1. The dawn (which I see, thanks Lily & shrew-killer Tilda) is surprisingly soft considering its the midsummer solstice.

2. For the second week in a row, a visiting dog “borrows” one of Lily’s bones. When John starts flying his little quadcopter, M pauses in his chewing, puts his head to one side and listens to its whine.

2b. Our conversation veers and swerves as usual but hits lots of fun and interesting points along the way.

3. The flavour of the aubergine underneath the garlic and butter.

3b. Jokes bandied around, resulting both laughter and appreciative nods.

3c. I adopt my usual Wayne’s World face – delighted, nostalgic and mouthing along to every line.

1. The blackbird flits around the tree then settles in a sunny spot and stretches out its wings.

2. Tilda is possessive about the shrew until I throw her a treat.

3. I place a chew bone near Lily’s chest – to make sure she knows she has it, rather than one of the cats – and realise it looks like a bow tie. A bone tie.

3b. We take Lily for a swim in the canal. The bank is broken on our side so she can safely run in and out of the shallows, and grasses and plants grow into the water, making it feel more natural and lovely then canals usually are. I find a swan’s feather: its shaft is hard, broad and transparent, with a curl of squashed barbs at the end.

3c. Her head tilts to the side when she realises where her Bonio is this evening.

1. Lily happily follows me up the stairs when I go for my lunch. Considering she couldn’t walk an hour earlier, this is a very beautiful thing.

(For those interested in our hound dog’s health, she had something like a vestibular attack – limbs flailing and failing, rolling eyes, clearly disorientated – but recovered from it in a matter of hours, not the usual days or weeks. The vet can’t narrow it down further than just something neurological: probably not great in the long run but she seems happy enough in herself for now — even when she couldn’t make her limbs work, she wanted to chase a fly and run in the garden. I took her on a short walk this evening, which she enjoyed as much as normal.)

2. We hang back: there is a blackbird having a bath in the little stream. We let it finish.

3. I change my top and it completely changes me … not mood exactly, but my temporary sense of self.

1. I turn editing into a game with a spreadsheet, some auto-calculations and a graph.

2. Strange knocks over a pyramid bird feeder I made (which was, stupidly, in a precarious position on the window sill in the dining room, prior to being photographed and put into use). Two of the corners chip – the top peak quite badly – but I look on the bright side: it’s still usable and the chips reveal the ceramic hidden under the glaze — it was made from a different clay from usual so it’s useful to see the difference, and it’s also good to see that my joins were strong, you can’t see where the different pieces come together.

3. Fluffy white bread, a slick of butter and a sharp cheddar cheese.

4. I do puzzles with one hand and rub Strange’s white fluffy belly with the other.

1. The glaze has settled, but only softly. It’s like stirring mascarpone cheese.

1b. I umm and ahh about how to shape the peacock’s tail feathers – whether to take the easy route or the longer one. I do the right thing and the extra work seems worth it in the end.

2. A superb cup of tea. I drink every last drop.

3. As the solid lump breaks down over the heat, it releases the smell: a sweet roasting of the tomato sauce. It brings John in from the garden.

1. I find out about how more things work, this time from a friendly delivery driver.

1b. I’m pleasantly surprised by some of the items on the shopping – I’d forgotten that I’d ordered them. I’m almost tempted to leave a greater lag between ordering and delivery just to enhance the Christmas morning-like surprises.

2. Last week I was struggling with something but today it comes together. It’s still bitty, it still needs more smoothing into shape but it feels like a possibility now.

3. Strange meows to announce she’s brought us another present. It’s not a stay-away growl by any means: she’s happy to share her catch.

3b. I leave a hungry Lily in the kitchen while I empty the bins. I return expecting to tell her off for snaffling the cats’ food but instead she’s in the living room, batting around her own (practically empty) food cube. I feed my good girl.