Red-white, up and refill.

1. In Calverley Rec, three groundsmen discuss a problem with the bedding plants: "They unloaded the trays in groups of red and white, but we didn't know that and we've mixed them up." They make me think of that Alice in Wonderland scene where the gardeners are trying to paint a white rose red  before the Queen of Hearts discovers them.

2. The first thing Ben does when he is put on the floor is climb up on to my lap.

3. Pouring new spice -- caraway seeds -- into a jar.

Enough, twist and Barbara Pym.

1. There is quite a lot of lemon curd left in the bottom of the bowl -- not enough to put in a jar; but enough to go on top of my yoghurt at lunchtime.

2. Downton Abbey -- we watched Sunday's episode, with its jaw-dropping I-did-not-see-that-coming plot twist.

3. I wish I could remember who suggested Barbara Pym's books -- I picked up Jane and Prudence and I think it's wonderful - a steely account of 1950s middle class match-making.. The quote on the cover is from Philip Larkin, who lays aside his curmudgeonly cynicism to say that he'd rather read a new Barbara Pym than a new Jane Austen. Lucky, lucky Barbara Pym.

Merger, whole body happiness and adventure.

1. If you're enjoying Downton Abbey, and you like Harry Potter, I'd like to strongly recommend Conrad's Fate by Diana Wynne Jones. Put-upon Conrad is sent by his uncle up to the big house charged with getting a job as a servant and doing away with someone he should have killed in a former life. He finds himself working alongside Christopher er... Smith another fake servant who will be familiar to fans of the Chrestomanci books.

2. She reclines in her stroller and when she smiles her arms and legs get involved, too.

3. Pete's Tuesday Knights adventure sees our spies on a training exercise with our US colleagues in Maine. To cut a long story short, the president of the Republic of Ireland is kidnapped, and we are given the task of searching a supposedly haunted mansion before she is smuggled across the border to Canada. Pete spends the evening reassuring us that our American friends are not taking the piss and that there are no vampires. "This is set in the real world. No, you can't buy a holy symbol and a chainsaw from the local store. There are no clerics in town willing to be hired." Personally, I'm not convinced by the store keeper -- but he and his Canadian friends are not going to get away with it.

Lie-in, stop and progress.

1. We have an accidental lie-in -- Nick thinks he turned the volume on the radio alarm clock down while he was dusting -- and we wake more than an hour after our usual time. First, it felt good to sleep in. Second, how wonderful to have a husband who dusts.

2. To lay down a burden.

3. My husband says as I cross the room to greet him: "You're starting to waddle now."

Transmission, assistance and party.

1. The first thing Nick says when I wake up is that when I sleep snuggled up behind him, he can feel Baby Badger moving against his back. I'm amazed to discover that BB can kick that strongly and not wake me up, and pleased to think that the two of them get some time alone together.

2. Katie has put a call out for bulb planting assistance -- so I go round and spend a few hours in her sunny back garden -- in return, I get lunch and two slices of chocolate cake.

3. There is a children's party going on in the hall across the hill. Little voices roar out cheesy pop music -- "Hey-ay-ay baby, will you be my girl?" and laugh at the DJ's jokes. A few brave souls get up to sing: "Twinkle twinkle little star" and from one rebel: "Happy birthday to you, stick your head down the loo..."

Listening, curious gentlemen and hot water bottle.

Thanks for all your compliments about the picture I posted the day before yesterday -- I feel quite glowy with pride.

1. I am down on my hands and knees planting spring bulbs under the weeping plum willow in the front garden. Passers-by can't see me, and I hear all sorts of secrets.

2. Earth worms -- clean pink and grey like city gents -- heave themselves out of the soil and wave their pointed noses at me: what's all this digging about?

3. "I like doing little things for you," he says, filling me a hot water bottle to take to the concert in a church with hard seats.

Apples, don't call me babe and shoes in the hall.

1. I like those crisp, sour apples that don't keep very well -- take your eye off them for a moment and they turn grainy and soft. I keep them in the fridge and move them one by one into the fruit bowl.

