1. I dredge a plant pot full of slugs from my beer traps at the allotment – it’s utterly disgusting but maybe beautiful at the same time: the expired Strongbow in the traps did what it should and my plants are perhaps a little safer.

1b. Little rapini seedlings poke up just five days after they were sown (I know it’s the rapini and not weeds because I can still see my diagonal lines).

2. We curl up on the sofa together to watch a film.

3. The cats and dog mingle in the twilight.

1. After nearly a decade and a half in Yorkshire, I forget – and freshly appreciate – the flatness of west Lancashire. We take a new route and as we get closer to our destination, we pass familiar landmarks I haven’t seen for years.

(That actually seems to be a theme for today – even more so than on usual trips to Southport because we go to slightly different places. The chip shop we’d visit after going to Elliotts or the Kingsway (twenty years ago now); the house just off Lord St where a friend lived; then later the park.)

2. There is such variety of colour and texture in their garden, a contrast to the endless flat grassland beyond.

2b. Lily likes pottering around and gets distracted grazing at the untamed end. I find the longest bamboo cane – some 12ft – and poke her with it: she jumps but by the time she rounds the vast tree stump to check, she’s wearing an ‘I knew it was you’ smile.

3. After dinner, we meant to go to the beach but the clouds are gathering so we go to the park instead. We find the little playground of my childhood has been replaced with four separate play spaces – one for little kids, one for bigger ones, a wooden adventure set and an outdoor gym for adults. We make my mum (who hasn’t visited the park for 20 years, even though it’s only a couple of minutes walk from her house) try all the outdoor gym equipment but we’re happy to keep the zip line in the adventure bit for ourselves.

4. We take the rain back with us – I have just enough time to fetch the washing in from the line before it starts. Later, I let the drops cool me as I wait for Lily to get herself ready for bed.

0. I remember two things I meant to note earlier in the week: the surprise of the brightest red cherries on the tree; and how much I enjoy the bathroom mirror and sink when they’ve just been cleaning – sparkling in the evening light.

1. While waiting for the bus, I sit on the grass verge in the shade. Oscar the long dog rounds the wall and is surprised to see me there, at his head height, and he expresses his delight by licking my face.

1b. Throwing terracotta cylinders – just more practise but pleasing all the same. It’s new clay (not the usual reclaimed stuff) so is smooth and silky under my hands.

1c. Even though I’ve used a notoriously patchy glaze, my little pendants come out well – I only made them to use up some scraps of clay but I want to actually turn them into jewellery now.

2. We potter in the early evening sunshine. I transplant some things in the greenhouse and see to the chickens, and later John fixes a new support for his apple tree while I trim the holly tree. It feels like bonus time.

3. We go out for dinner – but a quick, relaxed one: kebab and gelato (keblato). My chicken tikka boti is succulent and sweet, the naan fluffy, and the gelato surprisingly orange-y.

3b. We’re near a shoe shop called Mr Boot. Until about 2003, it had a decades old sign reading “John Robson is … Mr Boot” and whenever I see it, it reminds me of a long running joke we had around 2001/2002: it started as saying the name like the start of this trailer but then involved into countless silly versions (such as “Juan Robson es … Senor Boot”). We did it every time we drove past it – and that was it a lot. It always makes me laugh anew when I remember it.

4. How we make each other laugh with our little bits. (I mean ‘bits’ in the ‘comedy bit’ sense; I’m not just being coy about our genitalia. Though they make us laugh too.)

4b. John playing guitar and singing in the near dark.

It’s a year since our kitties came to live with us. They sat on a sofa for the first time, they heard music for the first time, and we made them purr for the first time. A happy day.

1. I leave the house just after a power cut so there is a cacophony of burglar alarms ringing as I walk to the shop. Some of the whines are just plain annoying but it’s fun listening to the others rise and fall as I walk down the road: I imagine the sound waves as coloured lines, bending and distorting around trees and houses to reach me.

1b. I walk back, enjoying the breeze and the comparative silence.

2. The best lunch, made from leftovers of fantastic meals.

3. We dance, me and the dog, to Sometimes I Don’t Mind – aka my favourite song about a dog. We lie on the rug together and wave our front paws in the air, then one of us stands on her hind legs and flaps about even more, while the other bangs her tail on the ground.

4. When the strength of the sun starts to wane, I go to the allotment to potter. I finish off the rest of the fruit bush bed with far more enthusiasm than I could muster on Tuesday and sow zig zags of carrot seeds.

1. I grab a t-shirt from the washing line: warmed by the morning sun. I also notice that its unrelenting red is beginning to soften – the fabric developing character as it ages.

2. I take us on a little walk while John is doing the paperwork. The signed public footpath doesn’t lead anywhere interesting – except allowing us to meet a tiny little horse – but back the other way there is a little park, shaded and wonderfully aromatic for a dog’s nose.

2b. Lily circles the garden then finds the coolest place to sit. I join her.

3. Just before Lily finds the pool of stagnant mud and somewhat ruins the moment, I watch a tiny little bird on a rock – it is clearly the day for miniature things.

3b. I meet them for the second time just where Thornhill Drive meets the woods. They ask me about the beagle who wanders around there, worried he’s lost (as they’d seen him on the other side of the woods the day before). I point out where he lives, and explain that he patrols the woods like he owns them. Then I mention that we call him The Major, because he’s an older, heavy set old chap, with an authoritarian stare and a no-nonsense walk. They laugh and seem to completely understand.

3c. To wash off the stagnant mud, we go down to the canal. Lily’s less interested in fetching sticks than usual (possibly because the better stick thrower is not with us) but is more than happy wallowing in the shallows.

3d. Later, after she’s had a shower at home, her feathering on her legs is beautifully silky. Sleepy, after a long day of doing things, she curls up in a tight ball and sleeps on my feet.

4. We order curry from the place that fluctuates – sometimes it’s mediocre, sometimes it’s excellent. Tonight is, thankfully, the latter and I’m as good as the food: putting away half of my portion for lunch tomorrow. Future Louisa will be happy.

1. The semi-skimmed milk is off so I have to have John’s whole milk on my cereal – it’s usually too rich for me but today, it hits the spot. I give Kaufman some too, which makes him a rather happy kitty.

2. It’s been fresher today but still, I have soaked up every cool breeze going.

3. I dither: I’m supposed to be preparing the whole bed for sowing but the soil is too hard, too clumped and I’m too hot. I could push through it but I’d resent it, then it hits me: I could just do a portion of it really well.

4. Dinner was supposed to be light but ends up being super flavourful: lemon-mustard chicken, stuffed peppers with anchovies & garlic, and parmesan-y courgette fritters. Yum!

5. Kaufman feels superbly soft. It must be all that whole milk he’s been drinking.