My Diary

I had to make an unplanned trip to the fungal growth town to get a tube of lipstick for a many mouthed monster who had pushed its face through our living room wall – knocking off a number of photographs of me as a child with a scale model of the Graf Spee emerging from my navel in the process. June then went to town herself dressed as an Eighteenth Century mail coach with at least one of me disguised as a dalmatian dog running along behind. I came home to carry a collection of false teeth that had fallen out of the giant’s mouth down to our front porch – apparently the giant was going to be covered with a layer of artificial turf and then trammeled by the bare feet of Saint Ursula and eleven thousand virgins.

My Diary

I got up very early and traveled to the 78 record country side with a large handle in my abdomen; I was pleased when sat on the Carmelite brotherhood bus that the members of a women’s basketball team that boarded half way resisted the temptation to turn it. I met the Roman god in his bungalow (which had been laid out to resemble a street during the battle of San Marino) and we talked of a river of logs which neither of us could cross even though I had a whittled a tiny figure with a key hole when I was young; typically I never whittled the key. In an imaginary world outside miners walked about with white faces while the flour mill workers had theirs blackened by coal dust. I visited friends before I came home inside a mobile cello.

My Diary

June and I woke attached to a spider web; the spider was a cuddly toy and the cave was lined with flower petals – each numbered for an after dinner bingo game (I prefer the slow metamorphosis into a baobab tree myself). I walked Poppy along a strip of Sellotape which I had unconsciously pulled off a mysterious package that arrived yesterday (or was it the day before that? – I have too many yesterdays); the box was empty save for some wood chippings and a bus ticket purportedly used by Mary Magdalene on her way to Calgary. I then walked round the bald eagle tattoo on a giant arm that had replaced the front garden – I had reached my thirteenth circumnavigation when an ostrich ran up next door’s drive and delivered a package.

My Diary

I had to count the number of rabbit ears I had grown during night before leaving the space warren with the interstellar dog. We walked round the edge of the known universe while shaking the hands that emerged from passing multicoloured clouds – I assumed the clouds were worn as hats by a race of beings much more advanced than us. After a dinner of tickets to a bootlegged concert by the BBC Symphony Orchestra I watered the runner beans that were growing on my head in lieu of hair – it took me some time to get a satisfactory legume parting but the final effect was well worth the effort, especially when a Hollywood film company decided to shoot their next all action thriller there – apparently the heroine is rescued by a man from a Martian penal colony.

My Diary

I got up after the strangely clothed figure imprinted on the ceiling had climbed down the ladder I had placed against the Michelangelo wall (the ladder had been invented by Leonardo as a prototype sling shot for a family of stone frogs – several of which would later become cardinals) I walked to town in search of extraterrestrials – unfortunately all I found was an extinct species of hominid only three feet tall and already dreaming of the resurrection. I met June in town, she was wearing a skyscraper and I had to pretend to be King Kong; unfortunately the imminent approach of a squadron of small planes put me off and I climbed a Scots Pine instead, throwing down pine cones on the unsuspecting heads of a troupe of dancers from the Folies Bergere.

My Diary

I started the day by removing a working steam engine from our gem encrusted picnic hamper – the engine arrived yesterday and the tracks pushed through the bedroom window like Achilles’s spear the day before. June and I had a picnic on a model railway before we suddenly shrunk and found ourselves inside two medicine bottles a man with a fake bow-tie was trying to sell to a group of Red Indians; it wasn’t long before he was found out and we had to run to town and back before the tie exploded and a bare female leg shot out of a red rose pinned to my lapel. I brought the rabbit back with me – he was still poorly and moped like an Ancient Greek hero with a penchant for cross dressing.

My Diary

I started the grey day walking a circle in a pond; I found a ring from a Christmas cracker pulled by Alberich several years ago when I was the only walking tree still alive; I remember the Rhine Maiden decorations glistening in the eruption of Mount Vesuvius. June and I dragged horses tied to the feet of princesses from the quagmire and then waited for the water to rise above the saloon car a previous occupant had accidentally buried. I later changed into clothes made famous in the television series UFO and caught a Trans-Siberian express train to the top of the garden – the wildlife pond looked like a winking eye and the recently planted shrub garden was wearing its new hat at a particularly coquettish angle.