On a crisp afternoon walk, The Chef was eulogising her love of autumn. "It's that the sky feels further away." Which makes no sense. Except that it kind of does. It's the quality of the blue.

Back in the summer I got a notebook for my birthday that I've still not written in. It's just too nice. I even searched Bullet Journals to see if I was worthy enough to keep one. I'm not. The search for a use continues.

Robert Heaton's I got married and had kids so you don't have to was a swirling, circling, rambling essay on being a new-ish Dad (specifically a Dad and not just parenting) in Covid times.

[He's] started to become more fun since I last wrote about him. He’s always been fun of sorts, but it was usually fun like cooking, not actual fun like playing PlayStation.

...

My hot take on baby science is that humanity knows an enormous amount about what is good for children, but this knowledge is so baked in to our lives that we don’t notice it.

It's a good read. It reminded me of Paul Mucur's weeknotes. Both invited parenting on themselves a month or two after me, but are going through the same experiences. It's reassuring, while the world is busy being everything, to hear secondhand accounts which rhyme with my own. And I get to laugh at things like protest bananas.

At 15 months, Piglet has already broken my Spotify recommendations. After a concerted effort, I've wrestled about a third of the weekly recommendations back to twee indie, with the rest being made of relaxing nursery piano music and ambient noises. I think this might be my high-water mark for non-kid recommendations until 2040. I did get round to collating a Piglet bedtime playlist with this lot on there.

Rather than starting with the planned crumble, we followed Jane Pikett's Lemon and blackberry clafoutis recipe for our first forage. Delicious and disgustingly simple to make. It'll definitely get a replay this autumn.

While I write these, The Chef has just found someone selling a secondhand mooncup on Facebook. So that's a thing. No takers yet.

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