2. On a very trying day, I get a text message from Oli to say that he has just laughed out loud remembering the time he accidentally called the publishing director 'babe'.

3. To come home from work and see Nick's shoes in the hall.

Better, head massage and picture record.

1. I tell my yoga teacher that I'm feeling much less anxious this week. "That's the pregnancy hormones kicking in," she says. "They do, about week 30."

2. The chiropractor gives me a head massage; and then some advice on how to sit correctly. Which I am following now, honest.

3. PaulV comes round and takes some photos of me and Baby Badger at 30 weeks. He says that the blind in our kitchen makes an ideal studio backdrop.

Small world, sun comes out and ginger biscuits.

1.Heavy rain, low cloud. The world goes as far as the end of the car park, and stops. It has shrunk like a wool sweater washed too hot.

2. The sun comes out, and the Met Office promises that it's here for the next few days. The entire nation is relieved.


3. Freshly baked ginger biscuits stacked up to cool (they're to big to fall through the holes in the rack).

The find, not me and post.

1. I've been trawling charity shops for a squat and heavy glass vase. I saw an orchid potted up like this (the roots need light) in a magazine, and I thought it was more stylish than the clear plastic pot that contains mine. Today, I find just the right vase. It's dusty and smeared, but the dishwasher will take care of that.

2. I get a call from one of my editors. She says that from the office window they can see an ambulance in our road. "It's not for you, is it?" I tell her it's not me, and she's gratifyingly relieved.

3. Two parcels (a book about Chinese military uniforms and some yellowing fanzines) for Nick, and a Postcrossing card for me. A good letter day.

Pans, mushrooms and lemon cake.

1. The Mother and I pick out a set of weighty saucepans -- wedding present. The bags wait un-opened in the kitchen so Nick can open them when he gets home from work.

2. Mushrooms the colour of fallen leaves have put their umbrellas up on the wet grass.

3. Sharp lemon juice has soaked right into the snow soft crumb of my cake.

Dreaming of the south, bag and imperfect words.

Word Imperfect is back in action with her invented meaning word game -- go on over and join in.

1. That book that Caroline thought I'd like -- she was quite right. I do really, really like it. Tim Gautreaux's Waiting for the Evening News: Stories of the Deep South. It manages to be both dark and up-lifting. These are stories about people who fall and fall, and come back stronger and wiser.


2. Nick shakes off his umbrella and pulls from his bag: a very large box of chocolates and the latest Gardener's World magazine.

3. I was emailing secret chef -- yes, we have a clandestine restaurant in the area -- asking for a quick interview, and my spell-checker flagged the word restauranteur. A quick search later, and I discovered that the word is actually restaurateur (although my spelling is just about tolerated in more liberal circles). I've never noticed that -- never seen it mentioned in all the newspaper style guides that I've read. But that's the English language for you: she's always got something new to amuse and intrigue.

Autumn, iron and marker pen.

1. Nick's dad seems pleased with the result of his cataract operation -- he says he can see the trees changing colour.

2. I can taste the iron in these dark green chard leaves.

3. To have a marker pen handy for writing on freezer bags and spice jars.

Back to work, boys and the bride returns.

1. It's getting close to 2pm on a rainy Friday. The pub door spits office workers, all with coats pulled over their heads.

2. She's not at home. Dad answers the door with a dribbly son on his hip. "We're doing things that Mummy wouldn't approve of," he says.

3. Katie comes down with my mixer -- it made all the cupcakes for her wedding. She is relaxed and happy and brown from her honeymoon, and it's great to sit and talk it over while the rain streaks down outside.

Bare earth, a comfort and some gifts.

1. The park keepers are clearing the beds in the park. The bare brown earth is as pleasing as the bright bedding plants. Later, I come across them doing the same outside the town hall. The planting was ornamental vegetables. Someone has put the red stemmed chard to one side, perhaps for their dinner.

