of her abandonment (a whole fifteen minutes), sniffs furiously at the door crack to find out what is going on in the rest of the house.

3. To live in an area where people don’t go in for many fireworks at home. There is a short flurry of loud, bright flashes from across the valley but after that, it is largely still. A heavy smoke hangs over the treeline though.

4. “Oh there are almond slivers on my curry … no wait, it’s garlic.”

1. Another nice day so I take Lily for a (slightly) early walk. We walk the long way, along the top of the quarry, and as I turn out of the woods near the ruins of the POW* camp, the sky – for a moment – is a gorgeous rich red. John calls to say he’s on his way home and when I look up again, just a couple of minutes later, the colour has faded to a more usual gold.

1b. The air is truly autumnal: smoky and chill.

1c. I’m surprised by the sudden appearance of a dog at my side and it takes me a beat to realise it is a young, slimmer springer, not our old girl. Until the end of the path, the dog runs between her mum (some way back) and me & Lily. She wants to play and eventually, grumpy Lil joins in.

2. I’d meant to turn the pots I threw last week but things got in the way and now they’re stiff leather hard. They’ll have to make do with a delicate bit of scraping and a wipe.

2b. I make a quick little felt vessel to remind myself how to do them (someone has asked me to show them): it felts surprisingly quickly and before long, I’m fine tuning its shape.

3. When I take off my jumper, the cool washes over me and I realise how uncomfortably warm I had been.

* an army training camp turned into an Italian POW camp in the later years of the Second World War. Our woods do have a fantastic, varied history!

1. I take advantage of the sunny morning and go to the allotment. I reclaim the strawberry bed from brambles, dig up some more tap-rooted dandelions, sow a load of bought & “seed”-saved garlic and clear the path to the main gate. Autumn is taking its toll – everywhere is covered in leaves and the late summer plants are closing up shop – but I still pick a generous serving of runner beans, and a handful of mange tout.

1b. I’m on my own, in my own little world listening to podcasts about times gone by, when I see a movement out of the corner of my eye: a sleek grey cat walks slowly down my path and along the bed edging we installed the other week. I “prurp” at him – he pauses momentarily and half-raises his tail in response before continuing on his way: I see you, and I know you talk cat, but I am on a mission here, things need smelling!

1c. I get a lungful of delicious scented air as I walk behind the coffee shop. As I cross into the residential streets, the pavement is littered with pumpkin shards and from nearby doorsteps, whole specimens watch me pass.

2. As I’m walking back from the allotment, I see a plane talking off from the airport on the distant hills. I watch its slow, silent climb upwards. Later, as we’re going on a dog walk, another plane is crossing overhead: its sunlit trail a glowing white against the blue sky.

3. The only dogs we see on our walk are other springers.

4. A line in an old Simon and Garfunkle song: “there but for the grace of you go I”. I much prefer it to the usual version for obvious utter-heathen reasons but also because it applies to my everyday existence with John: we are both so much better off for the grace of the other.

0. Very unusually for her, Tilda was absent all evening and by bedtime I’m starting to worry. I wake in the dark time just before dawn to the sound of a cat tugging on the carpet and when I put out my hand, the silkiness of the fur and the volume of the purr let me know my girl has reappeared.

1. Two tails wagging as Lily makes a new friend.

2. I make a load of “mainstay mince”: it’s meaty yet fragrant, veg heavy but rich. (Unfortunately I wipe out most of the subtly by adding too much smoked paprika to tonight’s dinner but we’ll enjoy it in the rest of the mince meals.)

3. It’s impossible not to mimic the pleasing vowel sounds.