June left the house an as ingredient for a recipe, leaving me to stir the dog and then take a large cup of tea for a walk. Another ingredient rung sometime after, although by then I was no longer hungry, and all finally returned home to cook a meal. I wanted to eat on a battlefield of painted crockery but June had already dropped my breakfast bowl and wrote no on a small piece of bandage lent to her by a mummy from an early part of the Late Kingdom. By coincidence I had been thinking of writing my memoirs on peeling tree bark (I found out later that someone had cut down the tree). As June went to listen to the television I hung a painting over the radio and waited for a large meal to swim past our sailing ship house ticking loudly.
June and I went out, each in an individual glove (typically mine was missing the finger tips). We clapped our hands together at the train station and watched the train arrive like a dancer taking a bow before her routine had finished. On arrival at the moon palace we ate pyjamas and underwear before watching an underwater eclipse. A man older than me pulled himself out of the swamp with his prehensile moustache, prompting me to write a joke on an undertaker’s lapel thinking he would probably never read it. I watched June walk a mobile phone round the block while I held onto an empty bag in case its contents escaped and then spoke to a much younger woman - a disapproving vicar searching for his church descended by parachute: both he and it were torn at the edges.
Concerned that my shoes were slipping on the sugar frosted tarmac I put on a couple of ocean liners and then stuck a smile behind my ear to smoke later. June walked round the house, first clockwise and then in a silhouette of a sand dial before deciding to go to the shop. Apparently the man behind the counter had compiled a consumer questionnaire - as usual we put no to everything and celebrated our nonexistence by jumping into the air every time a dark matter particle collided with a fragment of dark energy. I imagined a demigod wearing sun glasses and then proposed to paint it in a rainstorm. As I was doing this a man made entirely from wood came to the door but didn’t knock - it was only when I went out with the dog and a metalwork nef filled with congealed tree sap that I noticed the sawdust.
I went out as the black woolly jumper of the family, travelling at a tree sloth pace through an old person’s back garden and a young person’s front. I made a friend out of a naked mole rat and we exchanged our worst fears several hundred feet below ground level. Once I had reached daylight I crept up on a coffee shop (and ordered tea) and then flung myself home through a forest of fraying wires and the stuffing destined for a triple bed mattress. I was stalked by fragile winged dragons as I went down instead of up and up instead of straight along - where a tennis ball knocked over a row of princess dolls in a game I had actually devised myself. The train crept back in bare feet on hot sand with the sun an octopus sorting the mail in a Venusian post office.
I got up too early and found June coiled into a spring inside a fob watch case; I had a breakfast in a caddy field watching faces emerge from the water and rise upwards, their lips imitating fish mouths - I noticed the little girl in a large dress was clapping from the safety of a history book (I was surprised to find it was written in prehistory). After jumping up and down inside a glass jar, June and I went out for a plastic bag dinner. We took the healing snake route to town after we found the inn on horseback was full. We found a restaurant in a snail shell (with red lip windows and unhearing ears for doors) and then waited too long for our meal. We came home together (June normally takes a diversion down shopping aisles) followed by antelope royalty effortlessly jumping between the clouds.
June and I got up, for once, together; I had my breakfast in the tumble dryer while she sat in the fridge - coming out moments before an intercity express train hurtled through it on its way to an unknown microwave oven in London. Inside the carriage a robot child touched the dial of its valve radio ancestor and the train guard pulled back the still growing beard of King Henry the Eighth before it got stuck in the emergency alarm chain - the man dressed in grey put a y in a noughts and crosses game. As the light dimmed I plugged in a candle while watching an Eighteenth Century farmer take his livestock to market on the edge of a Twenty First Century town. I pushed a bouquet of flowers inside an old fashioned television and June tuned a cooking apple to the country and western channel.
I had to leave the house early although this time June got up before me. She had covered herself with wallpaper and was trying on family photographs to see which one best suited her. I covered my face in emulsion paint and dripped a line to the bus stop. As I boarded the gasping for breath bus I noticed that the collared doves where perched apart. After a stop on a military side drum I found my way to my childhood home - all the houses had letters of the Greek alphabet instead of numbers. I waved to the gamma ray lady before meeting the Zeus person in the Epsilon house. We made small talk in a very large space and then both said goodbye to the walls (all but one wall ignored us and talked instead to the ceiling).