Our wall planner is pinned on to a large cork board in the kitchen. Structured month by month in rows, it is parma violet, coral pink and butter yellow, and huge – a good metre long, almost the size of the table beneath it.
I bought mine online after a friend, who keeps hers Blu-Tacked by her front door, told me half-jokingly: “It’s the only thing between me and a divorce.” Ours is not quite so important. Still, as I wield my felt-tip pen, marking up school plays and holidays with our weird, inscrutable code, I do feel calmer. As if I’m scooping out my brain and smearing it all over the paper, leaving me free to track down more stuff to fill it with.
