Out very early, walking barefoot in the pouring rain. I met the old non soldier and reminisced about rocks and minerals while packing apples into my school satchel. I came home by mechanical camel, counting ornate gates and fence posts while trying to remember my lines for a bit part in a play by Sophocles – stopping off half way at a pub called the Oedipus Rex – once in I pulled the dog out from a crystal pyramid and threaded the cats through a tear in subjective space time.
I got up as a French version of an English breakfast (vegetarian of course), had a bath under a dripping tap and then stuck a hoover up my jumper. Resembling as I did a World War Two tank destroyer I stumbled about among rotting vegetation in my rhinoceros beetle studio and among prospective shadow people in the white room between my dreams and someone else’s. While the rain started I persevered in my attempt to find the right recipe for a 25th Century goulash.
I dreamt of feeling unwell and then woke up ill; the small green dragon laying next to me was looking for a flame as I flew up for a breakfast of sky fungus. I painted an autumn landscape on a passing cloud and then made a sculpture that rained. A scarecrow entered the house by the back door pulled out a goldfish bowl from under its hat and then made cockerel noises. After a short break I went out, writing a message for June on one of two hard boiled eggs I had found in the fridge.
I slept well for once, waking in a bee hive where I communicated with the queen bee; teaching her later how to play chess – even though I could hardly remember myself, not having played for forty years. I heard the door slam and waltzed downstairs dressed in a tiger costume. The king tiger walked the dog and then returned to make semaphore signals in the window of his studio. A fiddler crab returned my message in between painting his self portrait based on an early Rembrandt.
June went to the cold coffee farm for the last time this year. I washed up and then walked the dog with a boa constrictor around my neck. We watched the passengers disembark from a shining silver ship and then get on a double decker loofah (Aphrodite climbed out of the bath before a lost tribe crossed the bathroom floor looking for a poisonous frog). I decided to move the garden pond and told June when she returned; meanwhile the famous writer punched the captain before the ship sank.
I woke in the middle of a dream, there was fresh water between the floor joists, and then went back to sleep in a turtles nest. I poked my head above the sand just after June had gone to work, Poppy the Doge of Venice was trying on a pair of skis and Bugsy the cat was asleep in a wine glass. I called for the waiter and came myself dressed in a suit and hiding a brown envelope in my pocket. June came back later as a photograph. I placed her in my album next to a picture of a traction engine.
I ran out of the race track bedroom as I had to make a telephone call. I used a patented cheese scraper phone and when I had to call back I used a lavatory pan brush. After charging up a couple of cushions I walked the dog along a trail of mirror fragments, each reflecting a different aspect of my character. A silver and gold dragonfly landed on my head, settling between the intergalactic antenna and a Victorian faucet – which incidentally had been dripping for years.