I had to go to town with my skirt hidden by chaps and my horse wrapped up in cling film. In the old town I bought as many new things as I could – even though I knew some of them wouldn’t work. I had to wait for the red wine engineer to float up to the door step so I cut the middle of the day into small slices and then thought about apricots thrown in the playground of my old school. With some surprise I saw a small brown figure emerge from the tea caddy; he talked about Mr Dog to Mr Cat and I flew into the nearest cloud and read a book.
June disappeared without speaking and walked up the road with a chimney belching out dark coloured smoke attached to the top of her head – I went back alone into my mushroom house. I later received a semaphore signal from the only chameleon allowed to appear in a black and white film so I pulled up the rope ladder dangling above the wreck of the Bismarck and went out. I bought pretend groceries from a shop hidden in the belly of a retired steam engine boiler and came home again pulled by an old diesel. When I got back the house was sunk.
I descended the suitcase staircase dressed in the robes of a flower magician; I removed this and revealed an empty garden where my chest should have been – later a small grey cat entered and laid down on the patch of ground I have prepared for this purpose. June had worn her own cloak up the road followed by six large birds. The dog was practicing yoga in a glass bowl and after moving a collection of coloured pipes from the edge of the landing site I sat in the room at the very top of the house and talked to a mouse.
I had to go to town and jumped on the back of a woodlouse which followed the skirting board to the centre. I found a shop which sold collections of small glass fish and came home to prepare my ocean. June had brought the shipwreck on the lounge floor to my attention and I carefully covered it with rocks. After this I pinned more memories to the mast Ulysses had abandoned when he went off to join a rock and roll band. The soothsayer came back just in time to see me pinned to the ground by a strange creature made entirely from old books.
I got up at two times at once and immediately had to make myself small enough to fit in a tiny canister on the top shelf of the cupboard. I jumped down when I heard my name echo in a two dimensional universe. June hummed a sea shanty while I sat on the recumbent dragon (which was occupying too much of the kitchen) and composed a poem for a seaweed sprite who was gazing intently in the back of a mirror. I was told to find the other end of a piece of rope which had appeared in the garden before the church bells chimed out my name.
June and I went out early to fill our pockets with pine cones and then plant trees in spectacle cases which I had collected together in a hessian sack (all the potatoes which had survived the winter were planted in the mattress). We shook hands with the refugees hiding beneath the chequered sheets and then decided to walk round a garland which had fallen from the cross at the bottom of the garden. I watched a young woman walk up the road surrounded by scaffolding and remembered to put a model of a pineal gland in an envelope.
I had to go out of the high heeled shoe house very early – when the birds in the dawn chorus were still learning their lines. I visited the old man who was talking to a cyclops and remembering his past. Later, as the theatre curtain started to descend I fell through the trap door to my subterranean studio where the chandelier was made from wine bottles and the chaise longue resembled a grey whale and was used in a poster for the Frankenstein film I was making in my mind – in this version the monster marries and lives a long and happy life.