1. At lunchtime, we realise that neither of us has seen Kaufman since we woke up. We stand on the balcony and call his name: within a minute, a meow echoes up from near the chicken run then a face appears. He calls to us and we wave and meow back at him. He runs up the three flights of stairs, chatting the whole way and in the kitchen, we reward him with milk.
2. The bowls are *just* soft enough to turn. For once, I remember what my tutor said about taking the time to look at the bowl properly before you start to turn it: to see where it needs reducing and where it is already fine. I’m rewarded with the opportunity to try out a new (to me) type of foot and produce my favourite bowl yet.
3. The allotments are so much nicer now that one of two abandoned plots on the other side of the path has been reclaimed.
3b. I’m slowly picking away at things: I prune my summer-fruiting raspberries, I pick weeds from around the pak choi and start weeding the next overrun bed.
3c. Walking around the park, Lily takes a wide circle around what I describe to my mum as “a big, terrifying ferocious dog”. The lad walking the other hound smiles at the description of his Yorkshire Terrier.
3d. There is another, bigger, allotment site at the top of the park. I ogle at the precise, neat rows of the corner plot, with pure allotment envy.
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