1. All the best woodwork plans are covered in blood stains, right? (The tape measure got me.)

1b. After hanging out with the chickens for a bit, Kaufman follows us further down the garden. He meows, telling us a story, then takes far too long digging while having a wee.

1c. We have a number of pieces of wood in varying long lengths, a number of vegetable beds to edge (in a priority order) and a limit to what lengths will fit in the car. I love it when life is like a school maths puzzle (especially one that works out with very little remainder).

1d. That we don’t have to be exact or perfect in our angles or workmanship – that good enough is good enough and the beds are finished quickly without any problems.

1e. I whisk away the weed protection and underneath there are rows of little green shoots. Elsewhere, the plants in the green house are heavy with mange tout again and my late beans have managed a crop too. Both give me hope for next year.

2. I am rendered lethargic by the cold. A cup of tea starts the thaw; a shower finishes the job. Afterwards I double-sock for the first time in winter 2014-2015.

3. Strange bats at the conrod joint as the treadle bounces it up and down. Tilda explores the log bag, prompting a series of obvious jokes. And Kaufman watches over them from his plinth, freshly giant and stately.

1. Freshly rolled rolags, smooth and billowy.

1b. My favourite colour transition is pink to yellow (or vice versa) – it’s like a grapefruit, a rhubarb and custard sweet, or a sunset.

2. I pick up Tilda and she purrs and purrs.

3. Lily pelts back and forth across the garden: something out there smells GREAT.

3b. Gelato delivered to the door. I play it safe with a scoop of mint and another of oreo (for that classic choc-mint combo) but other people have more exciting colours and flavours.

1. The place we want to go for lunch had stopped selling food for the afternoon so we take a chance on the Italian deli instead. After the first couple of bites, we’re very glad our hand was forced.

1b. A crow lands on the car out front and caws at the traffic.

1c. We go back and forth over the weight of the olives but he gets the ham dead on first time.

1d. The citrus zest stops it bring cloying.

1e. Later, at home, I rest a piece of parma ham on my palm to warm it up then when it’s ready, I let it melt in my mouth.

2. Now the greenery had died back, I can see how the redcurrant bush had spread. As I step over the wall to look at it, I hear a meow from the path into the woods – then another calls back from the holly bush further up. Kaufman is with me and he watches Strange come from one direction and next door’s little girl from another.

3. Another self striping yarn, another set of lovely colours grouped on the bobbin.

0. I wake up to find Lily is pressed against my back. I turn over and cuddle her until we both fall asleep again.

1. I hear his meow mixed in with the music. He jumps on our desks to say hello then onto the counter at the side, where he instantly stretches out as if it is the most obvious, usual and comfortable place to sit in the whole room.

2. We stand at the junction of the two roads looking up at the cloud streaked sky. High above us, birds circle and swoop in perfect timing with R’s narration. They twist and barrel roll fall as if they’re scattering in chaos but then on a silent beat regain control and regroup. We watch and coo until Lily is bored enough to lie down and go to sleep.

3. After a friend points out how peculiar it is that we call them ‘pineapples’, I’m grabbed by a misspelling of it elsewhere: “pineallpe”.

4. Strange bats at my crochet hook with open, flat paws. Her eyes are wide and her mouth slightly open in transfixed awe of this floating play thing.

1. The afternoon is a bit of a bust – more things fail than succeed – but as the session draws to a close, some of my slip experiments produce interesting results: not as I’d planned but interesting all the same.

1b. J, one of my favourite people at the studio, makes amazing shapes by pushing clay through a sieve. One way, they’re amazing organic fronds, like moss or seaweed, but the other way around, it’s a neat grid, almost industrial.

1c. G has her Egyptian Paste materials in an cardboard box which is so old that on its side, it advertises “special 3 packs” of Crunchies for 35p. Bargain!

2. A cup of tea waiting for me when I return from pottery.

3. Lily wants to play with her dad. They chase after her bone for a bit then when he curls in a ball with her bone hidden underneath him, she sphinxes in front of him, tail banging on the ground, waiting for him to unfurl again.

3b. John can hear her noisy tail as we dance together in the kitchen.

1. Our conversation is, as usual, at 90mph and all over the place. Walking down Eleanor, we talk about drawing techniques; along Thornhill, we cover telekinesis and Yorkshire impressions of people from Star Wars; as we duck back along the top of the quarry, we talk about religion; and through (what we call) the old wood and the oak wood, we talk about our place in space.

2. I know John will be home imminently so after I empty the bin, I wait for him in the porch. I soon see him walking down the road but Lily, stood on the step and leaning against the cupboard (like this), is looking the wrong way. When she finally sees him, she has to drop back to all four paws to adequately show her excitement. John laughs at her little head bobbing up and down as she jumps around.

3. I notice that enchiladas give me the same contented warm glow instead as a hearty stew.