1. As has repeated happened on this course, my slapdash projects with my scraps result in nicer things than the planned out ones.

1b. Adding texture to my little discs. The simplicity of lines from the side of a metal scraper and the dimples from the plastic tool.

1c. R sees I’m struggling and offers me a bag. It makes the rest of my journey home a lot easier.

2. It’s a chatty dog walk – from S as we leave the house, to D with R-dog amongst the beech trees and B-dog and his dad for the rest of the walk home. B-dog sits down for the first time ever in our company (as we watch a video of him running in slow motion) and he looks like a very tidy dog indeed. (He usually rushes around so much that he’s less a dog and more a black furry blur.)

3. The massive doors of the old buildings around Little Germany.

3b. They top starters with a tempura onion ring. I like it.

3c. My meal is a flavour assault – the powerful hit of Tom Yum soup and a ridiculously sweet tamarind sauce over duck for my main – but I like that too.

1. I pull on a pair of jeans that I think don’t fit but in fact they do. It’s like getting a free pair of jeans :)

1b. I watch my neighbours’ laying a new lawn. A test patch of turf is laid out and J the dog sits on it to supervise the rest of the job. Later, F giggles as he pushes open the rolls, creating an instant green carpet.

2. Since I took my loom back upstairs before we went away a few weeks ago, I’ve had a reluctance to go up and finish the project (rainbow towels) on it. Today, when I realise I’m not going to make any further major clearout gains, I sit on the steps, the loom on my knee and throw the shuttle back and forth. I only do about six inches before it’s time to walk the dog but I’ve broken the embargo.

3. Lily stands in the kitchen doorway to tell John that he’s forgotten to hide her Bonio and could he do it now please? The whole time he’s hiding it, she stands with her nose to the crack of the now closed door, tail wagging in anticipation.

1. We have builders in the house – fixing the leak from Friday amongst other things – but I’m not feeling up to chatting to people. I’m grateful that I can disappear into the garden and that our house has different doors on different levels so that I can make exits and avoid certain passages when necessary.

1b. Lily is a little overwhelmed by the people clearly only here to see her and so doesn’t notice another one arrive: John’s dad, her Pop-pops. I lead her out to see him and she circles him, tail wagging, holding a shoe: the traditional springer welcome dance.

2. I watch Blacksy the chicken building herself a nest behind the blackcurrant bushes and pass her leaves and twigs to use in its construction. A little while later, I spy an egg in the undergrowth.

3. I’m a bit heavy handed and suspect the irises will suffer this year because of it, and everything has to spread out a bit before they look properly finished, but otherwise I’m happy with refreshed planters in the front garden. It’s nearly all perennials now too.

1. Alien lupin buds and ruby cluster flowers that look like cheaply spray painted beads until they start to unfurl.

2. The stick breaks at the perfect time.

2b. The cats watch us in the park – we see four in all, climbing over the walls and up onto the low sloped roof. Their mum clearly loves them – and it’s not hard to see why. At the end, just as we’re about to go, I *almost* get to cuddle one of them but Z’s ferocious sneeze scares it away.

2c. From in the park and on the paths around the back, I spy into the allotment plots. It’s a *much* bigger site than mine – ten times the size at least – so there is a good deal of variety. There is some comfort seeing shabby plots – they make me feel like I’m making decent progress in mine – but I prefer well maintained ones because there are invariably ideas to steal. I spy tree trunk slices for path ways, a herb tower and a homemade greenhouse.

2d. Little J leads Lily to the door.

3. Slow cooked pork. It’s a little dry because we were out longer than we’d thought but the vegetables are soft and succulent enough to compensate.

1. (With permission), I salvage some wood from our neighbour’s to-be-bonfire stash: enough to edge a bed at the allotment, and start on a Lily-containment fence too.

2. I change shampoo – I don’t think this one will be as good for my hair overall but while I’m in the ‘new shampoo’ window, my hair feels amazingly soft and I’m enveloped with a lovely fresh smell whenever I shift my head.

2b. I have a realisation about something that I’ve been beating myself up about — no, that’s too strong, something that’s been niggling my self esteem/social anxiety lobe for a while. The details are unimportant but I’d been blaming myself for something that I now realise was absolutely not my responsibility. I take a mental sigh both in relief and in frustration that I’ve been bothered by a mistake for so long.

3. I’ve been in a foul mood all day/for the last 48 hours and I almost don’t want to go, but I do and I have a lovely time with my friends.

3b. Lily enjoys the garden in short bursts of hyperactivity. S takes her out for one of them and we watch him running around the grass with her.

Ugh.

0. Small mercies: nasty Farage didn’t get his way and Galloway was ousted from Bradford West. We agree with many of the latter’s political positions but he’s such an odious bully that it’s not worth it: he’s damaged this city on both political and human levels.

1. The chickens purr a series of clucks as they hoover up the leftover rice.

2. Our own leftovers turned into comfort food. (It’s a day for comfort food and comfort music.)

3. In the evening, it rains harder than it has in ages, adding a flooded porch to our frustrations for the day. I try to find positives: the water butts at my allotment should be full now and our waterproof jackets are truly tested for the first time and pass – our jeans and dog may be utterly soaked but our top halves are dry.