My Diary

June was walking on a conveyor belt, gradually speeding up but not actually getting anywhere.  I had a lay in, finally getting up wearing a silver back gorilla suit.  After spending some time painting the grey sky blue I went out in the garden as a puff of light pink smoke.  June rang about midday to see if she could return wrapped up in polythene like a dogfish egg sack.  I put a small light house on top of my head and climbed down a hole until I was flush with the soil surface.

My Diary

I drew several cards from my top pocket – the mast of a small luxury yacht was also sticking out, touching my nose when I bent over to count my toes.  The first card that fell on the table said work so I packed myself up into a briefcase while a hugely oversized arrow penetrated the  house roof.  I spent part of the day standing like a sarsen stone on Salisbury Plain.  The Women’s Institute were on manoeuvres with flashes of gun fire visible under raised skirts.  I got in and then went out again.

My Diary

I was out early in the morning, flying on a slither of paper.  I fluttered down in the lounge of the gentle space ogre, answered the telephone (it was an empress from a long forgotten country), pulled a piece of string from my pocket and knotted it, then I came home.  A strange green eyed pixie was waiting on the doorstep, we exchanged addresses and then I went to the vet holding a lighted candle for the money burning ceremony.  The dog worked as a plumber in the evening.

My Diary

I felt tired today; having woken up hanging from subtropical tree branches instead of lichen.  I swept several species of endangered parrot from my hair and carried myself downstairs accompanied by a fanfare of trumpets sticking out of the forest canopy.  I had a meal on a roundabout, lined up a number of distinct horizons and then wove them together.  After taking the dog round the perimeter of the prisoner of war camp I pinned my sheriffs badge between my shoulder blades and walked backwards.

My Diary

The sun was beating a toy drum as I tied my imaginary golden locks to the window and climbed down.  I sailed across the surface of a silent lake waiting for the drum sticks to fall as the marching band set forth.  My head was nearly bald and reflected faces of long gone people – not all of whom I had met. For the first time in over a week I was able to float in the spaces of my studio.  I worked on a landscape draped across the chest of a young woman.  I was happy at this point to find an old toffee in my pocket.

My Diary

I was slightly surprised to find I had grown a third arm during the night.  I pushed a screwdriver into its hand and went in search of a box – June was a shadow on the edge of the real world.  After spinning round as I rose out of a pile of ladies jewellery I decided to assemble a model of a Nineteen Fifties country village (complete with ladders set against open windows).  I knocked on every door and then walked to work along the rim of the Grand canyon holding a bald headed eagle chick in my fifteen fingers.

My Diary

I had a very long boa constrictor day in the garden – being careful it didn’t wind itself around my neck.  My wife (who was temporarily two dimensional) was out all morning; her arm stuck down an elderly person’s lavatory – twice she accidentally delivered a baby animal.  I laboured in the sun basking in the childhood memories of a house made from old string vests and cotton wool trees that talked to each other after all the children had taken their Wellington boots off.