1. The shade of the old abbey, respite from the sun.

1b. The slowest dog in the whole world.

1c. I take off my top (once we’re back home) and feel instantly refreshed.

2. I start carving a new bed into the path – two patches for now, I’ll do the rest in the winter. The first patch is deceptively easy to dig.

2b. John comes to gather a harvest: a tub full of strawberries and raspberries, and a small bag of sugar snap peas.

3. Strange is delightful: rolling around, clutching her head then air padding with velvet paws. She makes John giggle.

1. I’m amazed how the floppy scratty lettuces have pulled together: they all look perky and real.

1b. The cauliflower plugs fill the last of my main bed space across both the plots. There are still some tiny patches (and some new perennial spots) to fill but I take a moment to enjoy the achievement.

2. Lily knows that someone – someone with a dog – is at the door and she wants to say hello. I know the other dog is a shy old lady too so it’s a good match: tails wag and sniffing happens but no one gets in each other’s face.

3. S introduces me to a new game by thrusting his phone into my hands. Within minutes, I’ve got it on my own phone and a new – hopefully brief – addiction is started.

3b. There is a lightness to the evening that feels like it’s been missing recently. We laugh a lot.

3c. John’s the only one in trousers: the rest of us are in summer mode, in shorts and skirts.

1. Lily’s in a playful mood – though a lazy one. She’ll only catch the ball if she can stay sat in the same spot. Later though, she runs around while John squeaks her dotty toy.

2. I like it when Lily seems to be wonderfully well behaved – she is pretty well behaved but sometimes I can anticipated her likely re/actions in a situation and if I play it right, it looks like I directed her.

3. I discover how to laugh like an evil ventriloquist’s dummy and it amuses us greatly.

1. After a day of boring serious letter writing, I get lost in history again. I listen to old music and relive snapshots of distant times. My head doesn’t feel right afterwards – I can’t pull myself all the way back to the present day straightaway.

2. I ask Lily which way she wants to go. She seems to consider the different routes (but is really distracted by birds and dogs in the distance) before picking a favourite path.

3. My dinner rapidly goes from delivery junk food to whatever I can find in the fridge to actually a pretty decent, proper meal.

0. For the last few months, I’ve been hugging a pillow during the night to encourage myself to sleep in a better position. Sometimes it’s the most comfortable, comforting thing in the world.

1. Twice during the day I find myself nursing my mug in my hands. The warmth is very pleasant indeed.

2. Inspired by an email from an old friend, I pull together some things I’ve written over the years about our shared past. I read through some of my old diary excerpts (ones I’ve previously typed up): I remember the main details of course but some little tidbits suddenly leap out at me and I feel an emotional surge like I’m 17 again. Hurrah for diaries.

3. Lily tries to spring through the very long grass.

4. “We should go to bed earlier tonight, sort out our days and nights … do you want to play some BustaMove?”

4b. I love the quality of our trash talk.

1. I rediscover some fun old funnies: the Ukepedia submission we had from strangers (for example, this one, this one and this one).

2. I creep around the plots looking for signs of new growth: lollo roso lettuces filling out, broad beans lengthening, tiny grapes formed in ready made clumps, and on the squashes, baby courgettes and a to-be pumpkin.

2b. I stand at the back of the plot and enjoy its appearance in the golden hour. The sun is off the land but beautifully highlighting the Victorian terrace beyond.

3. Stroking a cat’s fur the wrong way.