2. I get myself a muffin and a hot chocolate and write a few thank you cards.

3. She comes round with a book I might like, a deep red cyclamen and (as someone who has been there, done that) lots and lots of reassurance about work.

Wet pigeons, supper for two and late night.

1. Pigeons on the ridgepole, black against the rain smudged sky. You know we're in for a long, wet day because they haven't bothered to find shelter. I'm so glad I'm not a pigeon.

2. Louise comes for supper -- we sit at the kitchen table and talk babies and sewing with small people.

3. Nick comes home late because he has been out to dinner. He is ever so slightly the worse for wear, and even more fond than usual. It reminds me of when a normally rather reserved assistant art editor I used to work with told me that the night before his girlfriend had come home after an evening out, and he was still delighted about it. "She was so pretty and giggly and happy and it made me love her even more."

Snooze, shorthand and addressing a duke.

1. It's Nick's first day back at work after his week off. He hits the snooze button and goes in late.

2. Reading back my shorthand.

3. I went to a lunch party for literary ladies on Monday, and everyone was full of the new Sunday night costume drama, Downton Abbey -- except me, because I hadn't seen it. Now that it's not football night, we can sit down to watch the scheming would-be heiresses and ambitious staff slug it out in a stunning country house. We are completely entranced. I felt bad about inflicting it on Nick; but he gets very caught up, and at the end he says the writer Julian Fellowes Got It Right because he is properly posh. "He knows how people would address a Duke."*


* Say the Duke of Westminster is your landlord. If by some chance he came round to collect the rent, you might want to show some deference and address him as "Your grace" -- "Sorry about all the sheets, your Grace. We could really do with a new washing machine. One with a condensing dryer."

If, however, he was just popping in for a coffee, you would be meeting him on equal terms, in which case, you call him "Duke". "Milk and sugar, Duke?"

Gone home, birds and sequel.

1. I get an email from a proofreading client. He's finished his course and is going home -- boo, because his material was fascinating and challenging. But he's recommended me to a colleague, which is very satisfying.

2. I pick up a sewing kit I bought last year -- some birdy Christmas decorations from Buttonbag. I thought I'd better get them done in time for BB's first Christmas. They are meant for children, and I notice that in contrast to the sewing kits I had as a child that you are not told to be neat -- quite the opposite in fact, because the instructions call for visible stitches and raw edges. I never finished anything when I was little because I always felt as if my inevitable mistakes spoiled the project. Of course perfection has a place, but if you despise your efforts that fall short, you'll definitely never achieve it. I hope I can teach Baby Badger that -- it really shouldn't have taken me 30 years to learn!

3. I've picked up Stephen Baxter's Ark -- it's the sequel to Flood (which I've mentioned before), although the events run concurrently. It's set in the near future, and deals with a rapid rise in sea levels. In Flood, the protagonists took to rafts; but the characters in Ark are part of much more ambitious plan -- to find a new home off-planet.

Stitch, light and baby gear.

1. To see Ellie start to get the hang of sewing. She picks colours from my floss box, and I show her how to sew buttons on to a piece of fabric, and how to thread a needle. Then I stitch a lazy daisy flower and she makes the centre in tiny orange stitches.

2. Daniel finds a lampshade in the attic and puts it on his head. "I'm a light."

3. Today, Cat and Alan have brought us a carload of bits for Baby Badger; then Ian, Caroline and Maggie roll up with a carful, too. We put the rocking moses basket by our bed -- just to see if it will fit -- and then tuck it away until the time comes. We sort the bags of clothes by size, and marvel at the tiny newborn onesies. Our friends say that they are glad to be rid of their baby clutter -- but we are so grateful for this equipment and the advice that comes with it.

Retrieval, ripe and first concert.

1. These plums are disappointing. I bake them into Delia's oat and plum slices, which are not.

2. I have my doubts about the replacement plums, too. They are deep aubergine purple -- some of them -- but streaked and shaded with green as if they might not be quite ripe. I pull one out of my shopping bag on the way home. Very sweet, very juicy and very plummy.

