1. It’s an afternoon of gardening accidents – first, I fall into some nettles and get stung in my armpit then I cut a chunk of skin out of my knuckle with the secateurs. The former has no redeeming qualities whatsoever but the latter has one beautiful quality: the brightness of the red blood seeping down all the lines in my skin, until the cut is the centre of an intricate scarlet web.

2. To realise the perfect spot for another fruit tree. It’s so perfect, I almost can’t wait until winter so I can plant one there.

2b. To finally get things that need planting out now – or rather a few weeks ago – in the ground. Some of the plants look a bit straggly at this stage but the sage in the new herb bed looks striking and strong, like it will hold its own even when the fresh green leaves of the rest of the bed vie for attention.

3. Lily bouncing through the long grass. It seems terribly inefficient and she can’t possibly see enough in each millisecond she’s above the grass to make it worthwhile, but it’s incredibly cute.

3b. She takes the treat with glee but doesn’t eat it – she couldn’t possibly enjoy it when one of the pack is missing. When he comes home, it disappears in minutes.

1. I watch the Grayson Perry documentary on class mostly to see Clare (and Alec) but I find it fascinating – not particularly new ideas but elegantly encapsulated in precise phrases and neatly illustrated, both in the documentary and what we saw of the tapestries. I’m not surprised that I identify so much with the people in Clare’s segment (those concerned most with cultural capital) but still amused when Amanda says something almost word for word the same as I wrote on a blog post on Monday (about it being the journey of finding vintage items and at a cheap price). I’m not unique and beautiful snowflake – but I’m ok with that. (Wait, am I allowed to be ok with that? Someone please pass me the middle class rule book.)

2. I’m rather obsessed with colour at the moment – even more so than usual – and I can’t stop myself defining, digesting, spots of colour on the bus to drama. The bay windows on the block of flats: grey-brown with red hint, DMC mocha, fuzzy, warm but dull. The carpet shop sign: shiny indigo, a ribbon from childhood, I want to stroke its smoothness. The fresh, rich green of the sign near the station, like a planter I bought recently, a solid colour I imagine would be firm to the touch. The car that’s a yellow stripped of warmth, from the green side of the colour wheel rather than the orange, but not quite the green ‘high vis yellow’ either. The muted grey – warmed with tan flecks – fluffy fur of the small dog leaving the vets: I want to stroke that too.

3. Overhearing amusing idle chatter, or banter as I suppose they would call it.

1. The weather over the last few weeks (and the accompanying influx of slugs) has played hell with my young plants. But amongst the holey leaves and gnawed bare stalks, there are flower buds forming and cuttings taking root.

2. The main road is closed so we have to take a creative diversion (through Bramley on the way there, through Thornbury on the way back) but I don’t mind: it gives us time to chat, formulate a plan and basically put our world to rights.

3. One of Lily’s brown spots is so silky and richly chestnut in colour that she could almost get a job in a shampoo commercial. (A contrast to a few hours earlier when she found the muddiest mud puddle in the woods and wallowed in it to a chorus sighing ‘oh Lily’.)

1. We’re in a quandary about what to have for lunch – one of those go-nowhere sigh sessions resulting from not having anything particular in mind and a lack of desire to go to the shop – then I discover from some merguez sausages in the back of the fridge, and oh, there’s some leftover bean salad from Friday, and a bit of old bread that could be warmed up… And suddenly we have a delicious lunch to enjoy.

2. The rain plops heavily on the leaves; the gush of the beck beyond is constant.

3. We walk to the far end of the road to, ahem, pick up a curry, at the golden hour. Ahead of us, the bright low sun blinds us with a stark whiteness – both directly and reflecting off the wet road. To our right, the buttercups and dried grass paint the fields yellow; beyond that, the evaporating mist softens the sloping hills and the silhouettes of the old bridge and the steeple. Behind us, the clouds are thick, almost navy and under them, the woods a deep bottle green. I feel like I’ve been playing with the colour levels and contrast on a picture.

1. I wake up to realise I have no plans for the work day ahead – nothing that needs doing immediately and my old routines have lapsed to the point I don’t feel them calling either – so I just stay in bed and finish my book.

2. Lily’s leg is still creaky so she’s slow on her feet but she’s her usual crazy self when she wriggles around on her back – all of the radge, none of the pain. After a few minutes of dancing and grunting, she grabs her bone and holding it between her paws, gnaws on it while still upside down. “That’s how dogs eat bones in space,” John notes with mock sincerity.

3. I have a lot of love for Staedtler Noris HB pencils – the quality of both the lead and the resulting tone. It’s pleasing to scrawl the perfectly mid-grey tone on the squared paper.

1. In the same way that a coiled spring is loaded with potential energy, the small bowl gives off waves of potential comedy. We giggle as we buy it but the woman at the till is too busy watching the shy little girl dance to need an explanation for our behaviour.

2. First there is just one bird but a throw of crumbs brings several more. One after another, they puff out their feathers and shake their tiny bodies. On first glance, they look brown but when their feathers separate, it’s clear they’re more than that. Blue-grey and reflecting shimmers of all the other colours in the spectrum, like rainbows in petrol puddles.

3. In one hand, a small paper bag containing cola cubes; in the other, a small paper bag containing small amount of tapestry wool in equally delicious colours.