1. The only sounds I can hear are the rush of water in the busy beck and my breath on the pillow.

2. I don’t recall the elderflower being so numerous in previous years – or the scent from the blooms so strong. Perhaps the rain is to blame, on both accounts.

3. An array of colours side by side in a zip lock bag: softened versions of bright shades so they’re cheerful but not garish.

3b. One of those colours, a mid-green, in long straight stitches within the black outline.

4. Eating ice cream at 32 in the exact same way I did when I was 12 – smooshed up and melted, then licked off the spoon little by little.

5. I don’t realise how chilly I am – not cold, just a little chilly – until I hug him. He’s always warm to hug.

1. When the chaos of a busy morning gives way to lunch. We sit together and watch a cartoon.

2. The props and wardrobe departments at the theatre is always fun for a vintage misc fan like me. We need a rotary phone as a prop – we have a dozen to choose from – and some “old” glasses (two big boxes full). The choice (and desire to rummage all day) is almost overwhelming.

3. Their imaginations never cease to amuse me.

1. The strips of sunlight projected through the blinds onto our neighbours’ rich green wall.

2. The play is packed with groan-worthy jokes and when we finish our exercise early, I get the kids to tell me their favourite “dad jokes”. Some of them need to practise their delivery (I wonder if there is a drama exercise in there…) but others make me laugh out loud. My favourite, from a butter-wouldn’t-melt ten year old:

A cow and a chicken are on a plane. When the cow goes to the toilet, the hicken steals her seat. When the cow returns, she says to the chicken: “mooooove”. The chicken replies: “bwark off!”

3. The speed at which my latest long-stitch project comes to life. I thought it would take weeks to finish but it should be ready to mount/hang at the weekend. My stitching confidence grows with the design.

1. I get far too much enjoyment from turning a silly idea into a real thing (well, a real drawing anyway).

2. We’re good friends at the best of times but as I reach week 4 of a super sore throat, kulfi is my BFF.

3. The heavy warm weight of the dog leaning up against me.

3b. It’s hard to stay cross at the naughty cat-food stealing dog when she’s nibbling it from the same bowl as the cats: three furry heads in a row.

1. Meeting Boron starting off on his rounds in the garden – we say hello with a blink – and later, when I’m up on the balcony, seeing him finishing his routine loop. We blink again.

2. Transplanting herbs makes my little world (and greenhouse) smell just fantastic (and makes me hungry too).

3. We scratch through the soil in the old container together and Blue (the chicken) is confused why I pass her the tasty bugs instead of eating them myself.

4. A very welcome cup of tea in hand, I watching the bright white clouds move across the blue sky and the pale green leaves of the silver birch swaying in the black glass of the patio table. I remember a comment in a book about colours seeming clearer, truer when reflected in black glass and think that seems about right.

5. Among the rubbery frond of the fern, the soft grass looks and feels like silvery velvet.

1. We, jokingly, compete for the cat’s affection – John wants her to come to him so he doesn’t have to make the round of tea (the old “the cat’s on my knee” excuse), I want her to come to me so John does have to make it. I win, because she’s rather deaf and looking at me when the competition starts so I have her attention, but it doesn’t stop me rubbing John’s nose in my victory with faux-grandstanding: I pick up the fluffball and we share a high five, while chanting “13 years! 13 years!“.

1b. The John-made cup of tea is delicious.

2. The sound of muddy paws on the equally muddy path.

3. First it seems too bland, then seems too spicy but by the time it’s, well, smothered in cheese and baked, it’s just right.