My Diary

 

As the day broke like a messenger wrongly shot on a doorstep I balanced my reflection on a knife edge and straightened a length of railway track instead of a tie. I had already found footprints right across my water meadow t-shirt; but as I had to go out I never bothered to follow them – June rang some time later from beside a watering hole in the Serengeti. She had caught a lion while I had caught the train. I ran down the platform at my destination with several suitcases full of tadpoles and a pond in which to put them. I spent much of the afternoon reaching up before sitting down from my return journey. On entering the house June was watching a tiny figure on the top of the TV who was threatening to jump.

 

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My Diary

 

Following lengths of beard up the garden path I found the green man and and his woman (although she professed her independence) sat in the tangled greenery like unexploded bombs wearing hair nets. I tiptoed past the detonators in search of large bags to put my artificial children in. I then spent a couple of hours putting light bulbs in the blank face of Argus before switching them on to an accompaniment of fireworks splish splashing overhead. A giant metallic figure stepped out of the building site opposite our house just before June and I went out to dinner (the figure receded into the distance swishing at rising hot air balloons as it went). On our return we found an island last set foot on by Man Friday.

 

My Diary

 

I took swimming lessons in a casserole dish before having to go out in the rain – the dish had been delivered in an disused fishing net which I thought would be handy to wear if I ever needed to be presented to a king neither naked or clothed. Incidentally the fish that delivered the package was wearing spectacles, which I cleaned for him when he delved into his pocket for a pen. He signed my name for me as he could see I was battling something unimaginably powerful. When I returned with a collection of names (I later found one was missing) I had time to tie two pieces of string together.

 

My Diary

 

I started the day early with all my outer clothes green and all my inner ones red. I pulled on a red vest and several children came out looking for a lost toy (in my head the toy was looking for the lost children). I followed my old toys to the village where I grew up – which in the interim had grown legs and moved at least a hundred yards nearer the river (the river only ran in the winter, the rest of the time it crawled like an old man lost in a desert). I talked to an old man about the crown that had suddenly appeared on a hilltop – apparently no one was brave enough to claim it.

 

My Diary

 

June and I slept in flower pots and emerged like creatures from a primeval Spring. I had two horns on my head which were so long they touched the ceiling, scratching out symbols among images of extinct animals, which I later copied onto a framed collection of flint arrowheads. June and I found my sister changing to seaweed with a number of green bottles entangled in it. The old man who filled the bottles found time to relate stories about lantern headed people who were happy to lighten the darkness of others. When I got home I wandered around in a pitch black room.

 

My Diary

 

June went for lunch in the great hall of an early Saxon king – he reputedly kept several Vietnamese pot bellied pigs in his beard; I thought this quite plausible as I kept a number of unfurled flags in mine plus a mechanical cricket that played the National Anthem on its back legs. I had to ride a dragon to town to save June from a marauding knight. I waved at a group of young girls made from glossy magazine pages as I rode by and they waved back like sea fans in a shallow sea. June had a chain on one arm and was painting the fence a curious shade of orange with the other.

 

My Diary

 

June and I travelled out of town inside an instrument of the woodwind family. I played a tune which echoed in hyper space like an algorithm of unconsciousness. We were intercepted at an old battleground of the English Civil War by small people wearing monkey masks and bundled into an antique clothes shop – June investigated the inner sleeve of a brightly coloured Chinese top while I burrowed like a mole rat in the left leg of a pair of dungarees. I noticed that they were worn at the knee which was strange as I did not pray a lot. June found a line and I subsequently crossed it.