June went to work as normal; I hopped about the battlefield inside a giant sock which was lost when the ogress did the washing. I went to town along the dorsal fin of an ichthyosaurus, bought a field of cabbages and then came home with the only working alarm clock sunk in a pail of unpasteurised milk. I took the pale white stairs to my studio, ignoring the clenched fist pinned to the door. I worked in a fossilised wood (which is kept on the top shelf next to the fossilised flames) until June came in with a medieval knight over her shoulder. I dropped his sword in my tea.