I spent the night on an almost deserted island, returning home astride a giant cat – incidentally, I called the cat “Silent Prayers”. I finally rose with a forest painted on my flowing robes and fallen leaves at my feet; I arranged the leaves into the semblance of a smile and then frowned at the result. Remembering my friends were cutting down trees I pulled a leaf face in an empty palace painted like a blank canvas. June was out and the dog curled up with the cat awaiting her return.
I walked the dog Poppy beside the railway line in an American B movie and thought up some lines for the puppet still hiding in the suitcase to say when he was next introduced. Grey men walked down the road in front us although I was intently watching the tail of the lady in a cat suit swish backwards and forwards. The sprite sat cross legged on the computer monitor as I conjured up the ghost of Ben Hur dressed in tabloids and riding on a chariot pulled by two grey swans.
June left for work as an action film extra while I had to go to town to leave a message on a desk (the girl behind the desk was wearing a nun’s outfit and pulled a shot gun from under the counter, but that’s another story…). I walked back up the hill, counting helicopter rotors and the number of UFO sightings noted down on the ascending paving slabs – which were laid rather haphazardly causing a health and safety risk. I entered the door before the descending leaf had hit the concrete.
I got up early, touched the elephant’s trunk which was poking through the open window and ran down the road with a bag of green leaves. I saw the tree man and we talked about summer fields with flowers poking through like ring fingers. The bus home was driven by a puppet, every time it stopped the hands holding the strings could be seen as a shadow. I walked my own shadow to the door, which was opened by a small man composed entirely of a rare form of sedimentary rock.
While I was a submarine left stranded since the Second World War June was a trapeze artist looking down at the vegetable resembling a cauliflower which came wrapped in a boxing glove. Once I had persuaded the catfish to climb down from its new home on my pirate captain’s shoulder I walked the dog to the undertakers and back. The man-o-war was still in the bay when I climbed the hill to tie my brushes to the tree. I painted a giant squid and called it “Self Portrait On Saturday”.
June and I decided to sleep in the fridge; I snuggled up to a recently purchased bag of bright red tomatoes and she held on tightly to a half opened tin of tuna. I got up into a washing machine reality, fed the pets with dinosaur steaks, walked the dog along the top of a cannon from HMS Victory and then settled down into the dungeon I call my studio. I noticed a man walked up the street with a small car tucked between his t-shirt and vest. June returned home reciting om nam shivaya.
Almost the end of another working week – the whale whose face was pressed against the window opened its mouth. I walked the dog beside the railway line with a picture in my head of me travelling down the rapids in a gigantic court shoe (all the people waiting for the train had clocks instead of heads). After falling down a waterfall in a cardboard box I stood among the spectators of an orchestrated landscape event; after fifteen minutes of waiting a leaf moved. I replaced my moustache with grass.