1. I get as much enjoyment seeing other people’s work has turned out well as I do with my own. I have my number plaque and (my first generation of “do it better”) pots have come out well; L’s lightshade is as deliciously burnt as she’d hoped; and G is proud of her oxides. The tutors remark that it is an unusually good batch of glazing – lots of fab pieces.

2. The sky is heavy and mauve. Maybe snow later?

3. I split the yoke into the different sections and add extra chain stitches to start the underpart of the sleeves. The next row is an anxious one but the additions miraculously work out: the pattern follows under the arm holes perfectly and the sleeves will blend in neatly too.

4. Kaufman’s paws dangle over the edge, flailing like a puppeteer as he bats his sister below.

1. Against the wall, the leaves come up beyond my ankles: they rustle and float around as I walk through them. It’s strange to think that just a few months ago, they were all suspended in the air above – and in a few months time, their replacements will be providing the canopy instead.

1b. We stop where the path widens at the top of the muddy slope. I look around, surprised how far I can see in each direction. Behind me, the full bank of skinny silver birches (which I usually admire while bisecting it) is even more impressive than usual.

1c. I see the bitten dog from afar and notice she seems a little happier today. Later, our paths meet and the dog is happy to chat to Lily – a far cry from Tuesday’s fear of everything. The woman confirms the dog’s progress and tells me that, surprisingly, the owner of the dogs that did the biting has got in touch and offered to pay.

1d. John is still at the bus stop when we turn out onto the road. We run to him.

2. Parallel rows of stitches, perfectly straight and even – it’s almost a shame they’re barely visible shading the cloth.

3. Lily wakes with a start and I laugh at her bed hair. Later, she’s so deeply asleep that she doesn’t heart John come in: she only wakes as he clunks around the kitchen. She is dozy and confused (was he just in the kitchen all evening?) but her tail wags faster as he approaches.

1. Kaufman sits on my chest, heavy and warm, and purrs. He’s so close – and backlit by the window – that I can only see a fuzzy shape but boy, can I hear him.

1b. Much later Strange sits on my knee – a strange thing for Strange, she’s more of an a la mode cat. She too is heavy and warm. Her mottling makes her fur look deeper, softer than the monotone others.

2. Peeking green shoots in the garden.

3. Yesterday’s work gets frogged as predicted and I wind the kinked yarn around the ball like it’s a Spirograph. Since I’m familiar with the pattern now, the project is reborn – with the necessary adjustments made – in no time at all.

1. Throughout the day I conduct my chores listening to a harshly whispered story.

2. Just as we’re stepping out the door, R and M teach the end of their street. We wave hello and walk together for the third time in four days. Lily does very much like M – or at least his indifference towards her.

2b. We talk of bad Shakespearean performers and I tell R about a drama exercise I ran a few years ago: to encourage teamwork and vocal projection through speaking song lyrics in a certain style as a group. I tell him about the side-splittingly hammy rendition of Agadoo and the strident politicians performing Grease medleys. We perform our own versions while walking around the woods, wondering what on earth other dogwalkers in earshot must be thinking.

3. The yarn is silky and light (even though it’s just cotton) and the pattern pleasantly repetitive. I’ll have to frog it – the foundation chain is too tight – but I don’t mind.

0. I am slightly delirious during the night – my dreams broken and odd, especially as I have a line about everything being brown in the 1970s (from Jonathan Coe’s Rotters Club) stuck in my head. But at one point, as I lie awake in the darkness, I start telling myself a story as a distraction and before I know it, I have a complete backstory composed for a character.

1. Kaufman rolls the egg off the table but somehow it doesn’t break so I retrieve it. He tries again with more success.

2. To see how much has gone through the kiln since Thursday.

3. The Serrano ham has caramelised on the edge. Sweet and crispy.

1. The bras look arranged: turquoise on one side, cerise on the other with a new crisp white in between.

2. The walk meanders as we escape the worst of the mud and hunt for neolithic rock carvings. Later, we follow a path I’ve not been down before, along the nearside of the canal behind the houses, and find an old iron wheel and satsumas amongst the grass.

3. I catch a glimpse of something in the mirror: the house across the valley, glowing windows in the blackness of night. It surprises me – we can’t often see it behind the trees and the mirror changes the angle too – and feels magical as a result.

4. Someone, at some point, has replaced Strange’s paws with velvet. I could stroke them all day.

5. The video playlist tells you everything you need to know about my physical and mental health this evening: WOW machinima; a James St James transformation; “springer spaniel kitten”; just straight up kittens; and finally, Lonely Island’s Semicolon.