It was late morning by the time I went to have my first check of my vegetable patch today. It was Sunday after all. God likes me to stay in bed. One of the female flowers on the pumpkin vine that has stretched out onto the lawn was open, so I looked around for a suitor. I picked my way through the vines and found a male flower that had also opened that morning. As I tugged it off the plant I saw that there was something inside the flower: a fat bumblebee. With grains of pollen littering his fur, his head was stuck firmly down at the bottom of the flower as he lapped up the nectar. He was moving for nobody.

I took the flower inside to show Mum this intoxicated being and still he made no signs of leaving the cosy confines of the bright yellow petals. After taking a couple of shots of him I took him off, flower and all, to the female flower that was still awaiting a mate. Eventually I managed to transfer the bee from one flower to the other, where he drunkenly stumbled straight towards the new well of nectar. With any luck the few bits of pollen he carried with him will have fertilised the flower. Only time will tell, but one thing’s for sure: that bee’s gonna have one hell of a headache tomorrow.

Today I went to London with Lauren. This is (some of) what happened:

* I eavesdropped on a conversation on the train as a woman educated her visiting American friends on various British topics. I learned a couple of things, but lost all confidence in her when she referred to the Gherkin as the “pineapple”. She might know about the privatisation of the railways, but she can’t distinguish a gherkin from a pineapple and is thus not someone from whom I would accept a fruit salad.

* We went to Tate Britain to see the How We Are exhibition, where my photo of cream and cocoa is being exhibited as part of the How We Are Now display. We woohooed in unseemly fashion as my photo came up on the still life screen. Lauren then masked me from the gallery staff as I tried to take a photo of my photo on display.

* I laughed at Lauren as she peered at the pictures in the exhibition, her nose about an inch from each photo, as she wasn’t wearing her glasses.

* Lauren took a picture of me with my phone, I sent it to my Flickr stream and then we loaded that page on the computer set up in the gallery for Flickr browsing and ran off. Geeks.

* We took the Tate Boat up the river to get to Borough Market. Waiting on the riverbank I took the tickets out of my bag, started to joke that this would be when they flew out of my hand, only for them to fly out of my hand and head straight for the river. I ran after them, they caught on the railings and as I stomped my foot on them to stop them going any further, I smacked my forehead on the top bar of the railings. A kind stranger picked the tickets up for me and the little boy next to whom I had arrived at great speed wondered what the hell was going on … and possibly why I had been in such a hurry to headbutt metal.

* Lunch was devoured at Wagamama. I had what I always have - yasai yaki soba. People around me had interesting-looking things on their plates and in their bowls, but I couldn’t match any of those things to descriptions on the menu. The girl next to me had a bowl full of something that involved a special wooden spoon. I don’t know my special wooden spoon etiquette, so I’m going to avoid anything in a bowl from Wagamama in case it’s needed. My noodles will do me fine.

* I went home on the train full of the joys of caffeine after a final pitstop at Starbucks for coffee and cake. Lauren went home on a different train, most likely full of the joys of Borough Market - half of which she had bought and will consume over the next few days.

Click for the set

I measured my tallest sweetcorn plant today. It’s 7′ 7″. So it’s really just as well the cobs don’t grow at the top of the plants. Though collecting one’s harvest while wearing a jetpack would certainly have its own appeal.

One of the pumpkin vines has also escaped the confines of the patch and is making its way across the lawn. It’ll probably be in the next village by dawn. There are two as yet unopened female flowers on it, so I might get a couple of pumpkins growing on the lawn, which I suppose will save getting the deckchairs out.

Click to read the photo notes

I’ve been tagged as a “Rockin’ Girl Blogger”. Twice. Because that’s just how hard I rock, people.

First of all Kirsty said I’m the closest chick she knows to a groupie. So I guess saying that I’m off to Bratislava in two weeks for the same old reason may only serve to underline her point. I dunno, I think some musicians just need keeping an eye on. I mean, you turn your back for a moment and they pick a fight with the Bulgarian mafia.

Then Mindy came along and said she wanted to kiss me on the mouth. Which is fine by me, but she’ll have to get in line. And while she waits in line, I shall admonish her for having already tagged some of the people I’d tag. Gawd, I’m getting so old and crabby with tagging people. Maybe I’ll just be The Meme Killer. You tag me, I’ll revel in the glory, then kill it dead. How does that sound?