3. This piece is pushing the boundaries of music. It's pushing the boundaries of what a clarinet can do, with haunting polyphonics and hysterical screeches. Baby Badger reacts with some hefty kicks that are visible through my dress. "Your first concert," whispers Dad proudly.

Fibre, cakes and colours.

1. On the train, a mother tries to explain why brown bread is better than white without mentioning anything indelicate. "Wholegrains. It's got wholegrains in it." "But why is that better?" "It's less processed." "What does that mean?"

2. On the cake plate are Victoria sponges, one inch in diameter.

3. We walk through the rooms at the Wallace Collection, mostly ignoring the pictures because the decor is so astonishing. One room is the green of the deep sea or haematite, another is wedgewood blue, a third the colour of marrons glacé.

Sponsored post: Free time at the museum

In Catcher in the Rye, the hero talks evocatively about visiting his city's museum on a rainy afternoon. When I was younger, if we were out shopping, my mother would sometimes leave us to amuse ourselves in the town museum -- it was (and still is) free, and warm and out of the rain. She would come back 20 minutes later and we would still be crouched by the first case, entranced by the animals marching two-by-two into Noah's Ark. We also discovered that if you trod on a certain place on the floor, a single piece of meat in the toy butcher's shop would swing. The next room was set aside for natural history. We would stand and stare at the case of drooping privet leaves, hoping to see a stick insect move -- or at least some stick insect poo falling to the floor.

The village where I grew up had a museum, too -- and for us children, the most talked-about item was a mummified rat that someone had found while restoring their house. In my memory, it is the size of a small cat, with bared teeth. I went back recently, and it seems to have shrunk.

The museums in London were also huge treat -- we had our favourite items in each, and would dart in just to see one thing, which was worthwhile because they were free. At the Natural History Museum, I was content to see the brontosaurus skeleton right by the entrance and then leave. My little sister would always insist that we climbed to the top of the hall, though. Small and determined, she would march through the collection of stuffed mammals to find her Fairy Pink Armadillo -- wrinkled and white and whiskery no bigger than your hand.

In the V&A, there is a gallery dedicated to cast iron, and they have a 1960s casserole dish on display exactly the same as the one my mother had at home. Looking at it in a glass case gave me such a strange, shivery feeling -- as if, you know, maybe, we ourselves would one day be history. I still walk through that gallery whenever I visit the V&A -- even though I have now inherited my mother's red casserole dish and could look at it any time I want.

And once you have had enough of treasures, why not grab some food. Pizza Hut is offering a Kids Eat Free deal, which runs now until 9 January 2011. For every adult main course or adult lunchtime buffet purchased, an accompanying child can choose from either a FREE 2 course kids meal (includes a drink) or a FREE kids lunchtime buffet (includes pizza, pasta and salad). Find more details about the offer at http://bit.ly/a1DhgJ

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Brownie, pride and the bed.

1. The rain has just started. We walk along St John's and get some lunch at Basil. They do the best brownie ever -- it's gooey and tastes of bitter chocolate.

2. The midwife apologises again and again for missing my vein -- I think she must take great pride in her work.

3. We take the bits of bed that are cluttering up BB's nursery up to the attic. A bedspread and a few cushions later, and we find ourselves with a comfortable place to sit in Nick's rooftop lair. We spend the evening lounging around on it listening to the lovely Bettany Hughes discussing Sappho.

When life throws you lemons, dental health and nightmare.

1. Anna brings gossip and lemons -- part of a gift for a friend. The kitchen smells citric for the rest of the day.

2. Nick has been to the dentist and feels very sorry for himself. I tell I have been beside myself with worry all morning, imagining myself in one of those real life magazines: "My husband only went in for a filling and came back with NO HEAD."

3. I'm dreaming that I'm in a crowded place. Pain in my calf makes me shout. Faces look down at me curiously and I have no idea what to do. Then: "Is it cramp?" Kind hands flex my foot and lead me back down into the pillows.

Green, job done and off the line.

