I went out early; carrying my friend, the fully functional robot prophet, under my arm (there was a scale model of the ark in my haversack). I met the old demi-god in the lion’s mouth and we ate breakfast between giant teeth and a retractable tongue sofa before I ran out into the garden pursued by cardboard bear. As the cellophane clouds were crumpled up in readiness for another warm day the demi-god and I discussed robot divinity. Looking at the top of his head (in years gone by rented out as a cinema screen) I read the secret of the printed circuit board.
The sun felt warm on the back of my head as I rode a giant toad up and down the garden. After a salvo of trips I sunk to the bottom of the goldfish shaped pond in a miniature submarine I had made from an old fashioned slipper – from here I saw an imprint of the fairy world on a sculpture constructed from several pairs of ladies tights and a large container of black treacle. The silent head trapped in a butterfly net looked on as I taught a pair of turtles a rudimentary alphabet and they taught how to express myself using only non-Euclidean geometry and an egg whisk.
After giving a house spider my latest love sonnet (written in Braille) I marched all the way round the keep before climbing up into my studio like a fugitive. I removed the bandages I had written the first act of a play on and sat in the audience watching myself. I performed like this all morning finishing something important and starting something else. June descended like a deus ex machina in the afternoon just as the manikins were clearing up from the Bird Of Paradise party. I said I wanted to be reincarnated as a Begonia Rex to the shadow in the corner.
I started the day as a tape loop, breaking free when the dog grew wings and my nose turned into a shaking hand. I climbed to the ground without sneezing and made art works out of my shoe laces – after which I absent mindedly tied them together. I had to row up and down the garden before I could fit like a six gun cartridge in my white knight studio. In the black knight evening I let the dog mow the lawn while I sat on top of the wardrobe thinking. In the margin of my bald headed note book I drew a picture of an endless rope being lowered into a bottomless pit.
June disappeared aurally some time after she had vanished visually. I grew a beard several metres long in between the time I woke up and actually got out of bed. A falcon sat on the post at the top of the landing as I rolled up the strands of landscape visible through the arrow slit window and put them under my arm. After walking the dog (we both wore ball gowns) I stood on a step ladder and waited for another reality to come along like a London bus – my preferred reality took the underground and was last seen metamorphosing into Arcadia at Golders Green. While on the ladder I touched a small roof (the small roof touched a large one).
I typed the start of the day in a bold font. I meant to stand with a long shadow on a vast plain but came in from the non-existent sunlight and sat in a hypothetical hay loft watching moments of my life return under the control of some other being. I gave all the animals their very own jigsaw piece and then read about a forest connected by fungal mycella. June had promised to sit under a table in a remote spot and didn’t return until after a procession of anthropomorphic baked bean cans had noisily rolled down the street.
I had another caveman breakfast: June had a date with a sabre tooth tiger and I sat in the cockpit of a U2 waiting for a Russian missile. June rang before it arrived and we walked to town; she with a grand piano on her head and me wearing flippers. We went our separate ways at the underpass and I moved back in time as I got closer to home. I opened the door with a tin bath on my back and spoke to a tortoise. I went to town twice more: the first time as a courtier of Henry the Eighth and the second time as a news cameraman at the gunfight at the OK Corral.