Cornelia Parker at Tate Britain was a complete joy. She must be such fun to spend time with, with a huge talent for persuading people to do daft things that would never previously have occurred to them. There's the famous shed she got the army to blow up; the snake specialist who gave her venom; the gun makers who gave her the first stage in the manufacture of a gun (well, two, actually); the Customs and Excise people who gave her the ashes of cocaine they had burnt; the steamroller driver who flattened getting on for a thousand pieces of silver, some of them unwanted wedding presents donated by friends...

This room is draped in what's left after remembrance poppies are stamped out of long rolls of paper (she plays gloriously with negative space). I was trying to take silhouettes of visitors to the room when this gift of a guy walked in.

The text she writes isn't the pretentious stuff you often get on labels and is sometimes laugh-out-loud funny. But there are layers of accessible meaning.

There's a greenhouse in extras, where the White-Cliffs-of-Dover chalk marks on the glass create black shadows on the wall of the room. It's about self-sufficiency, the environment, family, Brexit, interdependence... And it's beautiful.

With Tivoli and our mum. A fantastic day.

In her own words.