My Diary

I opened my eyes and found myself in a small wooden boat; June had obviously taken the oars but had generously left a canister of carbon dioxide and a caramelised biscuit – the biscuit reminded me of a shrunken head which reminded me in turn of an Easter bonnet on a whale shark. I danced around a small depression in the ground until June (dressed as the Queen of Sheba) walked the entire length of the garden trailing an electric cable with a plug on the end. We decided, like insanely smiling robots, to go out for a meal – after I had purchased a box of magnetic mines to scatter in the nearest ocean – and I ate a Sunday dinner while June had one from an unnamed day in the week. We came home carrying a clockwork frog on a rusting ironing board.

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