Guildford Road, anticlockwise. 9pm.

An unidentified sighing in the dark to our right catches my ear. 'You've slowed down.' 'I'm listening.' In the night, even an idling car is unfamiliar and needs careful attention.

Claremont Road, anticlockwise. 5.15pm.

A dog and I startle at a laser light on the path. His owner doesn't see, is confused and angered by her dog's behaviour, and the stranger watching him.

Claremont Road, clockwise. 3pm

A boy in a posh school uniform drops a well-chewed pear core under a tree. His very small sister copies with a half-eaten fruit. Their mother picks it up again.

Guildford Road, clockwise. 1.30pm.

When a dove leaps out of the bushes and into the air before me, I startle at the whirr and whistle its powdery grey feathers and clapping of its wings.

Claremont Road, clockwise. 5pm

Warm lights are popping on in windows and a line of rucksacked ramblers march across the park on the diagonal. They look as if they are hurrying home for tea.

Claremont Road, clockwise. 11am

Four long legged girls in bright coats and boots shriek past, heading for the playground gate. A sedate mother in a red jacket follows and gives us a smile.

Guildford Road, anticlockwise. 2pm.

A baby on the slide is not sure what to do. His mother calls to him, and promises to catch him, but in the end she has to push him.

Meadow Hill Road, Anticlockwise. 2pm

On the edge of hearing, a breath stirs dried oak leaves. I stop and shake the branch to make sure. The wind gets up and sets the tree talking.

Meadow Hill Road, anticlockwise. 9am.

A flat pebble placed deliberately on a brick gate post awaits orders. On the next stretch of wall, a squirrel, expecting food and finding nothing, noses into a tin can.

Claremont Road, anticlockwise. 5.30pm.

The only warm colour in the park is the caramel brown cider bottles on the bench between two boys who probably shouldn't have been drinking on a school night.

Meadow Hill Road, anticlockwise. 9am.

Lucy has a new 30-word blog -- Out with Mol.

From the bottom of the park on a misty day, the meetings and greetings on the middle path of a lady carrying two scooters are noiseless as a silent movie.

Guildford Road, anticlockwise. 12noon.

A lady smiles to see me watch a flock of startled starlings leap up like wind puffed leaves. Her puppy races over to inspect my heels and we smile again.

Claremont Road, clockwise. 10am.

There is a blue sky striped with vapour trails between the final twigs of the turkey oak. It makes vague promises about warmer weather and the coming of spring.

Claremont Road, anticlockwise. 8am.

The park is frozen in the shade. A blackbird crouches in the grey air. Like the park, it will only wake when the golden sun creeps up the hill.

Belgrove, clockwise 11am.

I am away for ten days. Posts will start again when I return.

Two large white dogs with curled over tails bob like tethered clouds as they walk up the hill. They hint at a promise of ice storms and drifting snow.

South Grove, clockwise. 3pm.

A man runs followed by three small girls. 'This way, this way! No, not that way, you idiots!' They shriek with laughter as they go round and round a tree.