Based on the Three Beautiful Things project by Clare Law, I try to write about three pleasant things from my day.
1. The world is white when we go to sleep but grey with mist when we wake up. Even on the dullest day though – when the tree line and the ends of the fields are all but invisible – the walk to the post office never fails to cheer me up.
2. I rest my head on Carla’s head, my eye socket accommodating the curve of her skull. Her fur is so soft against my cheek as we breathe together.
3. The moment we realise we’re wearing the same cardigan.
1. We have Penguin biscuits with our tea and I deadpan the joke on the back to John. As usual, he tries to solve the puzzle with logic: “it’s always a pun to do with it being black and white… living in the Antarctic… not being able to fly… about its flippers or beak…” On this occasion, for the first time in a long time, he’s right.
(Best Penguin wrapper joke ever: “Why do seagulls fly over the sea? Because if they flew over the bay, they’d be bagels.”)
2. My pink & purple cowl, which went missing in December, is found. I wear it home to celebrate.
3. A comment I made on Twitter generates a text message, which in turn makes a cup of tea and a muffin magically arrive in my hand. It’s the 2010 equivalent of the replicators from Star Trek.
1. The afternoon seems to stretch on forever. I combine chores, pottering and play.
2. Her ginger coat reminds me not of a tiger but of tiger bread. She’s a friendly one, that’s for sure. She invites herself into the garden, sniffs around then meows at me because I’ve stopped stroking her.
3. The mustard seeds swirl in the mortar at the pestle’s command. Eventually, they give in and fall apart under the pressure.
1. Sometimes, usually in the late evening, Carla decides that the metal and plastic thing on my knee has had enough attention and now it’s her turn. She sticks her claws in my sleeve, pulls my hand towards her then deposits the hand on her own head. If the hand strays back to the laptop, she repeats until she is sated.
I’ve been neglecting my beautiful things of late. Naughty louisa, naughty.
1. Even though I wake up earlier than normal, I feel thoroughly refreshed and ready for the day. The sun shines brightly into the room.
2. The bar is overrun with babies. There are six downstairs (in three separate parties) and upstairs in the restaurant there is a full antenatal group meeting upstairs. The lovely barman runs to the door whenever someone arrives with a pram to welcome them and point them in the right direction. He rushes up and down the stairs carrying prams and generally being cheerful. All the babies repay his kindness with silent stares and contented chunters.
3. Pink meat sliced so thin it melts on the tongue.
1. My fingers smell of old, dried glue.
2. A circle of matte green-grey shoots have appeared in the garden. Only time will tell what they’ll be.
3. As I leave the theatre, a woman is holding a fake hand prop in her arms like a sleeping baby.
4. Carbon spot it first: a fox running down the road outside our house – the first we’ve seen here. We watch it until it disappears back into the woods.
5. The cats decide that 10pm on a chilly January evening is the ideal time to explore the front of the house. Carbon runs a beat across the empty recycling bins then climbs a tree; Carla explores the street and the gardens across the road; and Boron, manic-eyed Boron, celebrates every new outside discovery by racing back into the house to check everything’s alright in there. I stand under the street light and watch it all.
© 2025 Louisa Parry