1. I try to turn the pots I throw on Thursday – some of them are a bit too wonky to do it properly so I use them to try out my new tools, but a couple of them turn beautiful. My little low cylinder is given a curved hollow and my fat bellied pot gets a lovely rounded bottom, rubbed smooth by a rubber kidney. I can almost here the “ding” that signifies that I’m levelling up.
2. Lily loves visitors. She runs back and forth, fetching shoes for everyone.
3. I pick up a beech nut – its evenness feels unnatural – and John picks a (magpie?) feather, which is black with a streak of shiny petrol blue.
4. Sometimes putting on a bra is the best, most supportively wonderful, thing in the world; other times, taking its pinching annoyingness off is also the best.
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