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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.