1. Breakfast in the balcony for the first time in 2014. Carla cat even joins me for a short while.

1b. The colourful blankets bright in the line. Later, when my Ann Perkins blanket is back in place on the sofa, I get occasion wafts of scent from it: a combination of chemical and natural freshness.

2. Singing along to songs I haven’t listened to for a decade. They remind me of the brief time I lived alone, my early days with John before he moved in. It feels half a lifetime ago but a quick calculation tells me it’s just over a third. (That I’ve been with John for over a third of my life so far is pretty cool though.)

3. The patch isn’t pretty but it should hold, and my sudden need for new jeans is thankfully less sudden.

3b. My embroidery frame is now decorated with cat bite marks.

1. We both marvel at Lily’s clean and trim fur. I’ve missed the odd bit but overall she looks rather cute.

2. After weeks of slow progress, it is satisfying to bring some projects to an end (well, at least this stage). Another few should be finished on Friday – just in time for my new course and all the ideas that will surely burst forth.

2b. I’ve never used slip on such dry clay – it absorbs almost instantly and is ready for the next coat almost as soon as I finish the first.  Like burnishing, I think it’s one of those things where it really pays to wait.

3. Rows of little even stitches.

It’s my mum and dad’s 40th wedding anniversary today.

1. I fling open the curtains and marvel at what a lovely day it is – and notice our neighbours out on their terrace doing the same.

2. After a busy (for me) week, I have nothing to do today bar walk the dog – then when an old work friend of John’s suggests they walk together, I have nothing pressing to do at all. In between a few chores, I sew, do a little pottery and enjoy the warm spring air.

2b. I stand in the garden and plot. This growing season could easily be the most exciting yet.

2c. The sweet, cheerful crocus in the oversized pot. I vow to get more spring bulbs for next year.

3. The dog’s fur is newly soft after a clipping.

1. A different route from home to home – the sun shines on the rolling hills and there are interesting sights – country houses, distance towers and mysterious doors – to stop us even thinking about getting bored.

1b. The bakery and the florists are unbelievably convenient – to each other and to the main road.

1c. The puns are in full flow by the time we reach the greater Preston area.

1d. We meander through Southport – a completely different route to normal, and not an area John’s ever seen, so I point out me-landmarks and tell him tales of my teenhood adventures.

2. The smell of Broadhursts.

3. We run together through the shallows.

3b. The beach is pleasingly busy – couples, families and dogs are silhouetted by the sunset. Most are enjoying themselves in a quiet, calm way but there are exceptions: the family, bent double with laughter, after someone falls in a game of football and the excitable golden sprocker trying to goad Lily into play.

4. The flat green expanse, springing underneath our feet.

5. The sigh of a woman who has been given too many presents.

1. Six out of eight of the glazes only need a light stir before use. And all bar one apply perfectly. It’ll be a while before I know if they’ve been successful but it was a good glazing experience thus far.

2. The script on the outside just doesn’t look right but four neat figures inside look just perfect.

2b. To wrap the last item.

3. A good gulp of orange and mango squash when I’m super thirsty.

4. I hold Kaufman’s tail with my toes and he looks at me for a moment before stomping up the bed for kisses. (He’s sat on my chest right now.)

It’s Lily’s Gotcha Day – the fourth anniversary of the day we brought her home. Three beautiful things about that day:

1. John lifts her up for the first time to help her into the boot. On the motorway, she is quiet and still. I take some photos and stare at them repeated over the next weeks and months: our gorgeous dog.

2. I lie next to her on the carpet. I’ve never had my face so close to a dog’s face and I’m a little wary, not knowing yet that she is amazingly gentle. She opens her mouth and for the first time, I see her tiny white teeth in her pink gums. I squee with delight.

3. Her separation anxiety turns out to be worse than we thought: we try to leave her to sleep on her own in the living room but she objects, loudly. Not yet ready to give in a let her and let her sleep in our room (that happens on night 3 and every night since then), I go to sleep on the sofa. Without hesitation, she jumps up to cuddle with me and we sleep together until our early morning hugs.

And three from today:

1. The various blues – in a narrow range from Tiffany and duck egg to wedgewood – flapping around on the line.

2. I joke that I excel at the inconsequential and John replies that it should be our family motto.

2b. The washi tape hides the staples and pulls the whole thing together. I will be the only person that notices.

3. The drivers that let us across the road.

3b. The ramsoms are beginning to come into leaf. The garlic smell in the woods is slight but definitely there.

3c. The recent rains have wrecked that wood: muddy gouges and stagnant pools abound. But they’ve also revealed (to me) dozens of new streams, moving down the hill with ancient manmade assistance.

4. The bus is at the end of our road and as I walk towards it, I seek him out. We wave and I signal for him to get off the bus at the next stop rather than the one after where we’d arranged to meet. We reach the bus stop at the same time and hug. I see people looking at us, maybe wondering if we’ve been apart for a long time. Yes, a whole eight hours!

5. A perfectly wrapped parcel.

6. Lily’s eyes widen – she is never normally allowed a whole can of tuna to herself. I sing to her, a reworking of the Futurama birthday song, while she eats. Later, she wears her hat.