If Jan Niedojadlo goes missing, check our front room

Yesterday, I needed to take the gritlets to the Podules, by Jan Niedojadlo.

I am not usually a needy mother. That is one accusation levelled at home educators. Like, really, I home educate because I secretly need my children tucked up in my womb. Better still, wearing hats, mittens and winter clothes in there, just in case. Then I could feel all my motherhood urges flow into my offspring daily and I would be satisfied. I might even glow. I could shove feeding tubes through my belly button.

OK Grit, stop that now, because it is the same ridiculous idea as made by the people who suggest home education is really a cover for your emotional therapy.

Let's say the reality, just in case anyone missed it: Home education is bloody hard work. I usually feel in need of therapy after a day of it.

However, everything happily coincides here: therapy, emotional satisfaction, and art education, and to get that sort of hit, I drive like a crazy frog to the sleepy ancient market town of Aylesbury. They have three pods. They have three pods by Jan Niedojadlo, and I want to get inside one, curl up, get out of my brain and lose all sense of time and place.

As you can probably guess, I don't drink enough and I don't do drugs.

But I do know about the pods. If you have never climbed inside one of Niedojadlo's pods, you are missing a part of your person, but you just do not know it yet. These are total sensory works of art.

They affect all of you. In fact the only thing I did not do was lick one, and that's only because the County Museum in Aylesbury uses CCTV and I might find my secret pleasure viewed by seven million people on ExposedTV! Videos of Perverts in England!

Climb inside a pod and you first feel the curves and shapes and materials wrap around you; foam, rubber, plastic, textile. Sound swims around these small spaces; you half see shapes and swirling colour through subtle lighting and shifting patterns; you can smell tousled Squirrel hair, cuddling up next to you, although I suspect in Jan's head this should be the aroma of essential oil. Squirrel is just as good, and I may get out those hats and mittens soon.

After an hour - and we have only visited two of the three pods on display - we are living inside the giant shell and plotting how we might steal it without anyone noticing, or how Plan B is to imprison Jan Niedojadlo in our front room and poke him with fish sticks and weasels until he caves in and agrees to make us a pod all of our own.

Of course the other solution is to visit scrapstore and find a use for those 20,000 plastic offcuts and that discarded hundredweight of pink foam.

And if you didn't click above, click now, sit back, and relax.