1. The cans cut cleanly with the giant shearers.
2. I ask John his opinion on whether or not a joke is appropriate. When I tell him it, he howls with laughter which makes me realise it’s probably not appropriate but worth saying anyway.
3. The guitar has cunningly stolen Lily’s bone and she growls and growls until together we work out a way for her to get it back.
1. Her freshly clipped coat feels like velvet.
2. We worry – as we always do – that the play is bordering on fighting but the woman assures us that it is definitely play. The dogs bounce around together amongst the oak trees as we talk about them behind their backs.
3. The slow-rise bread – 22 hours in the making – comes out of the oven too late to eat with dinner so we have it as dessert instead. Its golden dome is perfectly cracked, its centre spongy & bubbled.
1. While John’s out, we have a lazy day, the dog, the cats and me. I comb Lily for one cartoon, then Carla for another. Carla, despite being a third of the size of the dog, wins the fluff shedding contest. Both feel softer and smoother by the time the funnies come to an end.
2. The rain slows for the first time all day and we descend into the woods for a walk. The mist hangs in the air beneath the canopy and reflects the light, making the lower levels brighter than they should be. The beck water is higher than it has been for the last few weeks but in the pools, it’s unusually clear too. Lily runs around like a crazy thing, I dawdle behind.
3. Nothing tastes as good as leftovers.
1. It’s still early for Armley and the woods are our own again. I tell Lily about the adventures the cats got up to when they lived here. It feels like a million years ago now. I thought I’d never been able to let it go but it’s been surprisingly easy.
2. The dusky pink blanket on the rich blue sofa. The stove’s orange window. The lilac flowers on her shoe.
3. After a week of fighting it, I eventually give into my growing exhaustion and all over aches. I spend the whole late afternoon/evening reading. Amongst other things, I read John Christopher’s ‘The Death of Grass’ from cover to cover. Like John Wyndham, the UK location makes it feel startlingly real and at one point, I turn to John to report that Leeds has been destroyed by an atomic bomb. “Well then,” he says, “I guess we should stay away from the bottom of the garden.”
1. Lily and Katherine compete over who is more excited to see the other.
2. The rain tweaks the colour levels, allowing the pink blossom to peek through the curtain of greens.
3. We expect the usual lacklustre raita but find a cool smooth garlicky mayo instead.
1. At five days old, the ginger beer plant is satisfactorily gloopy and the sourdough starter smells divine.
2. Even though the general backstage consensus is that Thursday night was better, John is impressed by the show – the music, the costumes and the kids alike. I clap like a proud mum throughout.
3. Sleepy Lily droops in John’s arms as he carries her to the car.
© 2024 Louisa Parry