Catching a lift, bushman and wedge of geese.

1. I'm waiting to catch the hospital bus home when a patient transport arrives. The driver asks what I'm up to. I tell him. "You've just missed it. Are you staff?" I tell him I'm a volunteer, and he offers me a lift along with his patient.

2. Caroline has managed to rustle us up some tickets to a lecture with Ray Mears -- so we enjoy an evening hearing the great bushman talk about forgotten paddling birch bark canoes across Canada. "There's a completely different smell with birch bark. And the cedar they use. It smells like a cigarbox." Later, with a rather distant expression, he talks about the paddlers "walking differently" -- it feels as if he is still trying to process the experience.

3. I wake in the night and hear geese calling as they fly over.

Trading, better things to do and fire lighter.

1. Trading in two old games for a new (new to me, that is) Zelda game.

2. Turns out that there's no work for me tomorrow after all. But that's all right: there are plenty of things I'd rather be doing anyway.

3. I've seen a couple of Ray Mears' programmes where he asks people to show him how they would light a fire using natural resources, but they've have only heard about it and don't know how it's done. Then he asks politely if they'd mind him showing how he'd do it, and they're a bit doubtful (it's a bit humiliating, after all, for a hunter-gatherer from the Amazon to admit he doesn't know how to make fire using friction any more). And Ray demonstrates, and as the pile of dust grows, and the spark comes and they laugh at Ray coughing in the smoke. They all have a go at blowing on the tinder and suddenly they get these big toothy, happy grins on their faces. Ray tells them that a lady from the South Pacific says: "With friction, you carry the fire in your head and in your muscles."

Family dispatches, signing on and the harvest.

1. Nick's mother comes round. She tells me that her great grandson's latest phrase is 'Power to the people' and that he now calls her 'Lady': 'I want to hold Lady's hand. I want to stay here with Lady.' And she brings a bag of beautiful thoughtful birthday presents from Nick's sister.

2. I'm not impressed with signing on (although I'm glad to have the money, and the help with the hunt for work). The job centre staff are even-minded and kind, even when facing angry people with a sense of entitlement, and disheartened people who have given up. But the atmosphere makes me feel crushed, afraid and useless. I'm so glad to hear the automatic doors close behind me as I walk out into the sunshine.

3. I like to spot blackberries growing somewhere unlikely (the corner of the house carpark) and, balancing at unlikely angles on the wall, pick them before anyone else does.

Muuu-um, hand-in-hand and apple.

1. She tells her mother not to embarrass her, then asks if she can press the button to open the train door.

2. I like holding my goddaughter's very small hand as we walk to the tube.

3. For a couple of weeks I've been testing the apples on the branches hanging over the wall between the solicitors' car park and the street. Tonight, one falls off in my hand.

Collecting, mace and unstructured time.

1. Gathering chestnuts on a lunchtime walk. At 2pm I come back to my desk and find Jane has added a few extra.

2. Along with the usual spices I boil up with my rice, I add some mace (we saw this growing on Zanzibar -- it is like bright red seaweed wrapped round each nutmeg. When it's dried, the colour changes to shy orange). When the rice is done, the mace has softened into a gentle nutmeggy mouthful.

3. Nick's baseball night means time to myself -- I make chestnut soup, wash my hair and snuggle into bed with a book.

Talking time, positive identification and purple.

1. Janey sees that I have finished writing and remarks on this: 'Now I can talk to you.'

2. There are a lot of mushrooms that look like ceps in the garden, with their spice brown caps and spongey yellow undersides. I'm not sure enough to try one though. But Sue arrives and confirms it. They go on the barbecue and a hailed a success.

3. Lilac liqueur that tastes like Bailey's flavoured with blackberries.

4. At the top of the station staircase Nick is waiting.

Mudlarks, flint and rust.

Nick took me to The National History Show.

1. The Mudlarks, who spend their weekends digging around in the mud on the Thames foreshore looking for coins, buckles, musket balls, Medieval tiles, pieces of jug, tin toys, medals, tokens, bottles and anything else preserved in the oxygen-starved mud of London's mother river. One of them talked about giving his son a jar of ashes from the Fire of the London (1666) to take to school.

2. Seeing Phil Harding from Time Team talking about flint knapping. He had to show us a video, rather than actually demonstrating -- because of the demons Health and Safety. He talked about spending night after night practising the techniques, and about what a magical material flint is. You can see him at work here.

