1. Dancing with the dog, making her tail wag, then this little incident, which made me laugh and laugh.

2. The smell of freshly cut wood.

3. John’s guffaws bounce off the trees, filling the whole wood with (smutty) laughter.

4. I pick up Kaufman and ask where his sister is. The answer comes as a mew from behind me: I turn to see Strange’s head poking out the pop-hole door.

1. Lounging around until lunchtime.

2. I keep hearing little noises behind me on the allotment – one way, it is a bush label against a cane, but the other way… I turn around and there is a pair of squirrels gnawing away at monkey nuts on the fence.

2b. I get more done than I thought I would – and I also decide what I’m doing next. (The little herb beds next to the path, so it smells nice as I walk by, with a special lemon balm bush next to where I see to discourage bugs).

3. A lovely light dinner – just pasta and salad, but perfectly done.

1. We sit on the bench looking out over Wharfedale, just chatting about this and that. A guy – covered in tattoos and looking tough – zooms down the path on his bike, then stops just short of the drop. He slowly looks back and forth, enjoying the view, then finally takes out his camera to take a snap, before he moves on.

1b. Two more cyclists come barrelling down from the trees. One points down the near vertical hillside and asks the other if they should keep going. The second man thinks about it for a moment before realising the joke.

2. Lily feels especially silky after a trim and a wash.

3. We stroll as a group through the hot rain, glad the heat has broken and strangely not getting wet.

3b. To see friends behaving differently, sweetly, in the presence of newcomers.

1. Raku firing is scary – our clay pieces are heated to past red hot in a gas kiln, then they’re precariously plucked out with a pair of tongs and dropped in a bin of sawdust (which immediately bursts into flames) – but it is exhilarating too. The resulting work is shiny, metallic and gorgeously unpredictable.

1b. We kneel in a row, letting horse hair dance across the dangerously hot surfaces. I flick a pinch of sugar over my bull too – its bubbles and burns the clay a deep matte black.

1c. Because of all the fire and death heat machines, we have to wear heavy gloves and sturdy boots. The only strong boots I have are my winter snow boots: when we’re done, I take them off and stand on the cold tile floor. Bliss.

1d. I put aside what needs to be done to have an hour or so on the wheel. I make a cylinder and some bowls – not great works but nice to know that I haven’t forgot everything over the last fortnight.

2. The contrast between the spicy marinade and the cold meat.

3. I’m tired and I go to bed.

1. We take a short break – me with a glass of squash, John with an ice lolly – and look out over the sunny garden.

2. I let some dead leaves flutter down and am given a meow in protest. Apparently Strange doesn’t like having things dropped on her head when she’s weeing in my flower bed.

2b. The pink flower is denser than I thought it would be: it looks fluffy and light but is actually a solid bloom.

3. Lily is asleep when John comes home. In days gone by, he wouldn’t have been able to get through the garden gate without her velcroing herself to his legs in excitement but today, he comes in, says hello standing over her then sits down — and she still sleeps. About ten minutes of chatter later, she wakes and sniffs the air: she starts to cross to the doorway before she turns and sees him on the sofa. She’s limping – the old lady’s fallen asleep on her leg again – but her tail wags like a puppy.

1. I stand on the sun-warmed balcony and wave at Strange: she’s on the path towards the meadow, near the elder tree. She watches me for a while then meows and comes to me in a roundabout way to avoid the nettles and tall weeds in between us. When she reaches me, I tell her that I hope she appreciates what an awesome playground she has.

2. Lily sits with me as I dig out the weeds. She watches and waits, then rubs her nose in the freshly turned over soil.

2b. In the park, we meet a dog called Noodles: a pretty cute name for a pretty cute dog.

2c. A pair of crows peek over the gutter, then a little way down another two small crow heads appear. More birds swoop past as a formation and the birds on the gutter fly up to join them. I can’t call them a murder of crows: on such a sunny evening, silhouetted against such a perfectly blue sky, that’s far too morose. I’ll call them a convoy, party.

3. Little Tilda comes to sit with me on the sofa – a rare treat – so I sit with her until I have to make dinner.

3b. I pull the cushions from underneath me and stack them in a pile. Strange sits on top of them, princess-and-the-pea style.