I couldn’t bring the bag all the way to Tate. Imagine the smell on the tube. So I took the programme back on the boat, to the bag.

As many of you already know, I was at Tate to speak about my latest performance, called, prophetically, Know your sh*t. It’s sort of about Brexshit. And because today was the day we were supposed have Breakfast (but we didn’t), Tate thought it was a good day to chat about this performance of mine. And I’ve realised I know my shit. And I’m proud. I am indeed. If I had a bag at hand I would have pooed there and then, in front of everyone, so much was the excitement to be invited to speak at the event. It was only day 42, if you remember, when I said I may never get the chance to show my stuff at Tate and look at me now!

It’s important to remind yourself you know your shit, when you know that you know your shit. Of course it’s difficult to know if you know your shit, especially if you’re not listening, or if you keep telling yourself that you’re a fraud. But today I think I can allow myself to say I know my shit. Especially because after three months of pooing in a bag, I’ve got to know it quite closely.