Tuesday, July 31

on my writing desk

new half-milk-bottle full of blowsy luxurious blue-stained pink hydrangea

Monday, July 30

the mooli seeds have sprouted: green panda ears

Sunday, July 29

curled up asleep in a half-open drawer 
Roshi can never resist getting inside or underneath

Saturday, July 28

lifeless butterfly: bright melancholy tatter

Friday, July 27

elderly man, back no longer straight, holds four leads in his right hand. each lead attached to one dachshund. as they jauntily walk, their ears jangle.

Thursday, July 26

in digging the vegetable patch
a fresh pink worm is sliced in two

Tuesday, July 24

Clerkenwell Crescent

behind neat curtains
lurk sour disappointments
and moments of fierce joy
under neat conifer hedges
lurk ragged weeds
and creatures with sharp teeth in dark holes

Monday, July 23

we're in the shade (Fatty & me), but the sun is still spotlighting the rose campion's shocking pink flowers on silver candelabras

Sunday, July 22

house warming

all afternoon our new house brims with friends & cake & laughter. this is what turns it irrevocably into home.

Saturday, July 21

monster slugs have eaten through the big tough courgette leaves

Friday, July 20


this morning: floral wallpaper
tonight: deep raspberry

Thursday, July 19

bread makes itself quietly. it reminds me of its existence by reaching around from the kitchen with sweet yeasty fingers. it brings memories of home-made blackcurrant jam. it can hardly wait to be consumed.

Wednesday, July 18

patterns of light smudges in front of the dark trees.
finding its way downwards, always downwards.
bringing out fat slugs to eat our courgette leaves.
soft continuous sound as it clothes everything.

Tuesday, July 17

deep in the night, the noise of the hacking up of hair balls travels up the stairs

Monday, July 16

spilt milk: each spattered drop a white watery world

Sunday, July 15

Saturday, July 14

Buddhafield mud

I rescue two small boys from the ankle-high sticky mud. each boot reluctantly released with a great sucking kiss-noise. their mum is unimpressed. 'I told them not to go in there'. I am glad they got stuck.

Friday, July 13

first Buddhafield

we arrive in the rain. a naked man slops past, bare feet mud-shod. everybody smiles at us.

Thursday, July 12

the pumpkin at the bottom of the garden is growing as we sleep...

Wednesday, July 11

Tuesday, July 10

Monday, July 9

yolky upside-down flower trumpets the arrival of this garden's first courgette

Sunday, July 8

early. an orange bushy tail disappears from view between the raspberry canes, far below. ordinary domestic cat, or fox? even the word has a smell of wildness.

Saturday, July 7

view from the window

tree-carpeted hills on the horizon, grey-sky smearing at the boundary between matter & air

Friday, July 6

Teenagers on the train. Danny is the one with black-framed glasses, a mess of curly hair, military jacket. Silent & brooding. He is the one carrying dark clouds. He is the cool one. He is the one nobody understands. Twenty years ago, I would have wanted to save him. I want to save him.

Thursday, July 5

eight minutes gazing at the green through double glass doors: a long cool drink

Wednesday, July 4

window: an hour of sun & the sage reduces by two-thirds, wheeled off in our pink barrow

Tuesday, July 3

drizzle, greyness, more drizzle: the candle on my desk still burns

Monday, July 2

the sweet earthy smell of fresh bread wafting up the stairs with beckoning fingers...

Sunday, July 1