1. John stumbles over his words and I ask what he meant “with that crazy combination of consonants”. I like that combination of them too.

1b. I pull my hands up inside hoodie sleeved and suddenly they’re warm.

2. A veritable rainbow in the pan: red and yellow and brown and green, two purples and orange and cream. I feel hungry.

3. The cats’ meows: Strange’s weak cries, playing sick to lure a caring sibling into a wrestle? Kaufman’s loud whine, announcing his presence. And Tilda’s sweet mew, asking to be let into the bedroom, thank you please.

1. It feels like spring. I’m sad we haven’t had snow this year (Lily loves snow and this might be her last winter) but I’m glad for the brightness.

2. A honk noise in lieu of vomit makes me laugh. In fact all the non-verbal utterances are perfect.

3. The burnished fob is cool and smooth. Everything else looks so rough in comparison.

1. Lazy cats stretch out in the sunshine, occasionally raising a paw to pad a passerby.

2. The fine foam scratches the most delicate lines into the clay. I plan to burnish this bowl to a hyper smooth finish but I’m almost tempted to leave them.

2b. I’ve made mistakes with the hole in the top of the pot but I do like the curve of the join.

3. Someone is eating an orange. There had been a bit of a … human aroma on the bus before but now that overwhelms everything. It is a vast improvement.

4. Cherry jaffa cakes and heavy, moreish chocolate stars.

1. I bring the basket down from the bedroom and look through what needs doing: two holes need patching, some sleeves need reshaping and some jeans & a skirt need hemming. I’m hot after a walk and my sinuses are playing up again so I’m not in the mood to do any of it. I take my tea and sit in my armchair in the dining room. Lily joins me and we have some quiet downtime instead.

2. I very much enjoy my pottery class but I’m glad it’s half term.

2b. We watch a documentary about Kubrick. We’re both alarmed and envious of his documenting and filing obsessions.

2c. Every part of it is delightful: the batty academics, the interesting make-up to turn people into 11th century mosiacs, the attempted interview with a goose… and I learn quite a bit too.

3. I tip the last of the biscuits onto the sofa cushion next to the sleepy dog. She doesn’t raise her head but a long tongue flicks out to find the booty.

1. I wave at the cat and after a quick chirp, she bounces across the room to me. A few minutes later, in a different room with a different cat, the same thing happens again.

2. The stunted silver birch has fallen and shattered. Each piece still lies where it broke.

3. J makes a big pot of his grandma’s pasta sauce. The house smells delicious as it slow roasts.

3b. We watch Crumb. It’s not an easy film to watch – I have issues with a fair amount of his work and the documentary feels painfully intrusive concerning his brothers and mother – but the sequence where he is drawing with his son is compelling: two experts at work. I feel jealous that I don’t have such a mentor in my life.

1. I open the door and windows while I’m doing my chores. It’s cold but the freshness is worth it.

2. The springs in the woods are sandier than they used to be and the water looks sparklingly clear on top of the fine pale layer. We stomp our muddy boots clean.

2b. Lily runs whenever we run and chases sticks for far longer than usual: she likes bitesize company.

3. The cover is perfect in its execution and fun too: indented coloured pencil lines, like they’ve been drawn just for me.

4. Without us having to ask, the waitress bring us napkins when she notices I’ve dropped a dollop of chaat.

5. Sometimes, when things are just right, the fibres seem to pour from my fingers; wispy strands turning into tight single ply on the spindle.