I found it hard to understand why the house was draped in a string vest when we had finally roused ourselves from the sun dragon slumber. I pushed myself through one of the holes and stood in a drizzle coming from a levitating pepper pot. At the end of the day the pieces of old rope we had used as ladders were glistening in the magical evening. I said hello bat while my wife said hello ball.
I discussed the immortality of soft plastic membranes with the cobweb girls during my lazy morning in the goldfish bowl desert. Then I jumped up and down for several hours reciting lost tantric prayers before being grandpa for the afternoon. We slid and pushed and I ended up singing silent songs outside a dwarf’s house. My colleague and I were garden gnomes all evening encased in a very hard plastic.
I woke as a postage stamp, turned over and was violently licked. The door was open so I went straight out into the silent garden to scream. I eventually crossed the bridge of dreams to my studio – music was emanating from my favourite chair so I sat on the radio. I pulled a plastic ostrich from my bag and stuck a paintbrush behind my ear. I had to go out when the penny dropped. I arrived back home by post.
It took me a little while to crawl through the tunnel to the daylight. I laughed when I saw all the clouds looked like lips; some where smiling and some were scowling. I listened for my voice to echo from the highest clouds. When I finally heard what I had spoken some hours earlier I walked to see Pam who was busy preparing her ladder. None of the eyes in the sky were crying when I came back later than usual.
I ran down stairs as a bit player in an old movie and celebrated my temporary freedom by jumping into a yoghourt pot. The slave boats were found to be carrying flowers. I watched all their biographies on the TV – a collar and tie was placed below the set. I regretted accidentally eating my suit in an idle moment and had to leave the snail restaurant in disgrace. I was crowned King of the compost heap later that afternoon.
I got up early to stick my arm up the rear passage of a large green plastic cow which had recently landed in the garden. I pulled my hand out and looked at my watch – it was going backwards. My wife and I walked out in sandals to the big Wellington boot that some friends were living in. I liked their sofa (which was covered in photos of sand lizards) but disliked their garden. We came home carrying a gate.
Today was the last of the current fruit salad days – I wore fresh cream instead of a hat. I divided myself into two and shared the garden and the studio – the latter was circling the Earth. In deep space I disentangled the model railway tracks that were all jumbled up inside my cranium, found the signals and changed the points. A steam engine raced by pulling a string of breakfast cereal packets.
I went to the childhood garden in a state of mountain man confusion (I had learnt to turn the fog in my head on and off at will). The clods of earth danced like string puppets – the race of underground people used earth worms as periscopes. I ran home with the arrow men running behind me. I had to sit still on a flying carpet during most of the evening. I patted the chocolate dog before walking home.
After having breakfast with my trousers (which had recently received a soul) I spent most of the day drawing lines round the strange marks that had suddenly appeared on the floor. My wife and I went out to dinner in the evening. I was in a bad mood as I had promised I would be a bluebell. I nodded my head and waited for my meal – which, unbeknown to me, had started the long trek to the Middle East on a crusade of 1,000 virgins.
I had dreamt all the previous day so I was lucid and awake all night. In this condition I published a newspaper made from bed sheets and conducted a naked symphony orchestra from my bath (mutating into a green frog with red eyes as I did so). I sat as The Green Man in the water filled railway carriage remembering my trip to The Old Faithful Geyser – it was subsequently caught having an affair.
I went out in the morning like a steam locomotive. While sitting in a siding I accidentally disturbed a blackbird on its nest – she looked at me with an electric light instead of an eye and I hypnotised myself into a state of heightened vacuumness. The ghosts of previous generations clapped as I lead a team of old men back to my studio. Once inside I painted the outside. The smile below the horizon was represented by two plasticine worms.
I pulled a tube from my pocket and went to visit the sea fairy (the water sprites had whispered that she was marrying the ethereal figure that forms each morning from sea spray). I took the stone tablets from my bag and placed them on the floor. I then walked to the cliff tops, I clambered down the landslip pulling my shoes behind me – several families of troglodytes sat in them for the ride. The tablets had rearranged themselves on my return.
I hit my head on the celestial ceiling (ouch!) and then went to town with the Dragon Girls, fire emanating from the small boxes they clutched in their tiny hands. I had to get back early to sleep on a clock hand – I counted all my too distant memories and then fell off at half past. Later in the day I made toast in the Great Fire of London; eating it on an iceberg (until we hit the Titanic!). I went to bed in a piggy bank.