3. I tell Nick that the vintage Jeep smells like my grandfathers old Land Rover. It's petrol and oil and rust and webbing and leather.

Extra time, a laugh and the woods we know.

1. It is not raining, so instead of dashing straight into town for breakfast, I walk all the way to the cross roads with Nick.

2. The man at the table next to me is giggling out loud at items in his newspaper. He sounds like a small child, not a serious man on his way to work.

3. PaulV takes me to the woods when he goes for a run. I spend a happy hour walking round in circles. I naviate mainly by landmarks -- this is a female trait, apparently. It's very effective sometimes, but it's better to combine it with knowing which way you are pointing and a feeling for the lie of the land (that's what men do, as a general rule). A new bit of woodland is good practice.

Fruit picking, future food and a writer's housemate.

1. Picking blackberries and feeling the sun warm on my back.

2. Checking the menu of a restaurant about to open and imagining meals yet to be eaten.

3. It must be frustrating for Katie watching me work on the book. I spend a lot of time playing computer games, lying on the sofa, not doing any housework, laying out slips of paper with beautiful things written on them and dozing. She neither comments that slightly more time editing would be helpful; nor wonders why I don't spend some of the not-writing time doing housework. But the second guidance is asked for, she -- and Rosey -- come out with exactly what I need to hear.

Quiet man, kit and time travellers.

As described on Heropress, we spent the day at Military Odyssey.

1. Among all the guns and pikes and fighting, a neolithic man sits in front of a deer hide tent knapping flints. We chat about his cordage -- nettle stem, rawhide and tendon -- and about tanning. He explained that his soft leather shirt and trousers were yellowish because they had been smoked to keep them supple.

2. A War of the Roses pikeman shows me the weight of his gear by piling it up in my arms. It's heavy, and I'm glad I'm not wearing the padded coat, wool tabard, helmet and armour on this sunny day. He explains that he's not a full 'tinny', and that once the armour is on, it doesn't feel heavy.

3. Two women dressed as Scythians trying on World War II great coats.

Exam fuel, breaking up and civilisation.

1. Chrissie produces from I know not where packets of frothy cappuccino powder to fuel our bushcraft exams.

2. Smashing up the leaf shelters and throwing the support sticks and leafmould around the woods so that the next lot of students will have to find their own materials when their turn comes.

3. Katie comes home to find me up to my neck in bubbles. She makes up a tray of tea things and sits outside the bathroom door hearing my stories of life in the woods.

Stay dry, headgear and carving.

1. Paul tells us not to let the rain get inside our heads. For the rest of the day, a 'you all right?' is likely to be answered with something along the lines of: 'There's rain down me neck and rain in me boots, but I'm not letting it get in me head.'


2. The softness of my new beanie hat. I saw one bobbled with raindrops on Di's head and coverted it. When the mobile shop came round, my card was out of my tent before you could say 'Mud'. It hasn't been off my head since I cut the tags.

3. Russ patiently shows me how to take tiny slivers off the bowl of my spoon with a crook knife. I work at this until it gets too dark and am surprised at how quickly and neatly the bowl forms.

Falling water, snake and fish head.

1. The tink-tink-tink of water dripping from a milbank bag into a billy can. We have to boil the water over a campfire to purify it properly. It's iron-stained, so it's light brown, and the boiling makes it taste strongly of woodsmoke. It reminds me of lapsang souchong tea.

2. As we are choosing chestnut poles, Dan warns us to step back. 'I think there's a snake...' I catch a flash of emerald and back off quickly. 'A snake collector has lost some snakes. I think it's the Algerian Green.' We are warned to stand right away, while the snake is caught and bagged. I am still jumpy from my murderous roll mat last night, until Di whispers 'I bet it's a fake.'

3. James the instructor explains his joyful handling of the salmon we are about to eat for supper by mentioning that he worked in a fish shop. 'Which gave lots of opportunities for jokes. I once put a cod's head in the toilet for my housemate to find.'

Woodwork, cleanliness and radioactive badger.

1. I look at the half log in my hand and wonder how it will ever be a wooden spoon -- until I am told to carve away everything that is not spoon.

2. Showering under a yew tree from a canvas bag filled with hot water carried in a can from the fire. As I rinse my hair and rain patters around me, I wonder if I will ever be dry and free from dead yew leaves again. A few minutes later I am fully dressed in clean(ish) clothes and tingling as my skin warms up again.

