It seems ridiculous to claim that I "grew" anything, especially given the complete lack of attention I paid to my plot during the last few months of ever-worsening breakdown. All credit must go to the land, which did the best it could without my assistance.
The tomatoes and beans died early for lack of water. The sweetcorn and marrow eventually followed. Carrots, spinach beet and leeks are still technically alive, but do not appear to be promising a great harvest.
The clover, my return gift to the land, is going strong, although I suspect I should have dug it in before now. And one patch has exceeded all my wildest expectations: the potatoes. I began digging them apprehensively, thinking perhaps they had rotted in the ground. That quickly dispersed as more and more spuds came out with every stroke of the fork, looking as good as anything I've seen in the shops. The carrier bag I'd brought along quickly filled to bursting point, so there are still more waiting to be dug up.
A bag of King Edward seed potatoes, already sprouting and sold off cheap. A plot of well-dug ground. Water when I remembered, or when the sky provided it. And this is the harvest. It's quite amazing, really.