I went to the orthopaedic clinic a couple of days ago for … well, I’m not sure. I’d had crazy pains in the outside of my legs, which didn’t seem linked to any particular exertion, terrain or pair of shoes, so last year I got the ball rolling on getting them looked at, or at least spoken to somewhat sternly. At the first appointment late last year the consultant was more interested in my knee, even though the pain was in my legs.
< insert shrugging of shoulders here>

I had waited an age in the waiting room with Dad, before being asked to go through to the secondary waiting room, where I waited another age before finally getting into an examination room. There I was questioned and inspected by the student doctor, before Mr Knee Man came in and did his best to make his student feel as small as possible. “Are there any blah blah blahs associated with xyz?” he asked. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure, Mr Knee Man,” said the student. But Mr Knee Man didn’t actually then clue him in as to whether there were or not. What a good teacher.

It was decided that I would be sent for an MRI scan, the appointment for which was earlier this year. However, the scan didn’t actually happen because the shunt in my head has metal in it. Thus the general consensus was that putting me inside a big fuck-off magnet wouldn’t be the best idea. Though, as with the idea of licking Dad’s electric fly swat, the temptation is still there … just to see what would happen.

I later received another appointment to see Mr Knee Man, set first of all for June (sorry dude, I’m going to be in Vienna) and then moved to 9th August. Expecting another long wait in the waiting room I took my book with me, but had only just taken it out of my bag when I was called through to the second waiting room. Don’t ask me why they do this; it’s very odd. I then managed about half a page before the nurse (who looked a bit like Zoë Wanamaker, in case you were wondering) took me to the examination room. Damn this unexpected efficiency, I wanted to read my book.

“You’re having your knee looked at?” asked the nurse, as she lowered the bed. “Err, yeah, ok,” I said, grateful to be clued in on the purpose of my visit. She left the room to let me remove my jeans and wait on the bed.

There I sat for a while, reading the poster on the wall about broken bones, wishing I’d worn better knickers and desperately trying to tuck things back in that were trying to escape. I shifted the pillow behind me and leant back a little, shutting my eyes. Mmm, relax … wait! Keep your legs together … and relaaax.

Just as I was getting just a bit too comfortable in came Mr Knee Man, this time without his Robin. He shook my hand and we talked about my legs and knees and the fact that I hadn’t had the MRI, he in his suit, I in my T-shirt and tatty knickers. He reckoned that the pain in my legs had been referred pain from my back, but as my legs hadn’t bothered me in months, there was no point in interfering for the moment. However, should they suddenly remember their cunning trick, then he would see me again and organise a different kind of scan: one that didn’t threaten to turn my head inside out.

The consultation over, Mr Knee Man said it was nice to see me again, shook my hand once more and left the room. Ok good, the x-ray shows my knees are fine and my legs seem ok now too, but as I said to Mum on the way back to the car, it’s just weird shaking hands with someone when you’re not wearing any trousers. That said, it probably would have been weirder still if Mr Knee Man had been the one without trousers.

Back in May Lauren alerted me to a new group on Flickr: How We Are Now
Flickr users from the UK were invited to submit photographs in the categories Documentary, Portrait, Still Life and Landscape. These photos were then displayed in rotation on screens in the Tate Britain as part of the broader “How We Are: Photographing Britain” exhibition. The slideshows can also be seen on the Tate Britain website.

I submitted a couple of photos and then, to be completely honest, forgot all about it. I totally forgot that in the final weeks of the exhibition five judges would be choosing the top 40 photographs - 10 from each category - to form the “Final 40″ exhibition at the Tate Britain in London and that those photographs would also be archived on the Tate’s website.

Totally forgot … until I had an email on Tuesday telling me that my photo of the whipped cream and cocoa on top of a cup of hot chocolate had been chosen; I’d made it to the top 40 of 7855 photos. Blimey. I guess I’ll be going up to London to visit my photo … and then going to Borough Market to buy some cheese. And maybe some tapenade. And maybe I’ll try some of the balsamic vinegars too. Perhaps I’ll get a slice of that chocolate goo as well. Mmm … sorry, what were we talking about?

Oh, right. This: