Based on the Three Beautiful Things project by Clare Law, I try to write about three pleasant things from my day.
1. The heavy rain disrupts my gardening plans. Instead, I curl under a blanket with the dreaming dog and finish reading my book.
2. On the drive to Bingley, John makes poo-hitting-water noises and I can’t help but laugh and laugh.
3. There is just enough time between the rain stopping and night falling for us to do our most important outside chores. I clean out the chicken coop and the girls cluck around me to say thanks.
1. I dream that our next-door-but-one neighbours have chickens too and that they’re chickens and are chickens are wandering around the gardens together. I wake up smiling.
2. Driving away from meeting the incredibly flexible baby Eva, we both think the same thing: milkshakes. Going into Headingley and to Shaky Jake’s is like reliving a random Saturday from 18 months ago.
3. The cool smoothness of conkers in my pocket.
4. The giant naan is fluffy and smothered with garlic. On the table opposite, I see some people – Omar’s virgins – eyeing it with concern, worrying about how many they’ve ordered for themselves. We’re finished before their food arrives so I don’t get to see their faces but from watching similar scenes for the last decade, I know how their eyes will widen, they’ll laugh and cameras will emerge to record the scene.
5. I start reading “The World in Winter” by John Christopher before I go to sleep and as soon as I start, I know it’s a mistake – the descriptions of the country falling into savagery disturb me*. I’m thankful I have another book – a gentle apocalypse-less book – by my bedside so I can distract my brain before dream time.
(Especially as, like in “The Death of Grass”, Leeds is singled out for a bad-shizz-going-down namecheck – as if the specific details of London’s decline isn’t enough to scare me…)
It’s a year today since we moved into our new home. I only started 3BTing a couple of months after the move so only have just a few tweets to mark the day — I think a few hindsight 3BTs are in order ;)
1. It’s strange to see our things, the items that decorate our lives, out of context, packed Tetris-style onto the van.
2. John drives us and the cats over ahead of the van. They’ve been kept out of the way in the bedroom all day over there and here, they’re shut away in the bathroom. Taking in cushions and duvets that smell like us, I join them and after a moment’s hesitations, they’re out of the carry boxes and exploring as a group: in the bath, on the window sills and peering in the mirror expecting to see out then turning around to realise it’s a reflection of the same room.
3. I leave the cats to help empty the van and provide desperately required cups of tea. Two of the movers stand, cups in hands, looking out of the living room window, gazing out at the tree line and down into the woods. “Nice, innit?” I hear one of them say to the other. (I’ve seen that exact scene – same stances, same stares – repeated several times over the last year, the position of the window just seems to demand it.)
4. I return to the bathroom and two of the cats are gone! Gone! They’d been fine in this strange room in this strange house while I’d been there but when I’d left them, they’d got frightened. Boron is alone, curled up on the duvet and I search for the others, acutely aware of the open doors and windows downstairs. I find Carbon back in his usually much-loathed carry box but his sister is still missing. I scrabble around looking for her, calling her name. Then I notice that the towels hanging over the radiator look plumper than usual. I touch the rounding and a shiny black nose appears out of the far end.
5. Once the movers are gone and the house is secure, we let the cats creep out of the bathroom. We herd them into the bedroom – they sniff around and jump on the dresser. Then someone, Boron I think it was, leads the charge downstairs and into the dining room. Blasé now, they head straight to the living room door – they want to see more, more!
6. We unpack some key boxes – the kitchen stuff, our clothes – then after weeks of long days, we allow ourselves to relax. The cats join us on the sofa – as I’d predicted “home” for them is the sofa and us – then at bedtime, they follow us up the stairs to our mattress on the floor. In the morning, we’ll all wake up dazzled by the morning sun upon us and I’ll tell the cats “sun! in your bed! how ace is that?”. It’s really pretty ace.
1. I love PastLouisa sometimes. Sometimes she’s a good girl. Sometimes she leaves blog posts written and ready for NowLouisa to post when she’s feeling grotty and can’t type. FutureLouisa should learn lessons from PastLouisa.
2. The book is printed in a crisp, clean font. A joy to read.
3. It’s not just a new sheets day (brand new sheets at that), we also switch onto our autumn duvet. Compared to the thin summer one, it’s fluffy and heavy like a luxurious hotel duvet. The fabric is coolly smooth but the weight promises warmth.
1. The happy fat cat licks his bum in the sun while the farm’s cafe’s customers bustle around him. His fluffy white tummy reflects the light and I think how much G would like to tickle it.
2. I can’t change my train ticket so have 2.5hrs to kill in a strange city. I head away from the station, up what initially seems to be a somewhat dubious alley, but it turns out to be the home of a wonderful pub. I sit on the roof terrace to read and while away the time – but when I see a meal brought out for another customer, I change my plan: I HAVE to eat there. I order steak and it’s wonderful: deep chargrilled checks on the outside, succulent pink inside. The veg is melts in the mouth without being soggy and the yorkshire pudding is a great gravy sponge. A fantastic find.
3. I open my fold-down table and find tiny pieces of yarn – wool-heavy cream and pale green, baby blanket colours. I feel a bond to the previous occupant of the seat.
4. The wait, the journey: the perfect excuse to read. I started the book at breakfast and by the end of the day, it’s closed and back on the shelf.
5. The red-dot chickens again, this time in the magic hour.
1. Hundreds of chickens – little red specks in the giant field – mill about in the early morning mist.
2. The blue robed woman stands in her garden, watching the train go by.
3. Suddenly the rows of terraced housing give away. The glorious green slopes draw the eye down to the curve of the steely river.
4. For the second time that day, I’m surprised by the quality of the chocolate brownie I’m eating.
5. I love it when posh-voiced older people swear randomly.
6. We’ve chatted over email and IM but it’s the first time we see each other face to face in nearly a decade. I’m surprised how familiar his voice still sounds.
7. I’ve had three long-time-no-see reunion incidents over the last few years and this one is by far the best. I’ve missed them a lot.
© 2025 Louisa Parry