3. Just before settling into my bivi bag, I turn off my torch and stash it where I can reach it. I wriggle down in my sleeping bag and slide down my self-inflating mat into the bivi bag. I am startled by a scuttering noise at my feet, and then terrified by a movement at the end of the bivi bag. My thoughts run in this order:
a. What the hell is that?
b. Get out of the bivi bag.
c. Who is screaming?
d. It's me.
Out of the dark come shouts of 'Don't move' and 'Come here' and 'Are you all right?' and 'Don't worry, it's nothing' and 'Where are you?' and 'Who's that?' and 'What's happening?' Then Dave appears out of the darkness with a torch an 'Are you decent?'
I pull on my trousers with one hand and point gibbering at the bulge in the bottom of my bivi. Shaking his head, Dave turns the bag upside down. My mat falls out and nothing else -- no adders, no badgers, no rats. The mat, however, has a large blister at the foot end where the lining has split.
Then the instructors come running from the far end of the site: 'What's happened?' and 'Our ears are bleeding' and 'I'd just got to sleep.'
Dave asks if I would like him to explain to them. I decline, and have to explain, between gasps of relieved laughter, in my own words how a malfunctioning sleeping mat made me produce proper Dr Who screams.
Chrissie makes me sit under her tarp until I stop catch my breath again.

Sparks, roots and starry night.

1. We learn to use flint and steel to light tinder and start a fire. The combination of patience and dexterity is almost beyond me, but with tonnes of encouragement: 'Try with my flint.' 'You need a bigger bit of charcloth.' 'Take it slowly. Be patient.' 'You're making sparks at least, now just get them on the cloth... that's an ember! Careful, careful.' And suddenly there was a ball of smouldering hay in my hands -- 'Blow on it... now waft it down while you breathe in... bring it up... blow... hold it tightly...' and everyone cheers as the flames begin, and dizzy from hyperventilating, I drop my kindling into the campfire.

2. It's raining and we are crouched under a yew tree digging for long roots. I like this sort of exercise much better than carving or making fires. It's very satisfying to grub down in the earth and find a root, follow first in one direction and then in another and then pull it free.

3. I am sleeping under a tarpaulin strung between two trees. It was raining when I crawled into my bivi bag. I wake in the night to find stars in a clear sky sparkling between the chestnut leaves. In the morning, it's raining again.

Green sticks, cords and shelter.

1. The smell of hazel withies -- these are branches twisted until they are as strong and as flexible as wire and can be used to secure a bundle of sticks. They smell sharp, fresh and sappy. I spot Johnny sniffing the demonstration model as it is passed round.

2. Learning new knots and the stories that go with them. 'This one is used by Siberian goat herders because they don't have to take their gloves off for long when they are making it. Wave to your friend over here... if there's a triangle there you're doing it right...' 'Round this one twice then both once...'

3. Building a shelter by piling armfuls of leafmould and bracken on to a frame of sticks. It forms a dark little cave large enough for two that blends perfectly with the woods.

United, my room and fitting in.

1. During a sharp shower of rain, two smokers lurk in the porch of the pub. An older man comes in from the garden: 'There's a smoking pavilion round the corner,' he says.
'It's full,' they say.
'Oh,' he says, 'Just pile in. Everyone else is sharing tables.'

2. 'Where shall we have tea?'
'Wherever you like, Clarey.'
'Can we have it in my room?'
So we do. Nick says it's like a literary salon.

3. Sitting round a campfire hearing on one side a conversation about atl-atl throwing and on the other a conversation about colonic irrigation. I think I'm going to like these people.

Flying fingers, middle stone age and housemate.

1. I rarely get to do any straight copy typing at work; but today I am asked to do some as a favour to a colleague and I am pleasantly surprised at how fast I can do it. It's also good to have a task that doesn't involve too much thinking.

2. Ray Mears speculating about how hunter gatherers might have survived on the coasts of Britain. A lot of hardwork grinding things pulled from the bottom of ponds, and chewing things knocked off rocks, apparently.

3. Last thing before I go to bed, Katie saying 'Goodnight' and asking if I've finished in the sitting room.

Apples, nuts and running.

1. A glass of sharp apple juice.

2. Cracking cobnuts with my teeth.

3. Leaning on a bridge looking down into the millrace.

Seeking, quitter and extras.

1. When you go looking for something -- like mushrooms -- you get better at spotting them very quickly.

2. I have a friend who has given up smoking, and now when he laughs, he doesn't cough any more.

3. Adding extra toppings to a supermarket pizza.