Monday 6 December

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A morning in the field. It takes a little time to get anything done because I am distracted by noticing the changes brought on by December. The apple espaliers are very much in need of their winter prune. The autumn flowering cherry blossom is the best I have ever seen it. The dahlias are blackened but there are a few blooms hanging on. I chip asparagus fern that I had promised myself I would use for wreaths and layer it carefully in the compost. (It had gone a rather odd shade of yellow.)

Tuesday 7 December

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And as well as the odd dahlia, there are a lot of roses. They are marked by the heavy rain that has suddenly swept in along the valley, but they are all the more exquisite for the dappling. I bring some buds in for drying.

Wednesday 7 December

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I drove home as the moon is rising. A tiny sliver of a thing, parchment coloured as it comes over the hill. The thin moon and the clear skies mean that the dogs and I walk without a torch, lit by the multitude of stars.

Thursday 9 December

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A significantly less glorious dog walk today. The first rain drops fall as we walk along the track leading away from the flower field and by the time the dogs are off their leads and running free, the heavens have entirely opened. The sort of rain that is so heavy, there is no point in us rushing home for shelter; we can’t possibly get any wetter.

Friday 10 September

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Highlight of the day is home-made honeycomb in the office. Not only is it amazing honeycomb, but it is dipped in chocolate and sprinkled with salt. Divine.

After work, my brother and I travel to Sussex. The drive is long and it is late but the journey is made magical by the most perfect shooting star somewhere near Salisbury. I wished.

Saturday 11 December

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A visit to family. Two different arms of it in the same day which is efficient if nothing else. In my father’s garden, the climate is milder even than mine and I envy their ability to grow apricots. I advocate for no dig, but meet resistance. What can one do?

Sunday 12 December

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This evening, I read a lesson in church as the representative of the parish council. The day we were married in that tiny church, it was full of the people we loved the most. Tonight, the pews hold my village. Country living is more about relationships than anyone ever lets on and belonging matters. At the end of the service, the curate declares that Christmas has started. Having just finished singing Hark the Herald Angels Sing, I can only believe him.

Home for mulled cider and switching on the fairy lights.