Back to the old routine: I stood up in a dark tunnel but could not touch the roof. June had already left the house with her wings crumpled up and covered in cling film so I found a large key in my pocket and walked the dog – we existed for a short while in a free range egg box (holding twelve eggs). While standing exactly in the middle of a lighthouse memories of now gone people emerged over the horizon pushing a variety of objects – including a petrol driven lawnmower with Donald Campbell clinging to the top. I put an alpaca to bed.
After stuffing a copy of the Venus de Milo into each Wellington boot I took my vacuum flasks to the forest where the infamous Mud Man broke sticks with the crease in his collar. I spoke from within a bush and they listened from inside holes in the ground – we then reversed the process and I ate a cheese sandwich in a rabbit warren. Counting the loose change in my pocket I flew back to the railway station to watch the mother train remain on her nest for some time. I finally coughed myself home carrying photographs of my childhood.
Before the sabre tooth tiger had changed the bed I pulled the mammoth hair from my eyes and swam into an ocean of grey clouds. June had gone to see a panda in full colour so I spent the morning looking at old photographs. The afternoon was pinned like a faded cloth underneath a bridge (I could hear the traffic rumble overhead and imagined my self in a World War Two film). I took one last look at the theatre of laughs backdrop and then pushed myself into a suitcase for the long slide home. I watched a lady go by dressed as a cake.
June had become invisible during the night and all I could see by the morning was a steel claw; the dog had smudged her lipstick and had also knocked over an entire row of electricity pylons. The light went out just as an invisible being went out the door. Later after a chequered cloth had floated to the ground I went out in search of a field of ears to speak to. I dressed like a Romano-Briton, looking to the left to see a ferret asleep in my Wellington boot and to the right to see a cobweb on the flashlight lense. I returned some time later like sheep wool.
I was out very early, walking along an uncurled chameleon tongue to a portal of black and white photographs. I crept into one photograph and then crept out again; resuming my normal colours some time later – when I did so I had one leg in England and one foot in New York (attempting to play a grand piano with my toes). I came home wrapped in cling film and immediately stood in the doorway with a letter box in my midriff, the dog barked several times but the postman never arrived – a woman with feathers for eye lashes walked by.
I stood up (higher than a block of flats) playing a flute; June had gone to work, after commenting on my wispy beard and the two horns which were beginning to appear on the top of my head – wearing two hats I managed to go out without anyone noticing. Once back in the medieval hall I drew clouds on the glass and then poured water inside. The invisible man, who had been living under the bed, was caught reading the memoirs of a sea serpent and I pretended to push several dozen novels down the back of my t-shirt and then called myself names.
I crawled out of bed (only a bit earlier than normal) wearing a hat so tall it rubbed against the ceiling; the dog had already gone downstairs – after surreptitiously eating the cat food – and was smoking a Red Indian peace pipe when I sneaked up on her pretending to be a drunken leprechaun. She reciprocated by forming a phalanx of hoplite soldiers using herself and sundry pieces of furniture and I became a picture on a wall; my beard touching the floor. I spent much of the day connecting up the dots in the sky and eventually making a face.