1. I finish threading up the warp and my friend helps me wind them onto the back beam. Between the width of the work and the variety of yarns in play, it’s a bit of challenge but it goes surprisingly well. Once it’s on the beam, I enjoy the pseudo “random” balance of colours and textures.

2. We’re late on our dog walk – yet again – so we walk over the top of the old quarry. As we approach, we notice a new fence – at first I think it’s blocking path but as we approach, we realise it’s just along the edge. The wood is solid and heavy duty – really what’s needed given the drop – but it has a strange impact on the surroundings: it makes us feel like we’re in a properly managed nature reserve rather than just our crazy woods. We follow it for its full length, surprised by the amount of money that must have been spent on the wood alone, and comforted by its presence, peer over the edge of the cliffs in a way we’ve not felt brave enough to do in the past.

3. After we’ve both said “the fish is good” a couple of times, it becomes a joke.

1. I lick the mint sauce spoon. My brain momentarily feels like a pinball machine as neurons fire in reaction to the intense flavours and the vague memories that they inspire. I love mint sauce.

2. It doesn’t go quickly but it goes fine, which is the best one can hope for from warping really.

3. There are suddenly piles of golden leaves everywhere.

3b. The cows gather by the path as darkness falls.

3c. The fields stay level as the road drops away so the retaining wall grows in height as I walk. At some point – I don’t notice when – the retaining wall stops being manmade and instead is simply a small uncovered cliff of bedrock. In a tiny soil strip at the edge of the path, someone has planted rosemary bushes.

4. I stay up late to finish the book. I’d put it down at the crest the night before so today it’s just the splash back as some loose ends are wrapped up but it’s still exciting – the first full length novel I’ve read start to finish in another language.

1. I finally start a project I’ve been putting off for some time.

2. Tilda comes to visit me in the top room. Up there is one of her rooms, one of the spaces where she feels most comfortable and is much more likely to dance and chirp. I pretend to ignore her so she’ll run over and bump heads with me.

3. The raw onion will eventually give me a touch of indigestion but I enjoy its heat on the way down.

1. An ebay purchase – a small piece of Greenlandic Inuit folk art from around 1940 – arrives. On the face of it, it looks almost crudely painted but looking closer, I enjoy the use of tones and shades on the clothing – it adds warmth and depth.

2. To avoid creating a glut of hard-to-use homespun yarn, a few months ago I decided to only spin for specific project. Today though, that goes out of the window: I just fancy doing some spinning. I take find some Corriedale in mulberry, and another bag in grey, and on a whim, grab a bag of Ramie tops as well to add a bit of lightness and shine. My first rolag is roughly blended and produces a short sample of a lovely art yarn. I want to make more of it.

2b. On our dog walk, John is amused to hear that I’ve been spinning – the contrast between me practising a skill that humans have been using for 20,000 years and him working on some bleeding edge technology. He adds that he knows which one will still be used in five years time.

3. As we walk down the woodland path, I do one of the goofiest dances I’ve ever done to celebrate the meal we’re about to have. Behind me, I hear the swoosh of a bike tyre and turn to see a cyclist approaching – a cyclist with a camera on their head. So my awesome dance was not only witnessed but recorded. After he passes, I started dancing again – the food is good enough to be worth the humiliation.

3b. The first mouthful of the delicious steak. Later, warm popcorn while we watch the film.

1. John’s worried we face an uninspiring lunch then I suggest muffins, bacon and brie.

2. The hefty, solid and numerous seeds from the irises around the pond.

2b. The little puppy – the one we met last week, that stole my runner bean – runs across the park towards us. She drops and rolls on her back in front of Lily’s nose. My mum has to listen to me giggling for five minutes as the puppy plays.

3. I make a chorizo, butternut squash and tomato risotto for dinner. The colours look amazing – the traffic lights of the veg & herbs – and even without any parmesan, it’s incredibly moreish.

1. I had forgotten I’d ordered muffins. Toasted, buttered and served with a chunk of Black Bomber cheese.

1b. Later, Giant Dairy Milk Buttons sucked into they melt.

2. The cosy cat cuddled into my belly as I read; the dog huffs and puffs on the other side of the cushion I’m using as a pillow.

2b. Lily forgets her limp when there is a new bone to chase.

3. The paragraph is painful to read because it feels too real. Wonderful writing though.