June raced Roger Bannister up the road and won while I simultaneously walked the dog and lost. After a breakfast of mango leaves I painted the town yellow (coming back with a bag of carrots and a hand full of spring greens). After a short rest curled up in a jewellery box I raced chariots in my studio while Juno was at work, when she returned I gave mythical creatures pedicures in the Roman amphitheatre – I could never hold down a proper job. I then contemplated painting my own toenails a masculine shade of pink.
June and I lifted off from the helicopter pad just after ten, we were puzzled by the rows of beckoning hands surrounding the roof edges – I wrote bacterium cilia on the calendar along with “must read Proust to the rabbit” (he would read Jean-Paul Sartre to me). We waved goodbye to the well wishers on the quay side and followed the path of human evolution to the birth of Rupert Bear. Along the animal trail I found several hundred pieces of cut string which the farm cat had carefully named and numbered.
I woke up suddenly as my wife climbed down the chimney holding a sweater. Two knitting needles were placed in a jar and left by the bed. I had to swim the channel before breakfast and didn’t get back until the resurrected white slave traders had drunk the duty free. After my customary walk round a May pole still waiting for its dancers I rose to my studio with the organ playing the applause after the end of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. I clung to the fan while the dog rehearsed for her role with Nureyev.
I raced outside when the seagull dance commenced and watched several people hang from a balloon with paint brushes in their hands. I thought it was prudent to keep my paintbrush in my pocket and sat down under the scaffolding with a child’s teas set. I poured myself several cups of imaginary tea before consuming the air sandwiches and meeting the desert people. June then came back from the steam powered car with two boxes of old memories; I put one in the fridge and the other over the open fireplace.
Another hot day and June left the house balanced on an ice cube. I marked the wall where the ley lines dissected the family portrait and then rubbed out my name. Petronella and I pulled each other along on short lengths of rope before a stranger asked for directions and the snake woman knocked on the door. Once the tree shadow had reached the door step I quite expected the bearded lizards to turn back into little old men but the only noise heard was the sound of hammers hitting tent pegs.
I left early to find an island to search for treasure in and found the old man with sand in his hat ; we pushed our fingers in the wet sand and pulled out several coins and a piece of string with a knot in it. I undid the knot and remembered someone from the past (our collective memories, hurried quickly by, both wore short trousers and white vests). I noticed a small hawthorn bush at the bottom of the slope and made a note to dig it up. I came home with my recently found treasure and a small punnet of strawberries.
I had to get up early to visit the sea doctor; after my diagnosis I walked through a blinding light haze with only the masts of old Tudor warships clearly visible, stumbling into the hallway with even the parrot on my shoulder feeling sick. Once my eyes had recovered I manage to hang like a gibbon to the bars in my work room watching the Earth turn under my feet and feeling the clocks slow as my mass increased. I spent the afternoon as black hole eating sound waves and watching music grow on me.