* James has drifted back to sleep, so I'm sitting silently at the breakfast table listening to John moan about his Shreddies. He whines, then eats, then whines some more, whilst I stare flatly out of the window and watch the sun rise over the garden. Just as the whining is starting to fill every crevice of my mind, I turn on the radio and the second movement of the New World Symphony drifts dreamily across the air.
I turn it up, and then up again, until the music fills the house and there is nothing that we can do but listen. And as I sit back at the breakfast table, I find that my soul is finally waking from its sleep, and that John has completely forgotten to moan about his Shreddies.
* The ladies in the kitchen are genuinely impressed with my Jubilee tickets. "They're wonderful!" says the new High Sheriff of Shropshire, "So positive - I really love them!" I feel as though I've just received an A+. Oh, how I have missed that feeling.
* John stands up when the congregation stands and sings as we begin our hymn. "Wheel a bus go rown a rown" he sings at the top of his voice, as we begin 'Dear Lord and Father of Mankind' "Rown a rown, Rown a rown!" Usually, that hymn makes me cry, but today I can do nothing but smile.
* We eat our picnic in the blustery sunshine whilst the peals of the cathedral bells drift across the park on the wind.
* The tiny train takes just a minute to trundle round the tiny track, but it's long enough to make everyone on board smile and wave.
* Watching John eat an ice cream is a sticky, drippy, serious delight.
* When he stirs I lift him out of his car seat and carry him into the house. I settle down on the sofa and wait for his angry screams, but instead he rubs his warm cheek against my chest, curls his little body up on my lap and then buries his face in my breast and falls back to sleep.
I sit perfectly still, cradling my boy on my lap. I stroke my fingers across his back, bury my face in his hair, and gaze at his flushed cheek and fluttering eyelashes, the chocolate ice-cream drips on his trousers and the pudgy perfection of his grubby fingers. I sit and savour this fleeting reminder of his babyhood, take in every inch of his boyhood and delight in the uncomplicated closeness of his body for every second of his sleep.