1. I take in yesterday’s washing (left on the line overnight to finish drying in the early morning sun) and hang out another load – the sheets will be dry within the hour, and the last of my winter laundry backlog will be cleared.

2. My (clay) coils are much more even than they were just a few weeks ago.

3. The woods are no longer filled with mud. Both Lily and I arrive home with clean feet.

3b. The remains of flour marks are scattered around the woods.

4. Attention to detail (and a little extravagance) in the packaging makes the kit all the more special.

1. It’s beautifully sunny – it’s gone from t-shirt weather to flip-flop season in just a week. I hang the washing on the line.

2. I decide to organise all my embroidery threads and tapestry yarns – they’ve typically stayed gathered by project even after the piece is long finished, and that makes it hard to know what I’ve got. I sort them into colour families then into groups by hue after that. It’s all very pleasing.

3. I do like Laughing Cow cheese.

1. For the first time in a long time, I wake up with my alarm feeling alert and light.

2. Watching, from the kitchen window, various cats playing in the sun. The overgrown slope between the road and the woodland seems to be a popular spot at the moment. Our cats are regularly joined by others from the neighbourhood.

2b. From the sunny balcony, I watch Lily, Strange and Tilda pad around the garden together. They’re so sweet that I don’t even mind the big dog paws squishing my strawberry plants.

3. “She’s got some wear and tear but for a springer her age, she’s in good shape.”

1. The beach feels completely different today. The waves are fiercer (almost like the sea on a proper beach) and, aside from the dunes which are as powdery as always, the sand is heavier, not as pretty as yesterday. Kite surfers and land surfers zip to and fro, their journeys occasionally interrupted by slow twisting leaps, and the whole place feels like its bristling with energy, not the peaceful calm we usually feel.

1b. The world doesn’t disappear at Formby Point today. We can see the wind turbines, distant hills and a fuzzy shape on the horizon which is probably a boat or a rig but which looks like some sort of magical castle floating on the water.

2. John ducks down on the field and, suspicious, the people in the conservatory a few houses down stand up to watch him. Lily finally responds to John’s calls and the two take advantage of the flat green and gambol around in a wide circle. When we turn back to the makeshift bridge, the people have sat down again, satisfied that John is silly rather than a threat.

3. While John has his coffee, my mum and I stroll along Lord Street. I suggest we duck into an old arcade, one that I have barely been in because it holds little more than an antique shop (and that wasn’t exactly a main port of call for my teenage self). I later tell Mum my reason for exploring it: it’s never been a particularly conscious concern but not knowing what was inside there has haunted my dreams for years.

4. The novelty of daylight on our journey home: we can see the giant head, falling down buildings and the rolling moorland all around us.

5. The cats stay close all evening. At one point Strange leans her sleepy head on John’s leg and Kaufman, curled up in Lily’s belly, does the same to the dog.

1. A lamb testing its boundaries then sheep, lambs and chickens milling around a field.

1b. The boy falls off his bike so slowly onto the soft grass that we, him and his friend all immediately laugh.

1c. The bumps are smooth rather than jolting. The lake though is noticeably choppy.

2. Free books! We’ve saved enough stamps at the fabulous Broadhursts bookshop to get £10 off – I get two books on prehistoric Britain for nothing at all.

3. The sun is low but bright, sending shadows along the sand. The extra contrast highlights all the different textures.

3b. Lily scampers away towards the sea and sits in a pool. She sulks in the car on the way but she does like the beach.

3c. Little crabs which are almost see-through.

3d. The dunes – in fact everything – fades into nothing around Formby Point.

4. We’ve finished the meal but as we’re clearing away the dishes, I sneak a scoop of the leftover dauphinoise potatoes – a bit from the top, that’s deliciously browned.

1. Up and about a bit earlier than normal, I see sun in unusual places – Strange enjoys the sun on the sofa, through the east facing door; Tilda also sunbathes, but in the washing basket in the bedroom; the perpetually dark corridor not perpetually dark after all; and when I return from missing my bus, I see the soft dappled light along the north facing path down the side of the house.

2. There isn’t room for me in the main classroom: while I miss out on some of the teaching, I enjoy the freedom to work on my figures without concern for observing eyes.

2b. The work still warm from firing. Nearly every piece has come out brilliantly.

2c. I work on all my (six) pieces-in-progress – taking them as far as I can for now – and still have an hour left. Why, I can start two new pieces in that time!

3. A strangely sociable dog walk – first we met someone from my old drama group then we chat to the man with the boxers. The dogs are old and not in the best of health but it doesn’t stop them grinning and wanting to lick my face. I wipe sober off my cheeks for the rest of the walk.

4. The flow from the tap forces the bubbles against the edge in pleasing linear sweeps.