The Sun, The Tiny Strawberry and the Tomato Mirage.

Goodness me it's a bit hot isn't it. I am not complaining- I like having problems sleeping and having a purple face, but I don't think the garden is particularly enjoying it. Everything is looking a bit crispy and despite my attempts to keep it watered as much as I can, this is proving to be quite tricky when all we have is a watering can that holds about as much water as my own hands, and has a broken spraying bit that keeps falling off, unleashing an impromptu gush at any given moment.

Someone mentioned earlier in the week that it might rain overnight, and I actually found myself saying 'well, the garden needs it.'

It was at that point that I actually became my dad.

It feels too grown up to buy a hosepipe. I can't support that sort of lavish water spraying. Although I am tempted to get a sprinkler, then Tom and I can put our swimming costumes on in the early evening, dare each other to run through it, then have an ice lolly. It'd be like we were 8.

On a positive note, we have successfully produced ONE STRAWBERRY. It's little, it's alone. It's perfect. I can't bring myself to pick it until it has friends, but let's just say that in a few weeks time, it's very possible that Tom and I will be having a TINY Wimbledon party dessert. Maybe we can drink a thimble of champagne each and call it a 'micro- soiree.' I'm sure it's been done in Hoxton.

It also turns out that both Tom and I, independently of each other, have become VERY excited about seeing the several tomatoes that the plant has produced, had a little celebration in our own heads, then realised that it was actually the picture of some tomatoes on the seed packet. I love the fact that we BOTH did this, and am amused by the idea that Juniper the cat knew all along, and sat looking at us with veiled embarrassment for her gullible parents.

In other news, it's full steam ahead for my show Running on Air at the Fringe Festival this year. Joni is getting pimped up, I found the best curtain material in the entire world (yes, that's right) in a charity shop in Orpington, and as I was frighteningly informed earlier this week, it's 33 days until the beginning of the festival. Time to start taking those multi-vitamins.

I am, in equal measures, incredibly excited and terrifyingly nervous- this is my first solo show and, as it is so autobiographical, I have at times found it difficult to articulate how I feel and how I want this to manifest itself in the show. Earlier this week I got a little lost. I was unable to see the path ahead and had a bit of a panic. Actually it was a huge panic. I threw a notebook at a chest of drawers. It was tough.

I never thought I'd write this, but 24 hours in Stafford sorted me right out.

I have realised the power of being up high. I sat alone up a little hill by the castle for a few hours and found inspiration again, like a new breeze.

I'm back.

And I'm excited.