I like stealing seed, and digging up plantlets where they are growing thick on the ground. One of my aunts had the most amazingly lush garden and as she walked you round she'd tell you where all the plants came from - loads of them were from seeds or cuttings she'd helped herself to from famous gardens. Some people say, oh how wicked, imagine if everyone did that! And they're right - if everyone did that it would be awful, but they don't, it's just a few of us, so shut up, OK?

This has been brought on by a trip out with ED to a local garden, from which I helped myself to some ripe seed pods from a nice acid yellow poppy and a beautiful pale blue hardy geranium. There were masses of each plant, with loads of ripe seeds - I don't know why I'm justifying myself like this - maybe I'm swerving how hard it was with ED, which it was.

I watched a documentary this evening about the making of the London Olympic opening ceremony (on BBC1, so on the iplayer if you missed it) which was quite stirring. I love the aspects of British life and culture that Danny Boyle chose to portray - the agricultural history, the industrial revolution, the NHS, immigration, pop music, inventing shit and sharing it. Apparently he got in a fight with Jeremy Hunt who wanted something about WWII and not the NHS (quel surpris), but Boyle wasn't having it. It's often hard to be proud of being British when we have such a history of oppressing other nations and are still invading and occupying all these years later, and with so many smug cunts mouthing off about us being the best, thinking we're automatically entitled to intervene all over the world, etc etc, so it was cool to be reminded of some of the good stuff, including that opening ceremony. Thousands of volunteers, brilliantly organised, lots of surrealist moments, multiple Isambard Kingdom Brunels, Dizzy Rascal, child-snatchers - top stuff.

Bed now. Grateful for: district nurse still coming to change dressings on the sunburn ED suffered while out with me whenever it was (fucking ages ago, she doesn't heal well); organic veg box, delish; sweet peas in a jug, wafting their scent towards me as I write; long chat with Son, who actually saw that fucker Osborne leave Westminster, sloping off with his brief case, sacked, the fucking fucker (apologies for such repetitive swearing, it's late and he doesn't merit any creativity); that Headspace mindfulness meditation app, free, on the phone, ten minute guided meditations, brilliant.

Night night, sleep tight