A particularly satisfactory day at work today: that manure delivery man really does have the most delightful muscles. Feel sure we could manage another truck-load soon.Arrive home to find the answer-machine flashing wildly. Five messages and they're all from Suze, garbling on about sawdust, matches and my pick-up truck. Call back but there's no reply, so reluctantly head back out again to see what she wants.

Suze is in a frenzy of activity, putting the 'finishing touches' to her so-called sculptures. Quite who or what she intends to finish off is anyone's guess, but they're certainly original, and impressively, she's managed to get five of them in quite an upmarket exhibition.

The 'garden' is in the most atrocious state, apart from that blasted veg patch, which always looks pristine. The rest of it resembles some kind of medieval encampment, full of sawdust 'kilns' all belching putrid black smoke and with Suze darting around in sandals with a large pair of tongs. Stopping only to feed her unfortunate children vegetable stew and cheesy Wotsits, she's in some sort of creative trance and can't even remember phoning, let alone recall what she wanted, so I disappear gratefully and stop at the off-licence on the way home. That woman really is a complete nutcase.

Oh amazing mother earth! I am in a state of nirvana in my wonderful nurturing garden, feeding my darling children the fruits of the soil, and creating beauty from ashes. It's all so entrancing and I'm transfixed by the poetic magic of it all. The garden is looking its best, lush and tranquil, and playing host to the crucible of my creativity.

Am deeply overwhelmed by the sanctity of life (and getting quite light-headed from the smoke) when who should stomp in and ruin everything but Annie, breaking the spell and going on about horrid mundane things. She's always so prosaic and blunt. Still have absolutely no idea what it was she wanted, but in the end I manage to get rid of her, reclaim my inner space and extinguish a small fire that's got out of hand by the back door.

Am just so thrilled with my sculpture and feel as if this is what I was made for: I can instinctively feel this is the beginning of something big. I'm going to be famous at last! I can feel it in my quivering bones, and my garden will become a mecca for art-lovers from all over the world just longing to experience the power and thrill of seeing my work in situ…

There is a loud thud. Suze has fallen to the floor, overcome by fumes.