1. Snipping a few herbs over my soup.

2. I start to pump up my exercise ball, get discouraged and go for a nap instead. Nick wakes me up by bouncing it -- now fully inflated -- across the bedroom.


3. I like to bring in the washing when it's just getting dark.

Dressing the baby, dancers and technical fault.

1. The postman knocks -- he has a large but light parcel. It's a set of baby clothes, handknitted by Heather. So now I have something soft and warm to wrap my baby badger in. The little shoes make me want to cry.

2. I'm working upstairs in the early evening, and the window is open because the attic can be stuffy when the sun has been shining. I can hear the mechanical clack-clack clack-clack of a flamenco class in the TocH Hall.

3. All my biscuits fall through the wire cooling tray. "We need one with smaller holes," I tell Nick (who is proud that he has bought the finest baking equipment money can buy. He points out the bleeding obvious: "Next time, bake bigger biscuits."

Ceps, basket and papers.

Gabi Hampson has just emailed to ask if I would give a shout out to The Project Group -- it's a social enterprise based up north in Shropshire. Adults who have been in contact with mental health services get together and create things both beautiful and useful from recycled materials -- such as bags from tractor inner tubes, and accessories from broken zips. 

The group is up for a Future Friendly award, which will give them a much-needed £10,000, but they need votes to win! So Gabi hopes you will do three beautiful things:

1. Watch the video -- go to www.futurefriendly.co.uk and click on The Future Friendly Awards link. The five finalists are listed on the left.

2. Vote for The Project Group.

3. Talk (or blog if you're that way inclined) about it.

1. We take a turn round the garden and my father shows me the ceps that have popped up this year. So far, he hasn't been able to catch any of them before the maggots, though, and their velvety brown caps are riddled with yellow holes.

2. "We should have bought something to put them in." But a seed tray lined with nut leaves does very well for the late summer raspberries.

3. Emptying old folders into the recycling bin.

Fairytale, blushing and speech.

1. Katie's dress sparkled and prickled with light. Veiled in church she looked her usual elegant self, but ethereal, too. A proper fairytale bride.


2. The folk trio played Linden Lea, and the elderflower cordial and the canapes kept coming.

2a. Jules spent most of the day blushing -- he looked as if he might burst with pride and happiness as he showed off his new wife during the first dance. "I'm actually glad she made me do those lessons," he said.

3. I inhaled mineral water at a very stupid quip in the best man's speech. He said that the hospital staff still referred to the day Jules was born as 'Ugly Friday'. It's exactly the sort of thing Rosey and I would say to Robert.


4a. One wall of the marquee was a designated hat display -- all the fascinators and feathered headpieces were pegged up to keep them safe. "Now that's attention to detail," said someone at our table.

The force be with you, yes really and beauty.

Today Katie-who-I-used-to-live-with is getting married to her adored Jules. They've put so much work into the wedding -- can't wait to see the result. And knowing Katie it will go so smoothly that they'll have plenty of opportunities to appreciate the process. It's a perfect September day, just right for a country wedding, and it's an auspicious start to many years of happiness.

1. My new dressing gown in certain lights resembles a Jedi robe. Which leads to: "This is not the wife / cup of tea / Weetabix you are looking for."

2. "Who finished the Toblerone?" "It was Baby Badger."

3. I don't often wax my own legs -- but whenever I do, I remember exactly why I am happy to pay someone else -- someone skilled -- to deal with the mess and stickiness for me.

Pips, breakfast meeting and bread pudding.

1. The radio alarm goes off in the middle of the BBC pips.

2. I've got an early meeting, so I leave the house with Nick and kiss him goodbye at the station.

3. This mouthful of bread pudding contains both an astringent cardamom seed and a piece of apricot.

Shawls, chocolate and carotene.

1. Kevin turned up at games night on Tuesday with two baby shawls -- as used by his now teenage children. "You'll need a few of these," he says "Babies are messy." I carry the bag up to the nursery, and it smells of clean washing.

2. A piece of Toblerone -- the large airport kind.

3. My soup has turned out autumn orange.