Celebrating the mister's birthday with pizzas and chocolate and peanut butter cupcakes.
Looking up at stunning skies and a super moon.
Visiting an open garden to check out the impressive collection of snowdrops and be mithered by a professional singer (retired) cum volunteer hospital driver (I know because she told me a hundred times and no, I wasn't counting but it truly felt like a hundred).
Participating in a sock making workshop at the coast. Using tiny needles with points at both ends. Four at the same time. Just two words. Never. Again.
Baking crumbles with the pinkest of Yorkshire rhubarb and syrupy stem ginger.
Watching Margaret Atwood's Alias Grace (I loved the novel) on Netflix. Highly recommended.
Reading. Always reading. I've enjoyed every book so far this year, though some more than others. Highlights have included Little Deaths by Emma Flint, based on a real life crime committed in 1960s New York and about the dangers of making assumptions when presented with difference, Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng, about parents, babies, adoption, rights, and Alex by Pierre Lemaitre, a twisty turny crime thriller which is very much a tale of the unexpected.
Catering for hungry visitors of the feathered variety.
Poking around the 12th century with that feeling of being watched.
Gazing out on a decent fall of snow and stamping welly prints in it on night time walks with the Boo.
Packing for a city break.
Crossing everything that we actually make it to the airport.