1. More editing. I look back at the end of each section and am surprised by the amount of changes I’ve made.

2. I wind the wool into a ball: the colours are delightful.

3. The pizzas are a little too thin in the middle but the dough is delicious.

1. The orange flesh of the squash that I break open for the chickens.

2. The sharp pencil strikes through the crisp text. I enjoy killing my darlings.

3. I sniff the pot to make sure it’s the ground black pepper. I sneeze a confirmation.

3b. Handing me a yoghurt and getting sorbet for himself, John gets halfway through wondering what frozen yoghurt tastes like – as if he’s inventing a new thing – before he realises what he’s saying. We both laugh heartily.

1. Kaufman often opens his mouth when he’s getting a good tickle. Just a little bit, just like he’s saying ‘yeahhhhhhhh’.

2. After a delicious vaguely healthy dinner, we have “dessert pigs in blankets”.

3. It’s cheap yarn, but it works up nicely. Chunky but not splitty, and smooth, almost like a chenille.

1. I have to go back into Leeds to pick up a bag I left at Art’s on Saturday. It feels like a complete waste of time – a 16+mile round trip on the bus – so I try to make the most of it. I pop into the lunchtime organ recital at the town hall, spend too long selecting buttons at the haberdashery, and I enjoy every metre of the journey back and forth on the bus – the Aire Valley glowing in the sunshine.

1b. The organist is very personable, telling stories between the pieces. Before he mentions anything about his background, I pick up on something – a faintest hint of something in his voice and manner – and use Wikipedia to confirm that yes, he is from woollyback Liverpool like me.

1c. The pink marble pillars in the town hall look like meat. The rich flatness of the inky blue ceiling is more interesting than the white plasterwork on top of it. (Later, I find a heavy knit fabric in the remnants bin at a fabric stall in the market in the same colour – £1 for a good metre. Needless to say, I buy it without hesitation.)

2. We make the aubergine curry than one of my Women Make Zines’ coursemates documented in her zine – the one her grandmother makes for her, her favourite comfort food. The smell of the aubergines & the base sauce roasting greets us in force when we return from the supermarket with the corianders and mushrooms for the rice.

3. I get just the tiniest amount of essential oils – lavender, sweet orange and rosemary – on my hands as I’m “topping up” the dryer balls and for the rest of the evening, the scents follow my gestures.

Today would have been Lily’s 6th “Gotcha” day – a shame she didn’t make it but amazing that she very nearly did :)

1. He tells us we’ll be using cuttle fish for moulds – which is quite surprising. But when we start to work them, we find they’re strangely pleasant to carve. The natural layers give everything a pleasantly ribbed print.

1b. We chat about dogs (and spot passing ones) all day.

1c. The moment when the shards of metal become liquid and the iridescent coating left in the crucible.

2. I carry Tilda all the way downstairs from the bed to the sofa, and she doesn’t complain in the slightest, then sits on my knee – a rarity!

3. A meal of leftovers that comes together surprisingly well.

1. The map floor in the central hall of the museum.

1b. Sitting in Art’s reading the zines I bought at the fair.

1c. The moreish saltiness of the brownies.

2. We buy two bottles of water and two aubergines: it looks like we’re buying the strangest cinema snacks ever.

2b. As the scene builds, our hearts pound and tears swell in our eyes. When it’s done, everyone on the row sighs with relief and in unison, reaches for their drinks. A good film.

3. A whole day (just about) with my favourite person. At the end of it, when we’re tired and cold, we snuggle in bed together.