My Diary

After an early morning swimming in a bowl of leek soup I had to stand as a sentry while the plastic soldiers massed below the parapet.  I tried to remain as still as I could and watched the little trucks weave in and out. After lunch the worm people emerged from their holes to see what was going on.  I turned over another page and found myself having dinner with a band of Spartan warriors.  We came home late holding onto seaweed and tresses of dolls hair.  I went to sleep in a wine glass.

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My Diary

I started the day as a red line in a green field, metamorphosing into a small voice residing at the bottom of a large box.  My wife shook the box and I fell out among the grains of rice holding onto a cat whisker.  Later I played against myself in the sports field, simultaneously winning and losing before walking to the arena where the lions were having singing lessons – the ten green bottle customers were falling as my wife rode by astride a dragon (I waved as the sperm whale dived).  I came home wet.

My Diary

I took the paper train to the countryside where ivy clad people clashed with those having holly hair.  I was flannel man and worked in the rain.  I had to saw up the remains of Noah’s Ark which we had discovered in the back garden just behind the giant tortoise that had held the world aloft.  I came home in a cardboard tube but had to emerge quickly like a caddis fly who was late for a party.  After a short spell on Easter Island I flew a flying saucer to the dinner table where it disappeared.

My Diary

I had to make as many Plasticine crowns and sceptres as I could for the childhood coronation before riding a war chariot to the veterinary surgery.  Having already surreptitiously stuffed a skull and crossbones down my trousers I blew a bugle and rushed into the room were the cannon ladies would take aim.  After the battle I slunk home holding a child of King Kong and a cousin of a skyscraper, tied myself into a bow tie and got ready to perform in front of an audience of Antarctic pygmies.

My Diary

June went out early, she travelled along a tube that pushed through the bedroom wall.  I had a lay in after going to bed with a bulls head on my shoulders the night before.  I finally got up when several meteorites smashed into the back garden waking the rabbit.  I put on a model of a Sixties skyscraper instead of clothes and ate straw before the postman knocked on the door dressed like Achilles.  I worked in my studio like a Trojan until June returned holding several pieces of string and a plastic penguin.

My Diary

I woke up with large wings pinned on my shoulders as well as feeling slightly unwell.  I had to pull myself though a tunnel made by glass marmalade jars and then an orange striped door before I could push a button in my studio.  Unusually my studio was encased in marble with the shadows of classical sculptures showing outside.  I called some lost names but no one answered.  My friend the bird goddess disappeared today, I threw rose petals into the stream and called myself the flower portal.

My Diary

I woke up tired holding an apple with an arrow in it.  I put this on an ash tray last used by Winston Churchill and made rolling hills out of a paper handkerchief; I pictured sheep feeding in the distance on these and whispered something to myself.  I then painted circles while June talked to herself – a car stopped outside driven by pixies, the smallest pixie had just found a pheasant in a bag and breathed life into it.  As the car vanished into the distance (smoking a cigar) I put my plans into my pocket.