1. As he’ll be covering all next week, John has a couple of days off work. We decide to have one day of action and one day of … inaction. We curl up on the sofa and watch films together all day.

2. One of the chickens has already gone to bed when I go down to top up their feeder on the way back from our dog walk. I sprinkle seed across the run as a treat for the others, and not wanting the sleepy lady to miss out, I hold up a handful of seed in front of her. She stirs with a cluck and pecks away.

3. The colourful scarf draped over the black boots in the kitchen.

1. John leans back and hoots with laughter at the idea (and pun-value) of “marzipants”.

2. I go to the pottery studio – the first time for a few weeks – and tidying up the loose ends of projects ahead of the new term. My terracotta bowls mostly have to be scrapped (they’re too hard to turn) but I can save two of them – it reminds me of my slow, precise work from the start of the year. My slab vase is salvaged with a bit of smoothing, and my test-tiles – Atomic age inspired ones which I’d forgotten about – are glazed.

3. A meeting about the proposed housing development is held at the Church hall at the end of the road. We chat to neighbours and people from the other roads that we hadn’t met before. There is so much (justified) anger but there is hope – and if nothing else, it’ll bring the community closer together. We get fish’n’chips on the way home.

1. I get friendly-black-dogged on our walk: he appears at my side out of the blue and after the usually quick tickle, he’s back on his way.

1b. Grey tits on the wires, against the blue sky.

2. I find the perfect texture without even really looking for it.

3. A hug switches Lily into puppy mode.

3b. The cat and the dog lie in the same way, bottom-to-bottom, mirrored down the centre of the bed.

1. At the end of each row, I try something different to join the two pieces together. Eventually I figure out the best option – simple but neat – and it means I have one less job to do at the end.

2. I watch Tilda as she watches a video of birds pecking seed on my phone. She is transfixed – little squares of light reflected in her pupils – and every now and then, reaches forward to touch the screen.

3. P and John giggling as they play a duet on the Otamatones.

1. The cats jump around as John wiggles the plastic strip. Everyone wants to kill it.

2. A well-timed joke.

3. The rows are short – just 42 stitches – but still surprise me with how quickly they work up. Just as I’m getting started, I’m on the last dip and ready to turn.

1. The Otamatones arrive. We honk vague attempts at melodies back and forth. The only thing I can do successfully is make sounds like old car racing games.

2. The low buildings reveal the vista beyond: the hills and mills hooded in the mist.

3. Scrambled eggs and brown sauce.

3b. A drop of tea slowly spreads across the spoon, melting the sugar.