My Diary

I walked (with a limp – I don’t know why) through a network of dark tunnels, interrupted at times by rooms made entirely from old newspapers.  I read a newspaper over breakfast before tiring of it and pouring cereal into a paper hat and reading the bowl.  The chimney sweep who used to sleep under the sofa came back with a swollen tummy – I fed her a fish and then clapped like a performing seal.  My wife changed the bed and then put a lighted candle in her mouth.

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My Diary

I started this bank holiday Monday as a bell hanging high up in the bell tower.  In the distance I could see a landscape made from large dark birds with outstretched wings; perched on a dark grey beak was a small red house – when I was the straw headed man I thought this would have been a nice place to live, chimney smoke forming a question mark at the end of a long day.  I was just lazily thinking about this and of the goldfish swallowing our new postman when the bells started to chime.

My Diary

Another stressful day, the cat that had jumped out of a comic book page was still away and my compass earrings were spinning uncontrollably.  I climbed up to the bridge and studied the footprints that had gone from the floor to the wall and then across the ceiling.  I drew a smily face on the ceiling and then looked down.  The snake bus was transporting a whole variety of forgotten things across the greenhouse floor and I bent down and tied a shoelace on my bare foot.  I didn’t tell anyone I had to go out.

My Diary

We had to take one of our cats, who had eaten a garden gnome, to the vet.  Immediately after this we took a train to the coast to pop balloons and climb on a multicoloured bubble and float into the sky – we had a choice of skies and June and I chose one with a quaint chequered pattern.  We had to come home early, only to be held up as a marble column escaped from a statue and stood on the railway line.  I fed the Giacometti birds with short pieces of coloured string.

My Diary

I felt tired after a week of piling up very large stones in the garden.  I got out of the lions den late and poured my breakfast into my T-shirt to save time; shaking out a number of spoons a little later – I was puzzled that I had accumulated so many.  When I went into the living room June was wearing the head of a Siberian hamster – I didn’t think it was worth mentioning; although I was surprised when she pulled a number of Chinese rice paddies out of her mouth, strung together like sausages.

My Diary

I climbed out of the flaky pastry earlier than usual (having spent another night as a sausage roll) and caught a shot gun train into the old fashioned countryside.  The quiet gentleman handed me a slice of cheese on toast, which I sat on before making random holes in the garden.  I found myself in one of the larger holes and both of us returned home by bright red bus.  Putting a scale model of a yacht on one shoulder and a dancing girl made from knitting needles on the other I raced the dog to the vets – I won.

My Diary

I worked in the garden all day like an Eighteenth Century farm hand (my other hand was shaped like a boat with masts instead of fingers).  Marie Antoinette sailed by  as I hung onto branches which communicated with each other by blossom.  Curious why anyone would replace chimney pots with stone owls I floated above the roof tops, hanging from my hat which I had blown up earlier.  Counting houses like abacus beads I remembered the peregrine falcons above the Tate Gallery in London.