1. I sleep late.

2. One of those cups of tea that feels like it warms you all the way down and gives you a Ready Brek glow.

3. Most paneer bhurji recipes say to crumble the paneer but the blocks we’ve been getting of late have been too … uniformly dense for that so I’ve cubed them instead. Then I read a recipe that suggests roughly grating it instead and it works beautifully: the result is lighter and silkier on the tongue. The peppers I’ve added into the mix nestle amongst the cheese like sweet gems.

4. Lily watches John throwing around the scrunched up paper like it’s Find the Lady. Her eyes flick back and forth but there is no need – as soon as he stops, her nose instantly tells her the location of the hidden Bonio.

1. When I come downstairs, my dad is sat on the seat in the bay window, stroking a cat behind the curtain. I’m surprised to learn it is Tilda – the cat I thought would hide for the duration of their visit. (Kaufman on the other hand, Mr Confident Friendly Chap usually, has made himself largely scarce, though does exchange meows with my dad a little later.)

2. We go up the road to the Industrial Museum – I think my mum will like the period houses (and she does). My dad is even more delighted that in the printing section, there is a copy of an old newspaper (and its corresponding typeset layout) from 1981 when Aston Villa were the top of Division one, and a headline proclaims “Villa Champs”.

2b. There is a dog waiting in the museum’s foyer as we enter and she is still there as we’re ready to leave the main building so I go over to say hello. She has the silkiest head and puts her paws into my hands as I tickle her: I fall in love. I’m sad to leave her and she wants to come with us – I have to tell her, and sign to her, to sit and stay. She does so beautifully.

3. On the top, the cheese has just started to turn golden brown but underneath it’s perfectly goopy.

1. One of the best bits about my mum and dad visiting is when they arrive and I can finally stop cleaning.

1b. She doesn’t quite know what she’s waiting for but she knows something is coming. She runs in circles when she smells who it is.

2. I show off all my hardwork – at the allotment, my creative stuff and the transformations we’ve made at home. If you can’t be “here is my picture, stick it on the fridge!!” with your parents, then who can you do it with?

3. I’m telling my mum about the local history of the woods when friendly black dog descends upon us. As I tickle her, she can smell the treats in my pocket (the dog, not my mum).

4. Scaredy Tilda is, surprisingly, the first to allow contact but eventually anti-social Strange gives in. She and Lily are morose when their grandparrys go to bed.

1. The clay is a touch too soft – it only needs a little pressure to move underneath my fingers.

1b. For once, I clean my tools properly: wood patterns emerge on the batts and my fake-plaster board looks considerably more ready for use.

2. An irritation is calmed with Germolene (I couldn’t find my preferred Savlon).

3. A delicious, bargainacious curry. The paneer chunks are bigger than I would use in a curry but breaking them up reveals the contrast between the spice stained interior and the milk white insides – and the flavour difference too.

1. Tilda rides the blanket up the bed and purrs as her chin is delivered to the waiting tickling fingers.

1b. At the other end of the day, Strange becomes a blanket monster, grabbing at passing hands with wooly paws. If I look closely in between the crochet stitches I can see a little pink nose.

1c. (So he doesn’t feel left out) Kaufman stretches out on my desk, covering all my papers and making sweet mews sounds in his sleep.

2. I’m singing to her, then we’re dancing then suddenly she must have the shoe. She leaps across the room to claim it then rushes downstairs to show John her amazing find.

3. Thanks to the rich spices and caramelised soy sauce, the char sui tastes like it’s been roasting for hours.

1. All the best woodwork plans are covered in blood stains, right? (The tape measure got me.)

1b. After hanging out with the chickens for a bit, Kaufman follows us further down the garden. He meows, telling us a story, then takes far too long digging while having a wee.

1c. We have a number of pieces of wood in varying long lengths, a number of vegetable beds to edge (in a priority order) and a limit to what lengths will fit in the car. I love it when life is like a school maths puzzle (especially one that works out with very little remainder).

1d. That we don’t have to be exact or perfect in our angles or workmanship – that good enough is good enough and the beds are finished quickly without any problems.

1e. I whisk away the weed protection and underneath there are rows of little green shoots. Elsewhere, the plants in the green house are heavy with mange tout again and my late beans have managed a crop too. Both give me hope for next year.

2. I am rendered lethargic by the cold. A cup of tea starts the thaw; a shower finishes the job. Afterwards I double-sock for the first time in winter 2014-2015.

3. Strange bats at the conrod joint as the treadle bounces it up and down. Tilda explores the log bag, prompting a series of obvious jokes. And Kaufman watches over them from his plinth, freshly giant and stately.